My last life ended with my wife’s lie. She painted me as a serial killer, and no matter how I screamed my innocence, the world wouldn’t listen. The victims' families took their revenge on my own, an eye for an eye, their methods brutal and absolute. Some were tortured, others vanished without a trace. And I was trapped behind bars, powerless to stop any of it. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back on the day my wife was supposed to walk into the police station and ruin my life. After calling in an anonymous tip to the police that someone would die today, I tried to investigate why my wife would frame me, only to find she had vanished into thin air. But on my way home, I saw it: a bank, surrounded, a robbery in progress. And a spark of an idea lit up my mind. “That’s right,” I said to the officer. “I’m volunteering. I’ll take the pregnant woman’s place as a hostage.” … The police negotiator stared at me for a few seconds, his mind catching up. “You know the guy in there has a makeshift gun, right? This is real. You could actually die!” There was a flicker of excitement in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by genuine concern. He was worried I didn't grasp the stakes, that I'd back down once reality hit. I just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. If I die, just give me a 'Good Samaritan' award or something.” I’d already died once, a humiliating, suffocating end. This time, I wasn't asking for a blaze of glory. I just wanted a death—if it came to that—that wasn't tied to the label of a monster. An end that wouldn't drag my family down into hell with me. That was enough. “Alright. We’ll make the most of this opportunity. Please, try not to be nervous.” The negotiator spoke with grave intensity as he strapped a bulletproof vest onto me. It was my first time wearing one; the novelty of it was so strange I almost felt like I was at a cosplay convention. While the police team radioed the robber inside the bank, I waited in the wings. “No way! If it’s a woman, you send in another woman to swap!” the robber's voice crackled through their speaker. “This guy’s obviously one of your undercover cops!” I had to roll my eyes. Seriously? With my slender build, you could hardly compare me to a trained officer. “Quit wasting time,” I yelled, stepping past the line of police and into the open space between them and the bank. “Watch closely!” Then, I started shedding clothes, one piece at a time. My jacket, the vest, my wool sweater, my pants, my socks, even my leather shoes hit the pavement until I was standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers. “Is this good enough for you, buddy?” I shouted, then turned to the nearest officer and presented my wrists. “Cuff me.” The move left everyone—robbers and cops alike—speechless. “That woman is about to give birth,” I projected my voice towards the bank. “Think about it. Why would she be at a bank instead of a hospital? Because she’s got no one to help her. Her life is already hard enough, and she’s been fighting for that baby. Are you really going to be the ones who let her die because you won’t make a simple trade?” I took two steps forward. The robber inside didn't react. Dressed like this, who could possibly suspect me of being a threat? “I’m carrying nothing. The cuffs are real and they’re tight. And hey, if I were an undercover cop, you should be happy! That would mean you have a cop as a hostage. They’d have to be even more careful with you then, right?” I kept pushing, the tension in the air so thick you could taste it. Everyone was holding their breath. If this didn't work, nothing would. Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, the robber’s voice came back. “Get in here. Hands up. No funny business!” A wave of relief washed over me so powerful I could have sprinted inside. In just a few more hours, the murder from my past life would be committed. And soon after, my dear wife, Eliza, would go to the police with her web of lies. They would find the supposed murder weapon in my home, covered in my DNA. They would find a witness who swore they saw me near the crime scene. They would even produce a seamless chain of security footage tracking my every move from my front door to the alley where the body was found. This time, I was going to forge an alibi so ironclad it would shatter every single one of those lies. As I entered the bank, they were letting the pregnant woman go. She was trembling, but she kept looking back at me, whispering her thanks. “You’re a good man. Thank you!” “If you really want to thank me,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “then help me out after this is all over.” She froze, confused. She had no idea what I was asking for. But I knew that soon enough, she would. “Get in here, you!” The robber was cautious, keeping to the blind spots where the snipers outside couldn't get a clean shot. The moment I was dragged inside, something hard slammed against the back of my head. “You’re really not a cop?” I could feel the cold, dark barrel of the gun pressed against my spine. “Really. Check the cuffs yourself, see how real they are.” I struggled against the restraints, and the steel only bit deeper into my wrists. Satisfied, he moved around to face me. He didn't look like a hardened killer, just a desperate man. He sized me up. “You’re not scared of dying, kid?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “What’s the point? I’d be scared of a meaningless death, but dying to save someone? That’s not meaningless at all.” I shrugged, looking him straight in the eye. He stared at me, dumbfounded. “You talk like you’ve died before,” he finally managed to say. “Let’s see how tough you are when you’re really about to bite it.” “You’re right about one thing,” I said with a long sigh. “I have died once before.” The memory of it, the searing injustice of being executed as the most monstrous serial killer of the century, sent a fresh wave of bitterness through me. “What are you, a lunatic?” he muttered, looking at me strangely. “Get over there and sit down.” I didn't bother explaining. All I had to do was stay right here, in this bank, until morning. Then, it wouldn’t matter who died tonight. It wouldn't have anything to do with me. This time, I’d have an army of witnesses. The hours crawled by. Outside, the sky bled from blue to orange to black. The negotiations grew more heated, the standoff stretching to its breaking point. “Cut the crap!” the robber screamed into his phone. “You give me what I want, or I’ll kill one of them right now just to show you I’m not playing!” His nerves were fraying. He was alone, but the other three hostages—all women—were bound together, completely helpless. “Hey, take it easy, man,” I said casually from my corner. “You don’t seem like a bad guy. No need to burn it all down, right?” His eyes snapped to me. He grabbed me by the arm, dragged me to the glass doors of the bank, and shoved me into view of the police and the news cameras. “Listen up!” he bellowed. “I want an armored SUV! You’ve got five minutes to decide. For every minute you’re late, I’m taking one of his legs!” The scene was already being broadcast live by a dozen livestreamers and news crews. The story had gone viral; there was no containing it now. “Wait a second… isn’t that guy in his underwear Leo Shaw? The chairman of Shaw Corp’s son?” “Holy crap, I think it is! I interviewed him once for a business channel!” Hearing the murmurs ripple through the crowd, I finally allowed myself a small smile. That’s right, I thought. Come on, get a good shot of me. Make sure you get my good side. The news spread like wildfire across the internet. The kidnapper, overhearing the commotion, pieced it together. His eyes went wide with a mixture of shock and terror. “You… you’re the son of that billionaire?” He was excited, but also afraid. This could mean a much bigger payday, but it also meant bringing down a whole new level of hell upon himself. I shrugged, feigning indifference. “My name doesn’t change a thing.” Meanwhile, my father had gotten the news. He arrived in a screech of tires, leaping from his car before it had even fully stopped and charging the police cordon. Officers rushed to intercept him. “Sir, you can’t go in there! It’s too dangerous!” a few of them shouted, physically restraining him. “My company pays millions in taxes! We’ve built half this city!” my father roared, his voice raw with panic. “And you let my son walk in there to die? What the hell kind of police work is this?” The officers, understanding his anguish, patiently tried to explain. “Mr. Shaw, your son went in voluntarily. He said he wanted to help. We are doing everything we can to ensure his safety.” My father froze. He knew me, my personality. He couldn't fathom why I would ever do something like this. Shaking his head, he grabbed a megaphone from a nearby officer and raised it to his lips. “You in the bank, listen to me! Whatever you want, however much money, I’ll give it to you!” he boomed. “Just don’t hurt my son! In fact, let me take his place! I’ll trade myself for him!” A warmth pricked my eyes. In my last life, he was always the first one there, my shield against every storm. This time, I wouldn’t let him suffer for me. Not again. I turned to the robber. “Don’t listen to him!” I said sharply. “Think about it. A father will always save his son. But what son saves his father? You let me out, and I’ll let you do whatever you want with the old man. Then all that inheritance is mine, right?” The robbers exchanged confused glances, stunned by my cold-blooded logic. But the more they thought about it, the more it seemed to make a twisted kind of sense. They refused my father’s offer. Their curiosity got the better of them. Why would a rich kid, who could have anything he wanted, throw himself into a situation like this? It didn't make sense from any angle. “Are you actually crazy?” one of them finally asked. I couldn’t help but laugh at their expressions. “Not crazy. Just wanted to experience a different kind of life. Look, you’re not here to kill anyone, you just want money. I get it. I’ll cooperate. I’ll even help you get paid.” They looked at each other, still unable to grasp my motives, but they dropped the subject. By now, dozens of online influencers had set up their gear, broadcasting the standoff to hundreds of thousands of viewers. The internet was buzzing with speculation. Why would the heir to the Shaw fortune volunteer as a hostage? Some thought it was a publicity stunt, others a sign of some hidden agenda. But most people saw a hero, someone willing to sacrifice himself for a stranger. Then my mother arrived. When she understood what was happening, she collapsed into tears, her pleas echoing from beyond the police tape. “Please, don’t hurt my boy! We’ll give you anything you want, I’m begging you!” Hearing her voice sent a pang of grief through me. I remembered her horrific death in my past life, a direct result of my conviction, and my resolve hardened. I had to protect her. The police presence outside had swelled, sealing off the entire block. The robber, seeing the growing army of uniforms, started to panic. He made his demand: five million dollars in cash, within the hour, or he’d start shooting. An hour? That wasn't nearly enough time. I needed to stay here all night. “No!” I shouted. “Don’t give it to them!” The robbers, enraged, moved towards me, ready to strike. “Wait, calm down,” I said quickly. “I’m on your side. Trust me.” They paused, watching me with suspicion as I explained. “You can’t ask for that much cash in an hour. The only way they can get it that fast is with brand new, consecutively numbered bills from the vault. The second you try to spend that money, you’ll be caught. It’s a waste of time.” The robbers looked at each other. He had a point. “Damn, the rich kid is smart,” one of them muttered. “We didn’t think of that. So what do we do?” I pretended to think for a moment. “You need old, used bills. Untraceable. But that takes time to gather. Give them more time. Tell them you want used cash, and you’re willing to wait.” It made perfect sense to them. The leader turned and yelled his new demand to the police outside. “You have three hours! And I want used bills only! If the money’s not here by then, we’re done talking!” I let out a silent breath of relief. Three hours. That should be enough to get me past the critical time frame. Outside, my father comforted my mother. “I’ve already got people getting the cash ready. Don’t worry.” He pulled the lead officer aside. “Do you have a plan?” The officer nodded grimly. “We have an asset on the inside, Mr. Shaw. We can resolve this. And even if that fails, we have contingencies. They aren’t getting away. Our primary job is to ensure the safety of the hostages.” My father’s shoulders sagged with relief. Inside, my cooperation had earned me some trust. The robbers left me untied, telling me to just sit in a corner and stay out of the way. That’s when one of the other hostages, a young woman, crept closer to me. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “I’m going to help you.” I was startled, wondering who she was. But then I saw her hand tense, ready to make a move. “Don’t do it!” I hissed, my voice sharp. My sudden warning made her flinch and pull back, missing her chance to take down the robber nearest to her. When he had moved away, she turned to me, her eyes flashing with anger. “What was that?” For her, it had been a perfect opening. “Just wait for the ransom,” I said, putting on a thoughtful expression. “If you make a move in here, the other hostages could get hurt, right?” My calm reasoning threw her off. She hesitated, unsure. Reluctantly, she settled back to wait. The three hours passed in agonizing slowness. Finally, my father appeared, carrying two large suitcases, escorted by police. The robbers’ eyes lit up, their greed overriding their caution.
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