Opening my eyes, I found myself sitting at the dining table. The nightmare hadn't happened yet. The lavish dinner was just beginning. The root of my past life's tragedy was the girl standing across from me. The impoverished student I had funded for years. To impress my billionaire fiancé, she had slaughtered Ranger, the retired combat K-9 my father brought back from his deployments. She had him cooked into a dark, heavily spiced exotic stew. Ranger wasn't just a pet. He was a decorated war hero who had saved countless lives. In my previous life, my fiancé casually picked up a piece of meat from the bowl. "It's just a dog. I'll buy you a better breed tomorrow. Look at the effort Beth put in. You should be grateful." He didn't know that Ranger's death would bring apocalyptic wrath upon our families. My father's company went bankrupt. My parents died in a mysterious car crash. And Tristan, my fiancé, personally locked me in a psychiatric ward where I was tortured until my last breath. 1 Beth brought the steaming ceramic pot to the table, her eyes practically begging Tristan for approval. Tristan smiled warmly and ladled a bowl for me. "Try it, Monica. Beth made this special exotic dish just for you." I smiled, took the bowl, and pulled out my phone right in front of their bewildered faces. I dialed my father's old commanding officer. "Uncle Marcus," I said, keeping my voice deadpan. "Tristan wants to know what a decorated military hero tastes like. I saved a portion for you. When are you coming to collect it?" A heavy silence fell over the line. The kind of silence that precedes an airstrike. I could already picture Uncle Marcus's scarred, weathered face darkening like a thundercloud. Tristan's gentle smile froze. A shadow of annoyance flickered in his handsome eyes. He clearly didn't understand the gravity of my words. "Monica, what kind of childish tantrum is this?" Beside him, Beth, the girl whose tuition and rent I had paid for five years, instantly turned pale. Her hands trembled so violently that a drop of the boiling broth splashed onto her knuckles, leaving a blistering red mark. She didn't even flinch. She just stared at me with wide, terrified, innocent eyes. "Monica, I... I didn't mean any harm. I just heard Tristan say he wanted to try some rare game meat, so I..." Tears spilled down her cheeks like shattered pearls. That pitiful, fragile act had fooled me completely in my last life. Even after she killed Ranger, I thought she was just tragically ignorant. How pathetic I was. I ignored her, waiting for the voice on the phone. Tristan's patience evaporated. He snatched the phone from my hand, his tone dripping with the arrogant entitlement of a billionaire heir. "I don't care who this is. Monica is having a bad day. We are done here." He moved to end the call. Suddenly, Uncle Marcus's voice erupted from the speaker. It was the roar of a man who had commanded troops in the deadliest war zones on earth. "Done? Who the hell do you think you are to tell me we are done?!" "Put Monica back on the phone. Now!" Tristan froze. For the first time, a flicker of genuine shock crossed his face. I smoothly pulled the phone from his rigid grip and brought it to my ear. "I am fine, Uncle Marcus." "Send me your coordinates. I am on my way." His voice left absolutely zero room for negotiation before the line went dead. An eerie quiet settled over the massive dining room. Tristan stared at me. He looked at me like I was a stranger he found trespassing in his home. "Since when do you associate with people like that, Monica?" he demanded, his pride clearly wounded. I slowly pushed the bowl he had served me toward the center of the table. The dark broth simmered. The rich, nauseating aroma filled the air. "Tristan, didn't you just say Beth put a lot of effort into this?" I looked him dead in the eye. "Tell me. Butchering my father's decorated war dog and turning him into a stew... is that what you call effort?" Tristan's face hardened into a mask of pure ice. "You are willing to humiliate everyone at this table over a goddamn dog?" "Tristan, please don't be mad at her," Beth sobbed, pressing her delicate body against his arm. She clutched her burnt hand while gripping his tailored shirt. "I thought Monica would love the surprise. I had no idea the dog was that important to her. I really didn't." She gasped for air between her tears, playing the ultimate victim. Tristan immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders, whispering sweet comforts to her while glaring at me with absolute disgust. "Look what you did. You terrified her. She is a poor girl from the middle of nowhere. How was she supposed to know about some military mutt? She was just trying to make you happy." "Even if you don't appreciate it, you have no right to be a bitch about it." That gentle tone he used with her. That protective stance. It was the exact same way he held his new lover right before he locked me in the asylum. My heart had already burned to ash in my previous life. All that remained was cold, calculating hatred. "Make me happy?" I let out a dry, bitter laugh, pointing at the simmering pot. "By slaughtering my father's brother-in-arms to entertain me? Do you even hear yourself, Tristan?" He slammed his hand on the mahogany table and stood up, towering over me. "Enough, Monica! It was just an animal! It's dead. Get over it. I will write you a check for a hundred pedigree puppies tomorrow! Are you really going to burn our relationship to the ground over this?" Behind his back, hiding in his embrace, Beth shot me a tiny, triumphant smirk. I saw it. It was the exact same smirk she wore standing outside the reinforced glass of my psychiatric cell. I remembered her gloating voice. "Look, Monica. Tristan chose me in the end. Your parents, your company, your dog. Everything that belonged to you is mine now." The memories crashed over me like a tidal wave of battery acid. I dug my fingernails into my palms until the sharp pain grounded me. Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Sharp. Urgent. Unyielding. Tristan scowled. "Who the hell is that?" No one answered. The bell just kept ringing. Frustrated, he stormed over and yanked the heavy oak door open. Standing on the porch was Uncle Marcus, dressed in full tactical dress uniform. Behind him stood two young, heavily muscled military officers, their faces carved from stone. The silver stars on their shoulders gleamed under the porch lights. Uncle Marcus looked right past Tristan. His eyes locked onto me, filled with a mixture of heartbreak and a terrifying, lethal rage. Then, his gaze drifted to the dining table. To the ceramic pot. The oxygen in the room seemed to evaporate. Tristan stood frozen at the door. He was a shark in the corporate world. He had dined with politicians and tycoons. But he had never faced an aura like this. It wasn't the soft power of money. It was the suffocating, metallic stench of blood and gunpowder. "Can I help you?" Tristan's voice lacked its usual arrogant bite. Uncle Marcus ignored him entirely and marched into the foyer. His heavy combat boots struck the marble floor with methodical thuds. Every step felt like a hammer striking Tristan and Beth's chests. His eyes remained glued to the dining table. "Where is Ranger?" Uncle Marcus's voice was gravelly, possessing the terrifying calm of a hurricane's eye. I stood up, walked to his side, and pointed. "Right there, Uncle Marcus. That's Ranger." The general's massive frame went completely rigid. The two officers behind him turned a violent shade of purple. The younger one's knuckles popped loudly, his eyes turning bloodshot. "You sick bastards!" the young officer roared, lunging forward. Uncle Marcus raised a single hand, stopping the man in his tracks. He walked slowly to the dining table. He reached a trembling hand toward the ceramic pot, hovering inches above the rim. His thick fingers shook violently. Tristan finally snapped out of his shock. He glanced at the silver stars on Marcus's uniform, then back at me. A flash of hesitation crossed his face, but his wounded pride quickly overtook it. "So, you are Monica's family," Tristan said, falling back on his billionaire persona. His tone was detached and diplomatic. "This is just a massive misunderstanding. Monica threw a fit over a dog, and I apologize that it dragged you all the way out here." He brushed off the situation like a minor inconvenience. "Please talk some sense into her. Whatever the financial loss is, the Vanguard Group will compensate you generously." He spoke so casually, as if negotiating a minor contract dispute. Uncle Marcus slowly turned around. His piercing eyes locked onto Tristan. "A misunderstanding?" "You call this a misunderstanding?" His voice was low, but it dropped the temperature in the room below freezing. "A dog?" he repeated, spitting the word out like poison. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped carefully in a velvet cloth. He unfolded it. A heavy, gleaming piece of metal caught the light. The Medal of Valor. The highest military honor a combat K-9 could receive. "Open your ignorant eyes and look at this!" "Six years ago, in a hostile desert compound, Ranger drew the fire of thirty armed insurgents to cover his squad's retreat. He took seven bullets!" "He cleared a path through a live minefield with his bare paws so my men could walk out alive. He lost half a leg in the blast!" "He is a registered, decorated war hero! A soldier who saved the lives of hundreds of my men!" "And you stand there and tell me he is just a dog?!" Uncle Marcus's voice escalated with every word until it became a deafening roar. The two officers behind him glared at Tristan and Beth with lethal intent. Tristan's face went from pale to a sickly green. The sheer volume and fury stunned him into absolute silence. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Beth was practically paralyzed with fear. She shrank behind Tristan, shaking like a leaf. "I... I didn't know... I swear I didn't know..." Her crying sounded hollow and pathetic in the heavy air. Uncle Marcus's gaze sliced through her. "You didn't know?" "When Monica paid your tuition, did she never mention Ranger's history? Did you not see the heavy titanium dog tags around his neck?" "When you lured him out of the estate, did the housekeeper not explicitly tell you he wasn't allowed to leave the grounds?" The rapid-fire interrogation left Beth completely speechless. She could only shake her head frantically. I watched her clumsy performance with pure disgust. In my past life, that exact innocent act made me believe it was a tragic accident. But the moment I was reborn, the first thing I did was pull the estate's security footage. The footage showed Beth expertly unbuckling Ranger's collar. She used a piece of cured steak tied to a rope to lure him past the gates. When the housekeeper ran out to stop her, Beth lied smoothly, claiming I had ordered her to take the dog to the park. She knew exactly what she was doing. It was premeditated murder. Tristan finally realized he had stepped on a landmine. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what a military medal of that caliber meant. Money could not fix this. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He forced an incredibly stiff, unnatural smile. "General, sir... this was a catastrophic oversight on our part." He lowered his head, completely dropping his arrogant posture. "We are willing to issue a formal apology. Name your price. The Vanguard Group will pay it without hesitation." He was still trying to buy his way out. It was his only survival tactic. Uncle Marcus looked at him with absolute contempt. "Pay it?" "With what?" "Are you going to pay me with the lives of the hundreds of soldiers that dog saved?" Uncle Marcus took a heavy step forward. The oppressive aura made Tristan instinctively step back. "Do you have any idea what the federal penalty is for the mutilation and desecration of a decorated military veteran?" Tristan's lips quivered. "Tristan..." Beth tugged at his sleeve, her voice cracking. "Call the police... please call the police." Call the police? I almost laughed out loud. She actually thought this was a simple civil dispute. Tristan grabbed the idea like a lifeline and yanked out his phone. Uncle Marcus just watched him, making no move to stop him. The call connected. Tristan found his arrogant voice again. "Yes, 911? I need police at my residence immediately. Armed men have trespassed on my property and are threatening my life!" He exaggerated the scene, painting Uncle Marcus as some rogue, power-hungry thug. The dispatcher listened patiently. Finally, she asked one question. "Sir, what is your exact address?" Tristan recited his luxury estate address. A few seconds of silence followed. Then, the dispatcher spoke in a cold, robotic, official tone. "Sir, we have logged your situation. However, the coordinates you provided have just been designated as a temporary classified military zone. Civilian law enforcement has no jurisdiction to intervene. Goodbye." "What?" Tristan's voice cracked. "A classified military zone? Are you insane?!" The line went dead. Tristan stood frozen, the phone slipping from his sweaty grip. The color drained from his face completely. He finally understood. This was not a game he could win. He had provoked an entity that could crush his entire empire with a single phone call. He whipped his head around, staring at me in absolute horror. "Monica... what did you do?" I looked at his terrified face, feeling nothing but profound peace. This was only the prologue. Every ounce of suffering they inflicted on me in my past life, I was going to collect with interest. Uncle Marcus pulled out his secure encrypted phone and dialed a number. His tone was crisp, efficient, and ruthlessly military. "Special Operations Military Police? This is General Marcus." "Location is the Vanguard Estate, Sector 4. We have a severe case of desecration of a decorated military asset." "Yes. Extremely hostile." "Deploy a containment team immediately. Lock down the perimeter and detain everyone inside." "And notify Richard, CEO of the Vanguard Group. Tell him to get his ass down here right now." He hung up the phone and looked at Tristan like he was looking at a corpse. "You wanted to know who I am, boy?" "General Marcus. First Special Operations Command." "Ranger was my soldier. I personally handed him over to Monica's father."
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