"If you could live your life over, would you still marry your wife?" "No." That was the answer Zeke Crawford, age 47, gave during a media interview. Overnight, it went viral. The marriage I had carefully nurtured for twenty years, the greatest achievement of my life, was shattered into a ridiculous farce by that single word. Trapped and humiliated, I was contemplating my next move when a car crash sent us hurtling back in time, back to the year we first met. I was 24. We were at a formal meeting arranged by our families, a prelude to a merger-masquerading-as-marriage. Suddenly, Zeke stood up, cutting his mother off mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, Miss Astor," he said, his voice firm, "but I have a girlfriend. We're done here." My expression didn't flicker. As he turned and strode toward the door, I called out to his retreating back. "Then, Mr. Crawford, I suppose this is goodbye for good." His footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. He didn't turn around. He just quickened his pace and walked out of my life. 01 My new morning routine began with yoga in the courtyard, followed by feeding the koi in our pond. After a slow, leisurely breakfast, I finally picked up my phone. As expected, it was flooded with messages. Inquiries, expressions of concern, morbid curiosity, and of course, those who were just here to watch the spectacle unfold. I knew this would happen the moment Zeke’s interview aired last night. It wasn't surprising. As a titan in the world of high finance, his personal conduct had always been an anomaly. He didn't smoke or drink, never gambled, and steered clear of scandals. In every public appearance, at every event, the only woman the cameras ever captured by his side was me, his legitimate wife. Over time, the legend of Zeke Crawford and his devoted wife became a celebrated tale in our circle—a story of deep love and perfect harmony. But now, on the cusp of fifty, he had personally confessed to the world that our two decades of marriage were, for him, a source of profound regret. What a regret, indeed. 02 After two days, with neither of the involved parties making a statement, the media frenzy began to die down. But Zeke never offered me a single word of explanation. It seemed my feelings weren't a factor in his considerations. For a woman of my standing, being tactful and understanding the bigger picture were basic requirements. I had always played my part perfectly. But now, a rebellious spark I hadn't felt in years ignited within me. In the car on the way to a gala, I was the one to break the heavy silence. "It's Gwen, isn't it?" I kept my voice even. "She's back, so you're desperate to prove something." He was reviewing a financial report. At my words, the index finger resting on his tailored trousers curled involuntarily. It was a minuscule movement, but after years of sharing a life, I knew it was a tell. He was guilty. So it really was Gwen. What a romantic fool he was. The ghost of a first love, a flame that had burned in his heart for so many years, undying and brilliant. And me? I wasn't even a bloodstain on the wall. Just a decorative piece, a wife he'd married out of familial duty. He heard my soft, derisive laugh and finally turned to face me. "Ari, don't overthink it. This has nothing to do with anyone else." God, I hated that placid, unreadable face of his. It made everything I did, everything I felt, seem like a childish tantrum. "You're right," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "She's not just anyone. She's the love of your life. My mistake, for being the placeholder for twenty years." His brow furrowed, and he let out a sigh of weary resignation. He placed his large, warm hand over mine, a classic maneuver to deflect and pacify. "If you're not feeling up to it, we can go home. We don't have to attend the gala tonight." But I was done being placated. "So, it is because of her, isn't it? Because of Gwen, you can't even be bothered to grant me the slightest bit of public decency anymore." "Ariadne! Stop it." He cut me off, his voice dropping low, laced with annoyance. I knew that tone. When a man starts evading the question, you've hit a nerve. But my patience had reached its absolute limit. I ripped my hand from his grasp and, with all the force I could muster, I slapped him across the face. I had wanted to do that for a very, very long time. "Let's get a divorce, Zeke!" My voice was a raw, ragged thing. "I am so sick and tired of you!" "If there really is a next life, I would never marry you again! I would rather have died at twenty-four than ever have met you!" His head snapped to the side from the unexpected blow. He turned back slowly, his eyes wide with a dazed sort of shock. "What did you just say?" What did I say? Are you deaf? Of course, you're an expert at playing deaf and dumb. It didn't matter anymore. We were getting a divorce. An end to this absurd, laughable marriage. You don't have to wait for the next life, Zeke. In this one, you can finally be with whoever you want. … "Watch out!" … CRUNCH! … The last thing I remember before darkness took me was the image of Zeke lunging toward me. It was seared into my memory because I had never, ever seen such a vivid, terrified expression on his face. So much so that when I awoke at that fateful meeting at age 24, my first instinct was to ask him: Why? When death was upon us, why did you throw yourself in front of me? 03 But Zeke moved faster than my thoughts could form. He shot to his feet, interrupting his mother's carefully prepared introduction. His deep-set eyes found mine across the table. "I'm sorry, Miss Astor, but I have a girlfriend. We're done here." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving both our families sitting in stunned, humiliated silence. I knew, in that instant. He was back, too. Fate was truly kind to him. Handsome, wealthy. And now, a second chance at life. I laughed at myself, at my own foolish sentimentality. And I laughed because, thanks to him, I was 24 again. Just before he reached the door, I called out to him. "Then, Mr. Crawford, I suppose this is goodbye for good." He paused for a beat, but didn't look back. He just walked out. This time, he would go find his one true love. And I… I would finally live for myself—wildly, passionately, and freely. No longer would I be the one to trade my ambitions for an apron. No longer the dutiful wife of Mr. So-and-so. And never again would I be a beautiful, docile accessory on a man's arm. 04 With my life reset, my days became a whirlwind of fulfilling activity. I was busy prepping my application for Oxford, busy launching my own artisanal coffee shop. Busy raising a dog and taking my cat for walks. Freed from the rush to marry, I discovered the vast, liberating world outside the gilded cage. In that first year, Zeke and I never crossed paths. I didn't seek out news of him, but our world was small. The same people, the same stories, always circling back. I heard he followed Gwen to the States. I heard his father, the patriarch of the Crawford family, was furious and stripped him of all his positions at the family corporation. I heard he returned with Gwen and started his own investment firm. And I heard he was planning a grand proposal. Good for him. The difference between being loved and not being loved was starkly, painfully obvious. 05 Gwen had been coming to my coffee shop for several days in a row. Each time, she would order a single cup and sit for hours at a corner table by the window. I could occasionally feel her gaze on me, sizing me up. But the 24-year-old Ariadne Astor had no reason to know a Gwen. If she wasn't going to make the first move, I wasn't going to acknowledge her. She was, after all, paying customer. On the fifth day, during a quiet afternoon, she finally approached the counter. She tapped her manicured nails on the polished wood. "Miss Astor. We need to talk." The last person who spoke to me with that tone was my boss during my internship. She certainly had my attention. I raised an eyebrow, but my hands didn't stop polishing a glass. "Have a seat. I'll be with you in a moment." A few minutes later, I brought a freshly brewed coffee over to her table. "Try this. It's a unique blend, not on the menu. You might like it." She looked surprised. "You know who I am?" Of course I did. In our previous life, I had probably spent more time secretly looking at the photograph of her tucked away in Zeke’s books than he ever did. I knew about the tiny, almost invisible mole above her left eyebrow. I nodded and pointed to my own eyes. "You've been sitting in that exact spot for five days." She gave a tight smile, taking a sip of the coffee to hide her awkwardness. Her brow furrowed, and she quickly put the cup down. It was probably too bitter for her. She dispensed with the pleasantries. Reaching into her designer bag, she pulled out a checkbook, wrote out a blank check, and slid it across the table. "Name your price, Miss Astor. To stay away from Zeke." I was speechless. Her methods were surprisingly similar to Zeke’s. I picked up the check with both hands, studying it with mock seriousness. Since she was offering, it would be rude to refuse. Now, what number to write… I picked up the pen and scribbled a string of digits, then pushed it back to her. It wasn't that much. Zeke would just have to work a little harder. As I recalled, in about five years, he should be able to afford it. In twenty years, he could probably multiply it by a hundred. 06 Her face darkened as she read the number on the check. "Miss Astor, your appetite is a little… excessive, don't you think?" I feigned innocence. "Is it? I thought it was rather reasonable." "A hundred million dollars! You have some nerve!" She was so easily shocked. "I'd have the nerve to ask for a billion, too." My gaze rested on her beautiful, delicate face. She was undeniably stunning, with an air of defiant confidence. I picked up my own cup and took a slow, appreciative sip. She had no idea what she was missing. I rarely brought out beans of this quality. Not because they were expensive, but because the yield was incredibly low. In my last life, Zeke had been a coffee aficionado with a ridiculously picky palate. Nothing bought from a store ever met his standards. I spent years studying his preferences, experimenting with hundreds of beans from different origins, and adjusting the roasting methods countless times. Finally, one day, I earned a single nod of approval from him. For the next twenty years, brewing his coffee became my daily ritual. Thinking of the past left a bitter taste in my mouth. I had no energy to play games with the woman in front of me anymore. "You should go," I said flatly. "I have nothing to do with Zeke Crawford. We had one disastrous arranged meeting where he made it clear he wasn't interested in me." Her composure cracked. "Don't play dumb with me, Miss Astor!" she snapped. "If there's nothing between you, then why does he call out your name when he's drunk?" "I don't know when you two got involved, but I suggest you show some self-respect. Zeke and I have been together for four years. We are getting married." I… I must have owed Zeke a cosmic debt. A lifetime of servitude clearly wasn't enough; he had to come back and ruin this one, too. 07 Zeke arrived just as Gwen and I were locked in a standoff. "Miss Astor, the coffee here is terrible. I'm surprised you're still in business." I leaned back, a lazy smile on my face, and spread my hands. "If you cash that check you wrote me, I won't have to worry about being in business at all." My casual amusement must have provoked her. In a dramatic gesture, she snatched her coffee cup and flung its contents at me. I narrowed my eyes, bracing for impact. I really shouldn't have given her so much face. But the scalding liquid never hit me. Zeke appeared out of nowhere, throwing himself in front of me, taking the full force of the splash. The hot, dark coffee streamed down his hair and dripped from the lapels of his expensive suit. In this life and the last, it was the first time I had ever seen him look so utterly disheveled. But I felt no gratitude. This whole mess was his fault to begin with. If he hadn't intervened, my vengeful nature would have ensured I returned the favor tenfold. Gwen was even more shocked than I was. The moment Zeke appeared, she shot up from her seat. "Zeke, what are you doing?" she shrieked. "Why would you block that for her? Are you insane?" "What is going on between you two?" She crossed her arms, ignoring the mess dripping all over him, her furious gaze darting between us, searching for any sign of collusion. See? Zeke always had a way of driving the women around him mad. It used to be me. Now it was her. Only this time, it had nothing to do with me. The person who needed to explain and clarify was not me. I pushed my chair back with a look of distaste and took several steps away. I had someone bring Zeke a clean towel and then prepared to leave. I had been given a second chance, and I had no intention of getting entangled in their drama again. "Ariadne, don't you dare leave! You explain yourself!" Gwen yelled, losing her composure as I started to walk away. My face went cold, and I shot her a look as sharp as a blade. "Have I been too polite to you? So much so that you've forgotten your place? Your man's issues are none of my business." My voice dropped. "You should be grateful that coffee didn't touch me." … "Enough!" Zeke’s sharp reprimand cut through the tension. He pressed his fingers to his temple. It was an old habit, a stress-induced migraine that flared up when he was overworked or agitated. In our last life, I had spent years seeking out specialists and even learned therapeutic massage techniques from a master practitioner just to help him find relief. He seemed to remember it, too. His eyes met mine for a fleeting second before he quickly looked away. I guessed he felt a pang of guilt. "Ariadne, I'm sorry. Could you please give us a moment?" He then gestured to the empty cup on the table. "And could you bring another coffee, the same as this one?" I gave him a withering look. "Sorry, that blend isn't on the menu." And sorry, I'm not serving you. If you think you're drinking coffee made by my hands in this lifetime, you can dream on. 08 Gwen wanted to continue the argument, but Zeke took her by the hand and gently pushed her back into the booth. I had to admire his patience, sitting there covered in coffee stains while he calmed her down. A part of me laughed bitterly at the woman I used to be. I don't know what he said to her, but after shooting me a few more dirty looks, she grabbed her bag and stormed out. I idly flicked the paw of the little lucky cat figurine on the counter. Zeke came over to pay. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low. "I never expected she would find you here. She's still young, a bit impulsive… don't take it to heart." I paused, momentarily confused by his words. When I understood, I was almost speechless. I shrugged nonchalantly. "If you can get her to cash that check, I won't mind at all." He stood across from me, his posture impeccable, his lips pressed into a thin line. The aura of authority he commanded seemed at odds with his youthful, 24-year-old face. Just when I thought the conversation was over, he let out an almost imperceptible sigh. "Ariadne, if you ever need help, I can…" "I don't." I cut him off, my patience wearing thin. "Your girlfriend is waiting outside. I suggest you handle this. I don't want to see either of you in my shop again." For a moment, I thought I saw a flash of hurt in his eyes. I must have been mistaken. He was always invincible. No one could hurt him, least of all me—someone he never cared about. "Alright," he finally said, and with a steady gait, he left. 09 After months of focused effort, my IELTS results came back. A score of 8. I submitted my application to the University of Oxford. In my last life, I had walked into the gilded cage of marriage at a young age. Zeke said he wanted a supportive wife, so I dutifully turned down every job offer, dedicating myself entirely to managing his life. To me, building a strong marriage and a good home was a noble pursuit, just as it had been for my mother. I naturally assumed that even in an arranged marriage, love could grow. Or, more accurately, that I could make him fall in love with me. But I forgot that a canary, no matter how prized, is destined to live in a cage, admired at the owner's whim. Fed when he's pleased, ignored when he's not. It has no other value, no chance to fly free. When my parents learned of my plans, they were surprised by my transformation, but since it was a positive change, they were supportive. My brother was handling the family business, so they didn't need me. As for the marriage alliance, a delay of a few years wasn't a problem. Perhaps with a degree from Oxford, I could secure an even better match. My family loved me. But their love always came with a price tag attached. I wasn't sad about it. I had, after all, enjoyed the luxurious life they provided. While waiting for a response from the university, I poured all my energy into the coffee shop. This little place wasn't worth much in their eyes, but to me, it was a testament to my own value.
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