Chapter 1

To inherit my enormous wealth, my husband paid our nanny to start a fire that would burn my daughter and me alive.

Afterward, at the rescue scene, he broke down in tears in front of the media. His performance earned him an outpouring of online sympathy, making him an overnight viral sensation.

Six months later, he secretly married his mistress and brought home an illegitimate son who was the exact same age as my daughter.

Meanwhile, he leveraged his "devoted husband" persona to launch a lucrative livestreaming career, raking in millions and living the life of a tycoon.

Then I opened my eyes, and I was back on the day of the fire.

…

Julian Vance approached my daughter Chloe and me as we lay in bed. He held two glasses of juice and smiled warmly. "Honey, I just squeezed these for you both. Give them a try."

I instinctively pinched my thigh, and the sharp pain jolted me fully into reality.

My daughter Chloe, nestled safely in my arms, radiated the warmth of life—no longer the charred, lifeless body from my nightmare.

Seeing my hesitation, Julian frowned and pushed the glasses of juice a little closer. "Honey, what's wrong?"

I caught the fleeting shadow of malice in his eyes.

Of course.

In my previous life, Chloe and I drank this drugged juice and quickly fell into a deep coma.

The nanny, Martha Higgins, set the fire. The smoke alarms went off, but we were too heavily sedated to wake up.

When I awoke, my soul was already hovering above, forced to watch the flames consume our bodies.

Martha, unable to escape, choked to death in the hallway.

Later, I discovered that Martha had terminal cancer and less than a month to live.

Julian had used this to bribe her, promising to deposit five million dollars into her son's account if she killed us.

Staring at the juice now, I saw a deadly trap, and a cold chill ran through me.

I gripped Chloe's hand tightly, making a silent vow.

The tragedy of my past life would not be repeated.

But as I noticed Julian's growing impatience and that sinister look in his eyes, I forced down the urge to refuse.

He had planned this fire meticulously and wouldn't tolerate any slip-ups.

Refusing the drink now would only raise his suspicion and might provoke him to act faster.

I glanced at Julian, then at Martha, who was lounging by the kitchen doorway.

Alone with my seven-year-old daughter, I was no match for the two of them.

So, before Julian could push any further, I took the glass, took a sip, and watched Chloe take one as well.

As if on cue, I inhaled sharply right after my first sip.

The juice shot up my nose, triggering a violent coughing fit.

My face flushed red.

Gasping for air, I managed to explain, "I drank too fast and choked."

I quickly grabbed Chloe's glass and set both of them on the nightstand. "Chloe, don't drink that. My coughing might have gotten germs in your cup, and it's not clean anymore."

I had always been mildly germaphobic, the kind of person who disinfected with alcohol after a simple sneeze.

Because of this, my reaction didn't arouse Julian's suspicion.

Instead, he patted my back gently, playing the picture-perfect caring husband.

"Our daughter is growing up, and you're still so careless, chugging down your favorite drinks like a kid."

“Be more careful next time.”

His smile deepened.

I hadn’t finished the juice.

Why did he still look so certain I would die tonight?