It was the third year I’d been bound to the Maxwell name, serving out my debt. The third year I belonged to Sloan Maxwell. That’s when I decided to leave. I managed to acquire a slow-acting poison, injected it, and walked alone to the edge of the city’s oldest bridge. I thought I would finally die in peace, a quiet exit from the endless storm. But a Rolls-Royce Ghost cut through the sheet of rain and screeched to a stop beside me. The tinted window lowered, revealing the exquisite, cold face that had captivated countless men. “Get the client in the car.” I was practically thrown into the back seat, my sodden clothes soaking the expensive leather in a flash. Sloan didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she gripped my jaw, her thumb rubbing away the rain streaking my forehead. “If you were truly determined to die, you should have chosen a more private way,” she murmured, her voice silk over steel. “Otherwise, I will always find you before death does.” “Will you? I think this time, you’re too late.” Watching the blood bubble from my mouth, a flicker of genuine panic—a rare and startling thing—crossed Sloan’s eyes. “Asher Reed, you have not finished paying for the sin you inflicted on Owen. I forbid you to die!” She summoned the best doctors money could buy, but it was useless. My consciousness was already sinking. In the haze, my mind flashed back to the night that changed everything. Sloan had been standing beneath the fireworks, smiling at me, her phone vibrating in her hand, unseen. Later, she would say it was my selfish insistence that made her miss the final desperate plea from Owen, trapped in the fire. My sin was needing her. My life was supposed to be the payment. I thought, I have paid the full price. But then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the very first day I met her. She was standing there, a girl in a white sundress, like a dew-kissed gardenia in the summer, smiling and waving. I fled like a man possessed. This time, I would not let our lives become entangled. Never again. 1 I ran until my lungs burned, finally leaning, trembling, against an old maple tree on the roadside. I scanned my surroundings frantically. On this exact day in the previous life, I had dropped a prized steel fountain pen. Sloan had picked it up. “Excuse me, classmate, you dropped this.” Just that one look, and I was irretrievably lost. I followed her like a shadow, chasing the faint hope of a fleeting smile. But she remained aloof, a beautiful, perfect statue. I was naive enough to think my relentless passion could eventually melt her cold composure. I poured all my teenage longing into my best friend, Owen Bell. I dragged him to watch Sloan play tennis, pointing to the most radiant girl on the court. “See that? That’s the one I love.” I was full of innocent joy, introducing the two most important people in my life to each other. I was too blind to see the lightning-fast spark of tenderness in Sloan’s cold eyes when she looked at Owen. I missed the complex, unspoken things in Owen’s gaze whenever I brought her up. There was already a current, an undertow of feeling between them that I knew nothing about. I was the clueless fool standing on the shore. On my twentieth birthday, I mustered every ounce of courage and asked her out. “Sloan, could you… could you spend the evening with me for my birthday?” I expected the usual excuses, the polite refusal. But she said yes. She arranged for a spectacular firework display, igniting the night sky in bursts of blinding, dazzling light. I stood there, mesmerized by her elegant profile, illuminated by the flashes of fire. I felt like the luckiest man alive, and I even asked, foolishly: “Sloan, how did you know I love fireworks?” She didn’t answer. All the fireworks that night were shaped like forget-me-nots. Owen’s favorite flower. She just drank with me, glass after glass. Fueled by the alcohol and the stunning light show, I finally lunged, kissing her. “Sloan, I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. Please, be my girlfriend.” Only later did I learn her true plan: she intended to use my birthday party as the setting to confess her feelings to Owen. But Owen never showed up. She stayed silent for a long time before finally agreeing to be with me. The fragile bubble of happiness lasted less than half the night. The moment she picked up her phone, she saw the emergency text from Owen. He’d been trapped in a sudden fire right before the party and had been begging her for help. “Sloan, save me.” “Sloan… I’m so scared.” She was with me, celebrating my birthday, and she missed the chance to save him forever. It became my unforgivable sin. She believed that if I hadn’t selfishly demanded she attend that damn party, if I hadn’t monopolized all her time and attention, she would have seen the message. She would have saved him. So, when Sloan graduated and took over the Maxwell family empire, the first thing she did was systematically dismantle and crush my family’s company. I fell from wealth into the deepest mire. My parents, unable to cope, both ended up in intensive care. I knelt before her, begging her to spare my parents. The cold, elegant girl of my memories stood over me, looking down. “Asher Reed, sell yourself to me. Use your life to pay the debt.” Facing the exorbitant hospital bills, I had no choice. I signed a devastating contract and became her captive husband. I thought it would buy my parents safety, but they died anyway. The day after Sloan and I formally signed the marriage certificate. I never knew if Sloan arranged it, but I never got to see them one last time. From then on, she kept me isolated in the Maxwell Estate, escalating her cruelty. I watched her kiss countless men who bore a passing resemblance to Owen, and I was thrown into the basement innumerable times for being "disobedient." She used every extreme method to punish me, slowly driving me toward a breakdown. She demanded I spend my entire life repaying a mistake I didn’t know I’d made. It wasn't until my first failed attempt at self-harm that she, as if bestowing a terrible gift, choked me and told me the truth: “Asher Reed, if it hadn’t been for you that night, I would have saved Owen. I have only ever loved him. You are only here to pay the debt for your sin.” The memory seized my chest, a fresh, sharp pain. I doubled over, clutching my heart, sinking to the ground beneath the maple tree. Since our meeting was a mistake from the very start, I prayed it would never start again. 2 I thought by avoiding the beginning of the entanglement, everything would change. But a month later, Owen burst into my studio. His face was lit up with the flush and shyness of a boy in love. He grabbed my hand. “Ash, I’m in a relationship!” A cold, heavy dread settled in my stomach. I managed a strained smile. “Oh… right? Congratulations.” “Guess who it is!” He winked playfully, not waiting for my answer, and announced the news with pure bliss: “It’s Sloan Maxwell! She asked me out. We’re officially together.” I didn't hear a word Owen said after that. My head was ringing. I almost laughed at the pathetic fool I’d been in the last life. I thought I had brought him into her life. It turned out they were destined. Whether I was there or not, they would find each other. They were the perfect pair. I was the inconvenient, extra obstacle. “Ash? Ash, what’s wrong?” Owen’s voice jolted me back. I realized my face was wet, tears streaming down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away, forcing a smile that felt worse than a grimace. “Nothing. I… I’m just so happy for you.” My purpose this time was to let them have their happiness and keep myself out of the vortex. This was enough. They had nothing to do with me. From that day on, they were inseparable. They walked the campus hand-in-hand. But Owen, still clinging to the habit of our old friendship, always wanted to bring me along. I had to invent excuse after excuse to refuse. Then, he found me one night. “Ash, Sloan’s friends are throwing a party tonight at The Gilded Room. You have to come with me. It’s my first time meeting so many of her people, and I’m a little nervous.” I instinctively shook my head. “Owen, I can’t…” “Please, Ash, my best friend.” He tugged my arm, looking at me with soft, dependent eyes. “You’re my anchor. If you don’t go, who will I talk to? Just come and keep me company, okay?” “…Okay.” The word was a struggle to breathe out, but I couldn't resist his earnest plea. I arrived with Owen at The Gilded Room right on time. The private lounge was opulent, filled with laughter, expensive clothes, and the clinking of glasses. Sloan and her friends were already there. The moment Owen saw her, he became a happy magnet, rushing to sit in the seat next to her. “Sloan, this is my friend, Ash Reed.” Sloan gave me a brief, dismissive nod, looking through me as if I were a complete stranger. I finally relaxed a fraction, choosing a seat as far away from them as possible, trying to disappear. The dinner was a refined Western affair. A plate of seared foie gras with black truffle was served. Owen reached for his cutlery, but Sloan stopped him with a slight frown. Without a word, she subtly signaled the waiter. “He doesn’t eat organ meat. Replace that with the filet mignon.” Owen looked up at her, delighted. “Sloan, you remembered that?” Sloan simply reached out and gently ran her fingers through his hair. She accepted the steak, meticulously cut it into bite-sized pieces, and placed the plate back in front of Owen. Not skilled with a knife and fork, he smiled gratefully and began to eat. I silently sliced my own foie gras, a bitter taste rising in my throat. I was severely allergic to shellfish, but in the previous life, Sloan had only watched the red welts rise on my neck after I'd accidentally eaten shrimp and mocked me: “Asher Reed, you truly are precious.” Love and indifference were always so clear. Only the previous me was blind enough to miss it, becoming a sacrificial lamb to their romance. The dinner was half over, and I needed to escape. I stood up and leaned over to Owen. “I think I’ve had a little too much to drink. I have a headache. I’m going to get some air.” Owen stood up, immediately trying to steady me. “Ash, I’ll come with you.” I quickly waved him off, telling him to stay and enjoy himself, planning to slip out and head back to campus. But as I turned, I noticed Sloan’s right thumb. She was unconsciously stroking her ring finger. That was a nervous habit she’d developed after she put on her wedding ring in the last life. Did she remember? Did she come back, too? A cold wave of terror hit me. If she was back, would she let me go this time? I didn’t dare think about it, sprinting out of the lounge and into the elevator. Just as the doors began to slide shut, a slender, pale hand shot out, blocking the mechanism. Sloan stood in the doorway, her gaze fixed on me. Gone was the cool, gentle demeanor she showed Owen. This was the dark, predatory look of my contract wife from the last life. I backed up until I slammed against the cold steel of the elevator car. “Ms. Maxwell… I truly don’t feel well. I… I need to go home.” She grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip, locking me in place. The raw, desperate memory of her breaking my arm in a moment of grief-fueled rage—and then having it reset—sent a tidal wave of fear through me. I struggled wildly. “Let me go! Sloan, let me go!” She didn't release me. Her bottomless black eyes swirled with an emotion I couldn't decipher. “Asher Reed. You came back too, didn't you?” 3 I panicked, trapped as she cornered me against the elevator wall. “Don’t pretend. Since we’ve been given a second chance, I only expect you to play your current role well. Don’t make Owen unhappy. Remember. This is what you owe him.” She cut me off, leaning in so her shadow completely enveloped me. “He’s nervous because you’re not there. Clean yourself up and go back to him.” With that, the swirling, complex emotion in her dark eyes snapped back to icy coldness. She turned abruptly, hit the lobby button, and stepped out. I couldn’t hold myself up any longer, sliding down the cold wall to the floor. A second chance. I hadn't gone near her. I hadn't even spoken to her beyond a few words. Why did she still believe I owed Owen? Why was I still the sinner? My phone vibrated. A text from Owen: “Ash, are you okay? Why are you taking so long?” Seeing his name, I quickly wiped my tears, scrambling back to my feet. At least for now, I couldn’t afford to cross this madwoman. I pushed the lounge door open. The atmosphere inside was at a fever pitch. Everyone was gathered, cheering for Sloan and Owen in the center of the room. “Owen, I love you. Will you be my boyfriend? And when we graduate, let’s get married.” Owen nodded hard, his voice thick with tears. “Yes, I will!” A deafening cheer and whistle erupted from the crowd. Owen hugged Sloan ecstatically, and as he looked up, he saw me standing outside the circle. He immediately grabbed Sloan’s hand and ran toward me. “Ash! Did you see that! Sloan, she… she proposed to me!” He was incoherent with excitement, pulling me into a massive, exuberant hug. “Ash, I’m so happy!” “You too, you absolutely have to find your own happiness. Find someone who loves you.” I silently hugged him back and nodded. “I will. We all will be happy.” But when Sloan heard that last line, her expression suddenly darkened. Owen, who was still holding my arm, tightened his grip. But when I looked at him, his smile was as sweet and joyful as ever, as if nothing had happened. The air between the three of us became heavy, awkward. After the party, Sloan drove us both back to campus in her Rolls-Royce. At the dorm entrance, Owen unbuckled his seatbelt and kissed her cheek. “Sloan, I’m heading up now. Drive safe.” Her expression softened for a fleeting moment, and she nodded. I yanked my door open and jumped out, desperate to escape her presence. Owen stood on the curb, smiling as he waved to Sloan’s car. Only when the taillights of the Rolls-Royce Ghost disappeared into the night did he suddenly call my name. Under the cold glow of the streetlamp, he looked at me, the sweetness gone from his voice. “Asher Reed. You love Sloan too, don’t you?” 4 Owen’s question was a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. “No, I don’t.” I frantically shook my head. He didn't press the issue. He just patted my shoulder. “Asher Reed, I only want you to remember that you’re my best friend, and Sloan is my fiancé. I don’t want you to do anything that will make us both regret it.” After that night, Owen stopped seeking me out, and I actively avoided both of them. For days, I didn't see either of them. Soon, my birthday arrived. Terrified of repeating the worst night of my past life, I took a leave of absence from the university and hid at my parents’ home. They were thrilled to have me back and wanted to throw a big party. I immediately refused. I barricaded myself in my room. But as dusk fell, my mother called up the stairs. “Ash, a Miss Maxwell is here to see you.” I bolted downstairs. Sloan was standing right at our front door. She wore a tailored black trench coat, radiating cold. When I reached her, the heavy, embossed invitation card in her hand was flung directly at my face. “Asher Reed. Why, in this life, are you still trying to take Owen from me?” My cheek stung. Confused, I picked up the card. It was clearly a formal invitation for "Mr. Asher Reed’s Twentieth Birthday Gala." I had no idea what she was talking about. I instantly denied it. “I didn’t do this! I haven’t planned a party!” “Do you still think you can lie?” Sloan scoffed, then tossed a handful of photographs at me. The photos showed a strange man and a stack of gasoline cans. “My people caught a man trying to set a fire outside Owen’s dorm building this afternoon.” “He claims you ordered him to do it.” “Asher Reed, how can you be so wicked! Wasn’t ruining Owen’s life once not enough for you?!” Before I could speak, her cold, furious hands clamped around my throat. “Cough… cough…” The suffocating panic of the previous life’s torture returned instantly. Sloan’s face was contorted with hatred; she genuinely wanted to kill me. Tears streamed down my face, drowned by a mix of despair and absurdity. “Sloan… even if I were still obsessed with you…” “Why would I… try the same… trick you already know?” The hands gripping my neck went rigid. The pure murderous rage in her eyes receded slightly, replaced by confusion and sharp scrutiny. Slowly, she released me. I collapsed to the floor, desperately sucking in air. “I will investigate this.” She looked down at me, her voice still an icy warning. “Asher Reed, you had better hope to God this has nothing to do with you.” “And you’re lucky. Owen is safe this time. If he weren’t, I would make sure you never saw the light of day again.” At that moment, the phone in her coat pocket began to vibrate, a frantic, insistent sound. Sloan’s expression changed instantly. She snatched the phone out. A text message from Owen was clearly displayed on the screen: “Sloan, save me.” Her face went pale, then iron-hard. She grabbed my wrist, her eyes bloodshot, glaring at me.
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