1 Andrew Miller asked for a divorce the moment his mentor's daughter confirmed her pregnancy. "Her reputation matters, Elle," he'd said, his voice flat, devoid of real apology. "It's just for show, don't overthink it." Even our son, Jack, chimed in, echoing his father's words with a saccharine sweetness that grated on my nerves. "You always talk about gratitude, Mom. Besides, it's Dad's child. Don't make things harder for him." Everyone braced themselves for a screaming match, for tears, for the inevitable outburst. But I just nodded, a silent, hollow acceptance. I signed the papers without a fuss and, just as swiftly, married Tim Thorne, the man who had saved my life years ago. Because in my past life, when I clung desperately to the marriage, refusing to let go, Andrew and Jack simply abandoned me, vanishing without a trace. I became the city's laughingstock, a shell of my former self, never truly recovering. So this time, I accepted the divorce with a quiet resolve and simply disappeared from their lives. Six years later, at an exclusive, high-society gala aboard a luxury cruise ship. Andrew and Jack, his son, elbowed their way through the swirling dancers, grabbing my wrist with a furious grip. "I said it was just for show, Elle! Where the hell have you been all these years?!" I was taken aback, but only for a split second. A split second later, my sweet little girl, a bundle of sunshine, tumbled into my arms. "Mommy, who are you talking to? Daddy's looking for you!" When I saw Andrew again, I was on the ship's deck, nursing a drink, clad in a sleek, silk mermaid gown. I'd been up until dawn working on designs and hadn't wanted to show my face, but as the wife of the cruise line's owner, I had no choice but to attend. I sighed, my glass still mid-air, when abrupt footsteps pounded behind me. The next thing I knew, I was spun around, caught in an unexpected grip. Both Andrew and I froze. His pupils contracted, his voice a strangled gasp of disbelief: "Eleanor! It really is you! Where have you been all this time?!" My expression remained calm, but before I could answer, Tiffany Hayes, standing beside him, shrieked, her voice dripping with feigned concern: "Elle, darling, you're so thin now! I remember when you were too self-conscious to even show your face!" Jack snickered, a childish, cruel sound. He'd shot up quite a bit in the years since I'd seen him, but the arrogant smirk on his face was a carbon copy of Tiffany's. He'd clearly caught Tiffany's subtle jab, and a mocking smile played on his lips. "Aunt Tiffany, stop it. You know Mom's got a thin skin. She'll be crying any minute. What's the point? You're not exactly model material anyway." Jack's tone was thick with disdain, exactly as it had been every time he'd mocked me in the past. Mocking my weight, my intelligence, and the fact that I was "just a housewife" with "no personal appeal." But before our marriage, I was a rising star, a celebrated talent in the fashion world. Major fashion houses had practically thrown themselves at me, eager to collaborate on designs. But after I married Andrew, everything shifted. He constantly accused me of neglecting our home. He systematically brainwashed me, insisting that a "good wife" and "good mother" didn't seek the limelight. One day, he even sent emails to my partners, pretending I was retiring from the industry. I woke to find my career annihilated, and I screamed and cried like a madwoman. He simply told me, with infuriating nonchalance, to "calm down." From that day on, I was a bird with clipped wings, devoting myself entirely to domestic life. Yet, in our seventh year, he began an affair with his mentor's daughter, claiming she was "dazzling" and "reignited his passion." As I drifted through these bitter memories, Tiffany's syrupy giggle broke through. She cooed, with mock kindness, "Elle, dear, even if you can't be a model, don't be too hard on yourself. You could always apply to be a hostess. I have a friend who's a hotel manager. They're hiring hostesses for about three thousand a month. Want me to put in a word for you?" Jack burst out laughing before she'd even finished. "Aunt Tiffany, stop it. You know Mom's got a thin skin. She'll be crying any minute." He puffed out his chest, pointing to a raised stage nearby. "Aunt Tiffany was invited to walk the runway tonight! For a really famous designer's collection!" I blinked, a strange urge to laugh bubbling up inside me. 2 Because I was that designer. And this fashion show was a prelude to my husband, Tim Thorne's, corporate event. We'd specifically invited high-profile models, and I distinctly recalled scanning the roster – Tiffany Hayes was not on it. Then, it clicked, like lightning striking. One of the models had an unexpected emergency, and Tiffany was brought in as a last-minute replacement. Checking my watch, I met her gaze, my voice flat. "Shouldn't you be backstage getting ready by now?" Tiffany's face stiffened, clearly offended by my tone. "Don't pretend to know everything, Elle. What do you know? It's still early!" My brows furrowed. Such unprofessionalism. No wonder she'd gone nowhere in all these years. Seeing me alone, Tiffany suddenly linked her arm through Andrew's, her voice turning saccharine sweet. "Elle, dear, is something wrong? This cruise ship isn't exactly easy to get onto. I've heard some people sneak in with unsanctioned tickets, hoping to snag a rich husband." Her implication was clear. Andrew's gaze lingered on me, a complex expression on his face, then flickered to my gown. His voice, surprisingly, held a tinge of sadness. "Eleanor, that's not something you'd usually wear. Did you rent it? Or borrow it?" He pulled out a card and offered it to me. "Here's thirty thousand. You're still Jack's mother, after all. I can't just stand by and watch you stumble into trouble. I thought when you left so decisively, you'd found something better. I never imagined you'd end up like this..." His voice trailed off, laced with a smug, almost pitying regret. Tiffany covered her mouth, giggling. "Perhaps it's a replica, Elle. Don't be embarrassed. This money is nothing to us, but it might help you avoid looking so… desperate." But before her words fully hung in the air, a young woman's voice cut in. "That's no replica. The craftsmanship and fabric are unmistakable. Plus, it's one of Thorne Design's latest pieces – almost impossible to get your hands on." Tiffany's face froze. She spun around, ready to snap, then her eyes widened. It was Brenda Walsh, an old acquaintance. Brenda's face lit up. She embraced Tiffany warmly. "Darling, what a surprise to see you! How have you been? We completely lost touch after you got pregnant years ago!" She glanced at Jack, a hint of confusion in her eyes. "Is this your son? He looks a bit... old for the timeline." Tiffany's composure faltered. She forced a strained smile. Her voice came out strained. "There... there was an accident. I lost the baby." I felt a flicker of surprise, yet it wasn't entirely unexpected. Andrew had severe fertility issues. I never told him, wanting to spare his pride. Behind his back, I'd endured countless fertility treatments and injections, even a massive hemorrhage, almost losing the baby myself. But Andrew, far from comforting me, had endlessly condemned me during my postpartum recovery. I cried for three days straight until my vision blurred, then faded. Only then did I realize I couldn't afford to cry anymore. The past was a grimy, tattered rag I desperately wanted to wring out and discard. I sighed inwardly, pushing the ugly memories away. Brenda offered a few awkward condolences, then excused herself. I checked my watch, deciding it was time to leave too. But Tiffany grabbed my arm, her fingers digging deep into my skin. Her face crumbled, eyes blazing with hatred. "You're thrilled, aren't you? That my baby is gone! It's all your fault! Andrew was constantly out searching for you, never home! That's why I got so upset, and I miscarried! You… you murderer!" The pain made me instinctively push her away. Then I froze. He was looking for me? For what purpose? Wasn't he the one who insisted on the divorce in my last life? Besides, what did Tiffany's miscarriage have to do with me? Andrew's fertility issues made it a high risk from the start. And she was starving herself. It was her own doing. 3 I stared at the raw, red marks on my arm, thin lines of blood blooming against my fair skin. Tim would spot them instantly. Given how fiercely protective he was, I worried what might happen. But the next moment, Andrew stepped in front of me, his face contorted in anger. He helped a sobbing Tiffany to her feet, then turned on me, his voice a harsh command. "Eleanor, apologize!" A shiver ran through me, instantly dragging me back to the past. Once, I'd added too much salt to a dish, and Tiffany, who was eating it, had immediately burst into tears, claiming I was jealous of her figure and trying to make her fat. Without a word, Andrew had shoved me to the ground, leaving me to grovel like a dog with no dignity. The memory was vivid, burning. My fingernails bit into my palms. But that was then, and this was now. I wouldn't stand by and let myself be slandered like some cheap floozy. So I scoffed, a single, disdainful word escaping my lips: "Dream on." Jack, mid-wipe of Tiffany's tears, paused. He turned to me, his voice sharp with manufactured disappointment: "You're so wicked, and you don't even care! I wish I didn't have a mother like you!" He'd uttered that exact line more times than I could count. Giving birth to him had been a struggle, which was why I'd always doted on him, always indulged him. Even his most outrageous demands were quietly met. But if he thought that tactic still worked on me, he was sorely mistaken. I met his defiant, almost smug gaze, my voice flat. "Doesn't matter. You've got plenty of mothers, don't you?" Jack froze, his bravado crumbling instantly. He opened his mouth, a panicked stutter, and I saw a flicker of tears in his eyes. Then, he exploded. He ripped the small charm from around his neck—and hurled it into the ocean. Then he burst into a fresh torrent of tears. "I hate you! I never want you again! You're a horrible woman!" For a moment, I was disoriented. I'd gotten him that lucky charm when he was six. He used to complain it was "uncool" and "old-fashioned," always leaving it lying around the house. Now he was wearing it close to his skin? Tiffany pulled him into a hug, stroking his hair with feigned solicitude. "Jack, darling, I'm your mommy now. That... that woman doesn't deserve to be your mother." She turned to me, a cruel glint in her eyes, her voice a low, venomous hiss: "Eleanor, you don't have an entrance badge. You must have snuck in with a scalped ticket. I was going to let it slide, but since you're so shameless, don't blame me." With that, she raised a hand, signaling for security. I didn't flinch. A joke. This entire cruise ship was mine, a gift from Tim. Let's see who dared lay a hand on me. But before she could, a hand shot out, firm and quick, pressing her arm down. Andrew looked at me with a complicated expression, then muttered something to Tiffany. Tiffany stared at him, incredulous, her face a mask of bitter resentment. Finally, she gave a grudging nod. Andrew's expression softened. He started to turn, about to speak to me, but Tiffany threw her arms around his neck, her crimson lips pressing against his. Andrew stiffened for a beat, his eyes instinctively flicking to me. I remained utterly impassive. His eyes darkened, and he leaned in, kissing her with an exaggerated fervor. Just then, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. Before I could even answer, Andrew's eyes lit up, a sudden, almost desperate hope in them. His voice was thick with barely suppressed excitement. "You still listen to that song?" I blinked, about to ask what he meant, then it dawned on me, a slow, dawning realization. It was our song. The one from when we first fell in love. I'd completely forgotten. I just liked the melody and set it as my ringtone on a whim. But Andrew had clearly misconstrued it. His eyes shone, as if he was about to confess something profound. I ignored him, answering the call instead. Tim's deep, resonant voice filled my ear. "Elle, where are you? The show's about to start. We need to go on stage for the opening remarks." A smile bloomed involuntarily on my face. "Coming right away," I murmured. "I'll be right there. Gotta go!"
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