Three months into my marriage with Julian, I slit my wrists. As my soul drifted in the air. I expected to see him weeping, searching the world for me, or at the very least, kneeling at my grave, repenting, clutching my corpse day and night. Just like in those trashy romance novels—the CEO, at the top of the world, groveling for his dead wife, his hair turning white overnight, his company bankrupt, with nothing left but to follow her in death. But none of that happened. Julian just looked at my body and said, "What a hassle." He didn't regret it. There was no groveling. Instead, my death just opened up a spot for his little orphan, Chloe, who slipped right into the role of Mrs. Julian. I looked down at the knife in my hand. Time rewound to the day of the suicide. Why should I be the one to die? I was never the one who deserved it. I dropped the knife. I walked out of the room. Before Julian could move Chloe into our marital home, I signed my name on the divorce papers. 1 The sting of pain made me realize I was back. The memories of my death flashed through my mind. I had tried to kill myself because of a text Chloe sent me thirty minutes earlier. A photo. Her on top, Julian on the bottom. An intimate, suggestive pose in the cramped, quiet space of a car. I was furious. I called Julian, over and over. He didn't pick up. Then he just started declining my calls. Everyone in the city knew I loved Julian to death. That I couldn't live without him. They even nicknamed me "Maya, the beautiful psycho." At that moment, the thought of Julian with another woman made me lose my mind. I quickly made a new group chat, added all our mutual friends, and announced I was going to kill myself. Everyone in the group told me to calm down. Only Julian replied with two cold words: "Go ahead." Those two words shattered my nerves. I was so desperate for just one tiny scrap of love from him that I actually live-streamed my suicide attempt. In the video chat, all my friends were horrified. Julian finally reacted. He muttered "psycho" under his breath and sped back. He was finally coming back to me, leaving that other woman. It was wonderful. He could only be mine. But I'd cut too deep. I actually died. As my soul drifted, I was desperate to see him realize his love for me, to see him hold my body and suffer. But he did nothing. He just had me cremated. A month later, he married Chloe, letting her usurp my position. This suicide attempt taught me one thing: loving yourself is better than loving any man. Julian, I'm done loving you. Chloe's text was still on my phone. I wasn't polite in my reply. "Julian likes to be the one on top. He's not into your aggressive-looking 'moves.'" She didn't reply. I walked out of the bathroom and threw all my suicide tools into the trash. Ten years of trailing after him, begging for scraps of affection, only to trap myself. It wasn't worth it. I sent Julian a text. "The divorce papers just need your signature." 2 Julian got home fast. His first words: "Not dead yet? Trying a new tactic? Divorce?" His sarcastic digs were, technically, true. In my last life, the only reason I’d managed to marry him was because of our families' business partnership. The Miller family company was on the verge of bankruptcy. Me marrying him meant my family, the Shaws, were basically giving them a blood transfusion to fill their bottomless pit. So, every time I threatened divorce, Julian would cave. Back then, I thought his compromise was love. The only love he had for me. Now I knew it wasn't love. It was leverage. He was caving to protect the Miller family's bottom line. I got my emotions in check, just in time to see Chloe standing behind him. Chloe. Two years younger than me. The girl the Millers had adopted from an orphanage. She and Julian had grown up together. Childhood sweethearts. How could I have ever been stupid enough to think, like in a novel, that the "new girl" could ever beat the "childhood sweetheart"? Besides, I was never the "new girl." In Julian's eyes, I was just "Maya, the beautiful psycho." I handed him the divorce papers. "Sign it." Julian laughed, tore the document in half, and tossed it aside. "Chloe's moving in. She'll be taking the master bedroom. You got a problem with that?" A problem? How could I dare? In my last life, it happened just like this. Chloe insisted on having our master bedroom. I refused, so she had to sleep in the guest room. She ended up "falling" out the window. She claimed the guest bed was too close to the sliding glass door and she "just... slipped." Sure. "Slipped." What normal person sleeps with their balcony door wide open? Julian blamed me for it. He said, "to teach me a lesson," he locked me in the guest-closet. No food, no water. By the time he remembered I was in there, I was barely breathing. My best friend was furious. "Divorce him, Maya. If you keep this up, that bastard is going to kill you." But my brain was broken. I actually argued with her. "If he's a bastard, why is he only a bastard to me?" "Why does he only want to kill me?" "It's because he loves me. He loves me to death." After hearing that, my friends started to drift away. Thinking about it now... God, I was a moron. Since Chloe loved to play "cuckoo in the nest" so much, I decided to just give her the nest. "Fine." I agreed, my voice calm. 3 Chloe's eyes flashed with surprise. All the drama she'd prepared was suddenly useless. She looked me up and down, then tugged on Julian's arm. "Julian... that other thing..." she said, trailing off. Julian pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. The gesture was so academic, so elegant. I used to be obsessed with that "sexy intellectual" look. Now I realize I was so sick, I'd have found a golden retriever in glasses attractive. Julian spoke. "Chloe's health isn't great, and we're trying for a baby. You'll take care of her for the next two weeks. You studied nursing, didn't you?" I did. For him. Back when his family's company was imploding, he was drinking himself sick at client dinners. He ended up in the hospital for two weeks with a torn stomach lining. They couldn't afford a private nurse, so I taught myself. I stayed by his bed, never sleeping. If he so much as shifted, I was there with water. If he turned, I was massaging his back. I was more attentive than a hospice nurse. I thought he'd remember my kindness. He just remembered I was a free caregiver. I agreed again, but this time, with a condition. "Julian, give me back the three Shaw family corporate seals I gave you. Then I'll do it." Those three seals were what had resurrected his company. I'd married him and moved across the country. My parents, in Chicago, had been dead-set against it. They gave me the seals as a last resort. They said, "With these, every one of our partners in this city will give the Millers a meeting." They also told me, "The day you ask for these back, we'll be on the next flight to get you." When I gave them to Julian, I made him promise to carry them. They were his key to the city. In my last life, I'd asked for them back once. He'd pointed a finger in my face and screamed. "Maya, who the hell do you Shaws think you are? You think these 'seals' are magic? We don't need your family. The Millers can rise again on their own!" That's when I learned: you can't domesticate a wolf. You can't warm a heart of stone. He didn't want them? Fine. Julian sneered and pulled one from his breast pocket, tossing it on the table. "Here's one. You'll get the other two, one per week." I knew what that meant. I had to take perfect care of Chloe for fourteen days. Once I had them, I'd be gone. My parents would handle the divorce. I let go of all the love I'd ever had for him. I couldn't wait to see if Chloe would still love him, her one and only, when he was just a man drowning in debt. 4 So, for the next few days, Chloe lived with us. The "trying for a baby" thing... last time, that news had put me in the hospital. It triggered a psychotic break. Because, of course, the baby they were "trying" for was Julian's. Chloe had spun this story about being a devout... something-or-other... and how she owed the Millers a life-debt. Since Julian was married to me, and I was barren after three years, she couldn't bear to see the Miller line end. She would "sacrifice" herself. She would be their surrogate. It was all a lie. It was just old-fashioned adultery. She sent me photos and videos. Every. Single. Day. I was stimulated to the point of vomiting blood. I'd shown up at his office, a wreck. Disheveled, skeletal, my hair falling out. He was in an international board meeting. I burst in, screaming, ruining the deal, and clung to his leg, begging him to love me, begging him to give me a baby. I'd actually said, "I promise, my baby will be smarter and better than hers!" That stunt ruined his reputation. He'd had me locked up. When I wouldn't stop screaming, he had me committed. He only let me out when I'd been "re-educated" by the staff at the mental hospital. It still hurts to even think about it. Why did I debase myself like that? The irony was, Chloe didn't know the real reason we didn't have kids. My parents had done their research. The Miller family had a nasty genetic disorder. The children were often born with severe disabilities or brain damage. So, to get my seals back, I became the most dedicated nurse in the world. 8:00 AM. I'd have the kitchen prepare bird's-nest soup and bring it to her. Chloe would take one sip, then dump it on my arm. "This is trash. I'm telling Julian." I endured. Noon. I hired a specialist to come and apply moisturizing oils, to help her "glow." Chloe demanded I do it. "Maya, are you sure your delicate, rich-girl hands can handle this?" I endured. 10:00 PM. Julian would come home, and he and Chloe would go into the bedroom. Julian would look at me, his face a mask of "regret." "Maya... it's all for the family. You love me. You understand, right?" I'd stand outside the door, listening to their "efforts," while I took a call from my parents. "Maya, we got the second seal." "Are you... are you ready to come home?" One more to go. One more seal, and every single contract the Miller company had signed in three years would be void. All of them were stamped with my family's authority. Our partners only recognized the Shaws. I stood at the door, peeking through the crack at the two of them. I smiled. "Mom, Dad. Come get me in one week."
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