When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day that changed my life. Sebastian was holding me tight, his body a shield, his clothes soaked in blood. His voice, rough and strained, whispered words of terror and relief, as if we had just cheated death itself. The kidnapping, when I was twenty. I was so overwhelmed with gratitude that I ignored my family's desperate pleas and married him. But the life that followed was no fairytale. He systematically hollowed out my family's company, the stress sending both my parents to the hospital. When I finally swallowed my pride and knelt before him, begging for mercy, he casually dropped a truth that shattered my world. The kidnapping was his masterpiece, a meticulously staged play of heroics. The wound that nearly killed him? Self-inflicted. All of it was a grand performance to win my heart and, with it, my fortune. After that confession, he had me committed to a mental institution. My life ended there, strapped to a bed I could never leave. Now, pressed against his chest once more, my heart was a block of ice. But my fingers, they were steady as I dialed 911. When the operator answered, I spoke with chilling clarity. "Hello, I need to report a crime. Someone staged a kidnapping." 1 The moment the call connected, the hand Sebastian had cradling the back of my head went rigid. It was only for a fraction of a second, but I felt it. "Alice?" He looked down at me, his handsome face paper-white from blood loss, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and concern. "Who are you calling?" I didn't look at him. I switched the phone to my other hand, holding it away from him, and calmly gave the operator our address. "Alice." Sebastian's hand slid from my head to my shoulder. His grip was weak, trembling slightly. "It's okay, the kidnappers are gone. I'm here." He paused, his voice growing raspier. "You don't have to call the police. I'm sure someone already did." Such a flawless performance. Gravely injured, yet his first instinct was to comfort me, his tone a perfect blend of gentleness and restraint. He wasn't even trying to stop me directly. I met his gaze for a long moment. "I'm still reporting it," I said. "I want to tell them myself. Someone tried to kill me." Sebastian's pupils contracted. "Alice..." He opened his mouth, but his lips were pale and bloodless. He swayed, on the verge of collapsing. The ambulance and the police cruisers arrived almost at the same time. After a few brief questions from the officers, Sebastian was loaded onto a stretcher. He'd lost consciousness, the wound in his back still seeping blood, staining the better part of his white shirt a sickening crimson. The paramedics said he'd lost a dangerous amount of blood and needed to get to the hospital immediately. A young female officer escorted me to the station to give my statement. On the way, she asked if I was scared. I told her I was fine. At the station, I recounted the entire event. The officer taking my statement was diligent, asking for detailed descriptions of the attackers, filling two whole pages with notes. Finally, he closed his notebook. "Miss, we'll open a formal investigation into this. For now, you should go home and rest. We'll contact you if anything develops." I asked him a final question. "If it turns out someone staged the whole thing, would that be a crime?" The officer paused, studying me for a moment. "If it was just a setup with no real harm intended... he'd likely just get a stern warning. It depends on the specifics, of course." A stern warning. I savored the words, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. It was nearly dawn when I finally left the precinct. My parents, having gotten the news, were already waiting for me outside. My mother threw her arms around me, sobbing, while my father stood beside her, his eyes red-rimmed as he cursed the bastards who had done this. I looked at them, the memory of how Sebastian had destroyed their health in my past life flashing before my eyes. My mother's stroke, my father's heart attack—they had fallen one after the other. I wrapped my arms around my mother's waist, burying my face in her shoulder. "I'm okay, Mom," I mumbled. This time, I would be. Back home, I lay in bed, my mind a storm of memories from my previous life. Back then, at this exact moment, I was at the hospital, doting on Sebastian. I brought him food and water, staying by his side day and night. My mother had come to visit, her heart breaking for me. "Why are you so devoted to a stranger?" she'd cried. "He's not a stranger," I'd told her. "He's the man I'm going to marry." And I did. At the wedding, my father placed my hand in Sebastian's. "This is my only daughter, Lockwood," he'd said, his voice thick with emotion. "You take good care of her." Sebastian, ever the gentleman, smiled warmly. "You have my word, sir. I will." Three months into our marriage, he had me sign over all my shares in the family company. "You're not well, darling," he'd cooed. "Don't you worry about these things. Let me handle it." I believed him. I signed away every last share my parents had given me, barely glancing at the transfer agreements. Whatever he put in front of me, I signed. By the time I realized those shares were gone for good, my father had already been hospitalized from the shock and betrayal. Sebastian had conspired with other board members, slowly eating away at my father's control until the company was his. 2 "Where are your shares?" my father had asked me from his hospital bed. "I gave them to Sebastian," I'd whispered. My father closed his eyes, silent for a long, heavy moment. Soon after, my mother collapsed, too. I went to Sebastian then, fell to my knees, and clutched at his trousers, sobbing. "Please, give the company back to my dad. I'm begging you." He sat on the sofa, smoking a cigarette, watching me through the haze. The look on his face—cold, distant, triumphant—is seared into my memory. I try not to think about what came next. He had me committed, telling everyone I'd lost my mind, that I was suffering from severe persecutory delusions. He cut me off from my family, isolated me from my friends. The man I called my husband visited once a month, staring at me through a pane of reinforced glass, his face a blank mask. A year of tranquilizers. My body wasted away, my arms a roadmap of needle marks. My muscles atrophied until I couldn't even turn over in bed. I died on that bed, the one with the permanent restraints. No one knew. No one came. But now, here I was, sitting by that same window in my childhood room. Twenty years old. Alive, healthy, and terrifyingly lucid. My phone buzzed. A text from Sebastian. He was awake, asking if I was okay, if I was scared. He said he'd come see me as soon as he was better. In my last life, he destroyed my family for his own gain. Reporting him to the police was a dead end; there was no concrete proof. Even if they found the two hired thugs, they would never betray Sebastian, and even if they did, he would deny everything. He'd even boasted to me once that he'd "taken care of them" afterward. No witnesses. If the law couldn't touch him, I would. I wouldn't let him drain my family dry. I wouldn't give him a single chance to lock me away. I would make him taste the cold, bitter dregs of having nothing. What he did to me, I would return to him, piece by painful piece. I stared at his text for a few seconds, then slowly typed out a reply. "You just focus on getting better, Sebastian. I'll make some soup and bring it to you this afternoon." I hit send. That afternoon, I prepared a hearty beef stew, poured it into a thermos, and took a cab to the hospital. When I pushed open the door to his room, Sebastian was propped up against the pillows, his face turned toward the window. The sunlight caught the line of his jaw, his long lashes casting soft shadows on his cheek. He was in a hospital gown, a bandage wrapped around his neck. He was still pale, but he looked much better than he had yesterday. When he saw me, the corners of his eyes crinkled, a slow smile spreading across his face. "What are you doing here?" His voice was still a little hoarse, but it was laced with pleased surprise and a hint of concern. "You went through such an ordeal. You should be at home resting." I walked over, setting the thermos on the nightstand. As I opened it, the rich aroma of the stew filled the room. I ladled a bowlful, offering it to him. I kept my eyes downcast, my voice deliberately soft. "I was worried about you. You lost so much blood... all for me." As he took the bowl, his fingertips brushed against the back of my hand. He paused, then gently enclosed my hand in his. "Alice." He looked at me, his gaze impossibly tender. "No one will ever hurt you again. I promise." I met his eyes for a second before looking away, feigning a bashful blush. "You should eat your stew before it gets cold." He chuckled and began to eat. I sat on the edge of his bed, watching him, just as I had during those long days in the hospital in my past life. I'd fed him spoon by spoon back then, too. Every time, he'd smile and say, "You're so good to me, Alice. I'll spend the rest of my life taking care of you." The old me had melted at those words, convinced I'd found my soulmate. The new me wondered if a single true word had ever passed his lips. He finished the stew and set the bowl aside, leaning back against his pillows to watch me. "By the way," he said, "the police questioned me yesterday. They said they're going to keep investigating. They think if they can find those two thugs, they can get them to name whoever was behind it." 3 I said it casually, but my eyes were fixed on his face from the corner of my vision. His hand, which had been resting on the empty bowl, froze for an instant. Then, as if nothing had happened, he placed the bowl on the nightstand and turned to me, his expression calm and composed. "That's good. People like that need to be caught before they can hurt anyone else." "I think so, too," I said, smiling sweetly at him. He smiled back. I stayed at the hospital for nearly two hours. Before I left, Sebastian held my hand, his voice pleading. "Alice, can you come visit me every day? It gets so lonely in here." "Of course," I said. He beamed. The moment I stepped out of his room, my smile vanished. A window at the end of the hall was open, and the October wind whipped through, carrying a chill that cut to the bone. I stood there for a moment, leaning against the sill, piecing everything together in my mind. In his world, I was still the same naive Alice, utterly captivated by his heroic rescue. I was simple, easy to fool, and completely devoted to him. He would follow his script: approach me, woo me, marry me, and then take everything I had. I wouldn't stop him from pursuing me. In fact, I would help him. Because the only way to win this game was to let him think he was in control, to let him move his pieces onto the board so I could capture them, one by one. The next day, I returned to the hospital with more homemade soup. The day after that, and the day after that. Sebastian's color returned, his wound healed quickly, and soon he was able to walk around his room. On the fifth day, there was someone else in his room. A woman in her forties, plainly dressed, sat by his bed, holding his hand with red-rimmed eyes. When I entered, she stood and gave me a thorough once-over. "Mom, this is Alice, the girl I told you about," Sebastian said from his bed, a proud smile on his face. "Alice, this is my mother." I had met his mother in my past life, but much later. By then, I was already married into the Lockwood family. She was always polite but distant. I never heard her say a harsh word to my face, but I once overheard her telling Sebastian in private, "Her family has money, yes, but it's not your money. You need to find a way to get your hands on it." The comment had passed me by then. Now, it echoed with sinister meaning. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lockwood," I said, my voice sweet and respectful, placing the thermos on the table. "I didn't know you were coming, I only brought enough for Sebastian." His mother glanced at me. "Don't mind me," she said, her tone flat as she sat back down. "You two talk. I'm going to get some water." After she left, a brief silence filled the room. Sebastian beckoned me over. I sat on the edge of the bed, and he pulled an envelope from under his pillow, handing it to me. "What's this?" I opened it. Inside was a greeting card with a bouquet of roses on the cover. I flipped it open. A few lines were written inside in Sebastian's elegant script. "Alice, thank you for everything these past few days. Meeting you is the best thing that's ever happened to me. —Sebastian" It was simple, not quite a love letter, but I knew what it was. It was a lure. In my past life, he had showered me with these small, thoughtful gestures, slowly and methodically reeling me in. I looked up at him. He was watching me, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. "Sebastian," I said, holding the card, my voice a soft, gentle whisper. "What does this mean?" He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a monumental decision, and took my hand in his. His palm was large, his fingers strong, his grip firm enough to hold me but not so tight as to feel forceful. "Alice," he said, his eyes locked on mine. "I'm in love with you. I have been for a long time." A long time. A cold laugh echoed in my mind, but on my face was a perfect picture of shocked, blushing delight. My eyes welled with tears, and I sniffled, looking up at him with a trembling voice. "Sebastian, I'm in love with you, too." 4 He blinked, surprised, then a radiant smile broke across his face. He reached out and gently ruffled my hair. I didn't flinch. I let him. Let him believe he had me right where he wanted me. Let him think Alice was still that same foolish girl, ready to give her life to the man who had supposedly saved it. As his fingers combed through my hair, I did a quick calculation in my head. Last time, he had gutted our family business, walking away with hundreds of millions. Twenty years of my father's blood, sweat, and tears, all swallowed whole. My mother's inheritance, my father's shares, every asset to my name—wiped out. This time, I was getting it all back, with interest. For the next week, I was a fixture at the hospital. Sebastian's recovery was swift. In less than two weeks, his stitches were out, and the doctor said he could be discharged after a few more days of observation. The night before he was set to leave, he had a nurse help him book a reservation at a restaurant. He wanted to take me out to a proper dinner, he said, to thank me for taking care of him. He chose a quiet Italian place near campus. Throughout the meal, his eyes never left me. He cut my steak, refilled my water, and asked me about all my favorite things, claiming he wanted to memorize every detail about me. "Alice," he began, his tone serious. "There's something I need to ask you." "What is it?" "I want to marry you." The words came a few days earlier than I'd expected. My fork clattered against my plate. I looked up at him, my voice a small, disbelieving whisper. "What did you say?" "I said, I want to marry you," he repeated, his voice firmer now. He reached across the table and took my hand. "Alice, I know we're young, but I can't wait. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?" "I will," I whispered, tears streaming down my face, tracing a salty path to my lips. "Oh, Sebastian, I will." He smiled, a tender, loving smile, and reached out to wipe my tears away. His thumb was gentle as it brushed my cheek. But I wasn't crying tears of joy. I was crying for the girl I used to be. The twenty-year-old girl who had sat at this very table, heard these very words, and cried these very tears. She had been so genuinely happy, so certain she was the luckiest woman in the world, so sure that this man would cherish her forever. She had no idea what kind of monster she was marrying. It was almost eleven when Sebastian walked me home. The streetlight at the entrance to my neighborhood cast his shadow long and dark on the pavement. He stood under the light, watching until I was safely inside, then waved. When I got in, my parents were still awake. My dad was on the sofa reading the paper, and my mom was folding laundry on the balcony. I slipped off my shoes and sat down next to my dad. After a moment's hesitation, I spoke. "Dad, Mom... Sebastian asked me to marry him tonight." 5 My father's newspaper slipped from his grasp. My mother rushed in from the balcony, a half-folded shirt still in her hand, her voice an octave higher than usual. "What? He proposed? You've barely known him a month!" "He saved my life. If it weren't for him, I might be dead." These were the exact words I had used last time. Back then, my father had fallen silent, and my mother had said no more. They couldn't argue with it. In their eyes, Sebastian was my savior. A marriage, while impulsive, wasn't entirely incomprehensible. This time, my father fell silent again. My mother, too, held her tongue. But I knew what they were thinking. They didn't like Sebastian. My father set his paper down, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His voice was heavy. "Do you really know him, Alice? Do you know anything about his family? Have you even considered if his feelings for you are genuine?" "I know what you're worried about," I said, leaning over and resting my head on my father's shoulder. "But Dad... how can I not trust a man who was willing to die for me?" My father sighed, a deep, weary sound. Across from us, my mother's lips parted as if to speak, but she said nothing. In my heart, I apologized to them. But this was the only way. If I didn't marry Sebastian, he would never show his true colors. I would never have the chance to take back what was mine. Only by drawing him into the trap of marriage could I begin to repay him for everything he had done. The next morning, I called Sebastian, my voice bubbling with fake excitement, and told him my parents had more or less agreed. He was ecstatic, promising to have his parents come over immediately to formally discuss the engagement. "But, Sebastian," I said, my tone shifting to one of hesitation. "My parents agreed, but... they have one condition." "What is it?" His voice was still warm, but I detected a new note of caution. "The dowry. My parents said they aren't the kind of people to sell their daughter, but tradition is tradition. They want this much." I named a number. A very large number. Three seconds of dead silence on the other end of the line. In my last life, I hadn't asked for a single penny. My parents had given Sebastian a generous gift and even bought him a condo in the city as a thank-you for saving me. I had thought it was only right. He'd saved my life; of course my parents should be good to him. This time, I was going to make him pay for it all. "That's... a significant amount," Sebastian finally said, his voice a little tight, though he struggled to maintain his gentle tone. "Alice, my business is just getting started. I can't pull together that much cash right now." "I know," I replied immediately, my voice soft and tinged with hurt. "I told them that. I told them your family isn't wealthy, that you couldn't afford it. But my mother... she said if you can't provide, you can't marry me. And she said something else... something I was afraid to tell you." "What?" "She said, 'He may have saved her, but who's to say that wasn't part of some plan? I won't let some outsider get his hands on the company your father built his entire life for.'"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "428898", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel