Five years into our deliberately childless marriage, my husband walked in with the daughter of his supposedly ‘dead' first love.
I refused to raise another woman's child.
But what did he do?

He threatened to divorce!
Trapped, I swallowed my fury and sadness, and agreed.
Years later, that girl tanked her grades and missed out her dream college.
Then, my husband decided that my cancer treatment fund would be her ticket abroad.
And as I lay gasping my last breaths in a sterile hospital room, who waltzed in?
My husband, hand-in-hand with the ‘dead' first love herself.

Chloe smirked, venomously sweet, "Thank you for raising me and Ethan's daughter all these years."
That's when the brutal truth hit me---she hadn't died.
She'd faked her death so Ethan could bring their illegitimate daughter into my home openly.
When my eyes snapped open again, I was back.

Back to the day he was leaving for her 'funeral.'
"Why are you obsessing over a dead woman? Chloe's gone—can't I even pay my respects as an old friend?"
Ethan's voice cut through the fog of memory, sharp with exasperation.
"Jesus, Claire, you're being so ridiculous. Always making a scene!"
Young Ethan Grant stood there, scowling.
My gaze dropped to the expensive black suit draped over my arms.
The shock solidified into certainty.
I Was Reborn!
Today...
Today was the day he planned to attend Chloe Evans' staged funeral.
I gripped the suit fabric until my knuckles stood out white, the hatred a venom seeping into the very seams.
I took a deep breath and pushed the feelings down.
Smiling, I stood and held it out to him.
"You're right," I said gently.
"The dead deserve respect. We should both pay our respects."
Ethan's frown vanished instantly, replaced by wary surprise. "Really, honey?"
I gave a serene nod.
He snatched the suit, relief making him buoyant as he hurried off to change.
Last life, he spun a tale of a car crash, attended her 'funeral,' and then brought their daughter into my life.
He moved her into my mansion, my money funded their lie... and they expected me to play mother.
This time?
They'd learn the price of crossing me!
Ethan emerged, the suit fitting perfectly. He grabbed his keys, humming, and heading for the door.
Seeing me standing there with my purse in hand, his smile faltered.
"Claire? Honey? You going somewhere?"
"Aren't we both attending Chloe's funeral? Come on, Ethan," I said, my voice sugary-sweet.
I looped my arm firmly through his and steered him towards the exit.
"If you don't hurry up, we'll miss the beginning."
Ethan froze, digging in his heels.
"Claire," he hissed, low and tense.
"What are you doing? Why would you possibly go to Chloe's funeral? You couldn't stand each other. This is just... it's purely asking for trouble."
He was right on one count.
Chloe and I were college rivals.
She always called me "Stupid Hillbilly" for no reason.
Ethan's role in our feud meant I never spared her a kind look.
"Ethan,I'm kindly paying respects.How's that asking for trouble?"
I arched a brow. "Am I gate-crashing? Or did I forget my sympathy card?"
"I didn't mean that!"
Ethan yelled at me.
"It's just... it's such a long drive out to the cemetery, and it's sweltering today. You'll be exhausted. Honestly, just stay home. Relax. I'll bring home a special gift tonight. A big surprise!"
That 'surprise' almost killed me last time.
A coldness, deep in my core, began seeping through my bones.
I leaned in slightly, my voice dropping to a blade-sharp whisper.
"You keep trying to ditch me before Chloe's funeral, Ethan. Is there something you're hiding from me?"
I didn't know if it's flicker of panic or guilt dart across his face before he masked it with righteous outrage.
"Claire! God, there you go again, jumping to paranoid conclusions! Chloe is dead. What on earth could I possibly be hiding?"
He threw his hands up.
"Investigate all you want! I have nothing to hide!"
He act like it's all my fault.
My fault for not trusting.
My fault for caring.
Always turning it back on me.
Each time, I'd shriveled with misplaced guilt.
Now?
A cold hatred settled in, steeling my will. With an icy, knowing smirk, I led the way out.
"Then prove it," I called back, my voice light, almost taunting.
"If you've got nothing to hide, let's go."
Ethan stood frozen for a heartbeat, clearly thrown by my refusal to play the dutiful, guilt-ridden wife.
Pride or fear must have pushed him forward.
He followed me out onto the porch, the door slamming shut behind him with finality.
The drive was silent, thick with his anger.
Mine?
A strange, electric anticipation crackled through me.
The game was finally mine to play.