Chapter 1
"Sign it, Penelope. Don't embarrass yourself further."
Liam Blackwell tossed the divorce papers across the table, his expression colder than a winter morgue. Behind him, his beloved Vivian Cole stood with a hand resting gently on her belly and a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
I stared at the papers, and tears rolled down my cheeks—not from sorrow, but from overwhelming relief.
I was reborn.
Three days ago—or rather, three years from now—I had died on the bathroom floor of this very penthouse. Sleeping pills. A stomach full of them. Because in my first life, I spent three years begging this man to love me. Three years being his invisible wife while Vivian lived like his queen.
He never signed those divorce papers in my first life. Not because he loved me, but because his grandfather's will demanded he remain married for five years to inherit the Blackwell empire. I was his legal shield. His placeholder.
When I begged for divorce, he laughed. When I tried to leave, he dragged me back. When Vivian humiliated me publicly, he watched and said I deserved it for being "obsessive."
In the end, I swallowed those pills because I forgot who I was before Liam Blackwell.
But now I remembered.
I picked up the pen from the table. My hand was steady.
"Penelope, don't you dare cause a scene—" Liam began.
I signed.
One clean, firm stroke.
The room went dead silent.
Liam's eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected this. In his reality, I should have been on my knees, sobbing, clutching his pant leg, begging him not to leave me.
"There." I pushed the papers back toward him. "Done."
Vivian's smirk faltered. She stepped forward. "Penny, are you sure you know what you're signing? Once you leave the Blackwell family, you'll have nothing. No money, no home, no connections. You're an orphan, remember?"
I looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time with clear eyes. In my previous life, this woman had destroyed me piece by piece. She spilled wine on me at galas and told everyone I was drunk. She slipped my medication out of my bag and told Liam I was "attention-seeking." She whispered in his ear that I was a stalker, unstable, dangerous.
And I let her. Because I loved him so blindly that I thought if I endured enough, he would eventually see the truth.
What a joke.
"I'm sure," I said, standing up. My legs didn't shake.
Liam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "What game are you playing, Penelope?"
"No game. You wanted a divorce. I'm giving you one." I grabbed my bag from the couch—the cheap knockoff purse Vivian had mocked at last year's Christmas dinner. "I'll have my things out by tonight."
"You don't have to rush," Liam said slowly, studying my face as though I were a code he couldn't crack. "The apartment lease runs through the month."
"I don't want another minute in this apartment."
I walked toward the door. My heels clicked on the marble floor—the same floor I'd once scrubbed on my hands and knees because Vivian "accidentally" broke a wine bottle and Liam told me to clean it myself.
"Penelope." His voice cut through the air like a blade. "If you walk out that door, there's no coming back."
I turned and smiled at him—genuinely smiled—for the first time in years.
"That's the point, Liam."
I shut the door behind me, and the sound echoed like freedom.
Liam Blackwell tossed the divorce papers across the table, his expression colder than a winter morgue. Behind him, his beloved Vivian Cole stood with a hand resting gently on her belly and a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
I stared at the papers, and tears rolled down my cheeks—not from sorrow, but from overwhelming relief.
I was reborn.
Three days ago—or rather, three years from now—I had died on the bathroom floor of this very penthouse. Sleeping pills. A stomach full of them. Because in my first life, I spent three years begging this man to love me. Three years being his invisible wife while Vivian lived like his queen.
He never signed those divorce papers in my first life. Not because he loved me, but because his grandfather's will demanded he remain married for five years to inherit the Blackwell empire. I was his legal shield. His placeholder.
When I begged for divorce, he laughed. When I tried to leave, he dragged me back. When Vivian humiliated me publicly, he watched and said I deserved it for being "obsessive."
In the end, I swallowed those pills because I forgot who I was before Liam Blackwell.
But now I remembered.
I picked up the pen from the table. My hand was steady.
"Penelope, don't you dare cause a scene—" Liam began.
I signed.
One clean, firm stroke.
The room went dead silent.
Liam's eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected this. In his reality, I should have been on my knees, sobbing, clutching his pant leg, begging him not to leave me.
"There." I pushed the papers back toward him. "Done."
Vivian's smirk faltered. She stepped forward. "Penny, are you sure you know what you're signing? Once you leave the Blackwell family, you'll have nothing. No money, no home, no connections. You're an orphan, remember?"
I looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time with clear eyes. In my previous life, this woman had destroyed me piece by piece. She spilled wine on me at galas and told everyone I was drunk. She slipped my medication out of my bag and told Liam I was "attention-seeking." She whispered in his ear that I was a stalker, unstable, dangerous.
And I let her. Because I loved him so blindly that I thought if I endured enough, he would eventually see the truth.
What a joke.
"I'm sure," I said, standing up. My legs didn't shake.
Liam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "What game are you playing, Penelope?"
"No game. You wanted a divorce. I'm giving you one." I grabbed my bag from the couch—the cheap knockoff purse Vivian had mocked at last year's Christmas dinner. "I'll have my things out by tonight."
"You don't have to rush," Liam said slowly, studying my face as though I were a code he couldn't crack. "The apartment lease runs through the month."
"I don't want another minute in this apartment."
I walked toward the door. My heels clicked on the marble floor—the same floor I'd once scrubbed on my hands and knees because Vivian "accidentally" broke a wine bottle and Liam told me to clean it myself.
"Penelope." His voice cut through the air like a blade. "If you walk out that door, there's no coming back."
I turned and smiled at him—genuinely smiled—for the first time in years.
"That's the point, Liam."
I shut the door behind me, and the sound echoed like freedom.