The first time I died, it was pathetic. I’d stormed out of my marriage in a blaze of righteous fury, only to discover that pride doesn’t pay the rent. I ended up broke, sick, and utterly alone, wasting away in a sterile hospital room. The final irony? It was my ex-husband, Liam, who claimed my ashes. While my life fizzled out, his ignited. He made partner at his law firm, pulling in seven figures a year. And, of course, he got the girl—his great lost love, the one that got away. A perfect, inspiring life. A perfect middle finger to my memory. When I open my eyes again, I’m back. Back on the very day I threw it all away. Liam is sitting across from me, his face an unreadable mask of indifference. “Your family’s about to go bankrupt, Audrey. You really want to do this now? Are you planning on starving?” His words are a splash of ice water. The first time around, I was too proud, too wounded to hear the truth in them. I’d just screamed, demanded he sign the papers, and walked away with nothing but my "dignity." I left him the five-million-dollar house, the closets full of designer clothes, everything. A grand gesture to prove my nobility wasn’t for sale. What a fucking idiot I was. 1 After years of scrubbing dishes in the dead of winter for minimum wage, my hands cracking and bleeding for a three-thousand-dollar paycheck, those material things suddenly look a lot more than just cute. They look like survival. They look like warmth. Love? Love without a safety net isn't romantic. It’s just garbage. A slow, sweet smile spreads across my face. I let my eyes soften as I look at him. “Oh, honey. Liam. I was just talking nonsense. Why would I ever want to divorce you? I love you so much.” I stand, my voice dripping with manufactured warmth. “That was all just… a moment. You must be exhausted. Let me run you a bath. You can just soak and relax.” Before he can react, I snatch the divorce agreement off the table and make a run for it. In the master bathroom, I tear the damn thing to shreds, flushing the pieces down the toilet with a visceral sense of satisfaction. The whirring sound of the state-of-the-art, fully automated commode is the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. I can’t help but press my cheek against its heated lid, soaking in the gentle warmth. Oh my God, I think, a wave of relief so powerful it’s almost painful washing over me. I’ll never have a frozen ass in the winter again. No more gnawing hunger. No more choosing between my father’s medical bills and my own groceries. No more breaking my body for a pittance. I don’t know what I was so hung up on in my past life. Obsessing over whether Liam loved me, picking apart a few ambiguous text messages on his phone, even after he’d handed me his entire life on a silver platter. It took hitting rock bottom to finally understand the gospel truth: the only thing that truly matters is the almighty dollar. I’ve seen the light. And this time, I’m never leaving its warm, comforting embrace. I draw Liam’s bath, setting the temperature to a precise 96.4 degrees, just how he likes it. I lay out a fresh set of pajamas for him. When he walks into the bathroom, I’m still standing by the door, beaming at him. He gives me a long, searching look, then silently reaches out and clicks the lock on the door. I… right. As if I’m thirsty for that. I shrug it off and head to our bedroom to take stock of my personal finances. 2 To be fair, for the first twenty-five years of my life, I really was a princess. My parents ran a successful manufacturing business, clearing nearly eight figures a year. As their only child, I was the center of their universe. My grades were average, but I was pretty and, more importantly, lucky. I scraped my way into a top-tier school, and that’s where I met Liam. He was brilliant, intense, and dirt-poor. It was a story straight out of a novel. I fell head over heels. I begged my parents to cover his tuition, to give him the seed money to start his own firm after graduation. He was grateful. To repay me, he proposed the day we got our diplomas. What followed were two years of a picture-perfect marriage that was, behind closed doors, as cold as a morgue. Liam was a good man, but a good man isn’t immune to the laws of attraction. He felt gratitude for me, not desire. Even in bed, he was never truly lost in the moment. He was busy, driven. Saturday nights, he would mechanically set aside one hour for "us." Any other time, if I wanted so much as a kiss, I felt like I had to schedule it with his assistant. Living in that emotional deep freeze, my romantic soul started to wither, and then to act out. Looking back now, I can’t blame him for finding me boring. After college, I slid right into the role of a housewife. My days were a blur of reality TV and video games. We had nothing to talk about. He’d accuse me of having my brain melted by social media; I’d accuse him of being less charming and attentive than the husbands I saw on those same screens. Our marriage was on a collision course with a brick wall. Lying on the plush king-sized bed, I let out a long sigh. Audrey, you don’t know how good you have it. For a useless, spoiled woman like you, getting a second chance is like winning the lottery. Your ancestors must be smiling down on you. This is your do-over. Use it. You don’t need to be some hero who single-handedly saves the family business. You just need to be smart enough to build a lifeboat, for yourself and for them. Just then, Liam walks in, rubbing his hair with a towel. He glances at me, still in my day clothes, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Right. It’s Saturday. My night to perform my wifely duties. Unlike the cold shoulder I would have given him before, I jump up and dash into the bathroom. I take what could only be described as a combat shower and slip into a piece of lingerie I’d buried at the back of my drawer. I’d bought it for our honeymoon, hoping for a night of passion, but he’d been called away on an urgent case before I ever got to wear it. Well, no time like the present. It’s for our mutual pleasure, after all. Why not enjoy it? The moment I step out, I see Liam’s breath catch in his throat. His eyes widen with a mix of shock and something else, something I can’t quite decipher. His voice is a low rasp. “Audrey, you…” I silence him with a kiss. “Shhh,” I whisper against his lips. “Don’t talk. We’re wasting precious time.” 3 It’s amazing what a change in perspective can do. Before, I was desperate for his love, so I scrutinized his every move. A furrowed brow from him would send my heart into a panic, terrified I’d done something to displease him. A strained groan and I’d spiral, convinced I was failing. But now? Now he’s just a tool. A very handsome, very effective tool. My only concerns are his speed, the angle, and whether he’s putting in enough effort. After the third round, Liam’s face is pale. I lean in for another kiss, but he gently pushes me away. “I have a court appearance tomorrow. I can’t be exhausted.” Oh. Okay, then. I suppose it’s normal to be a little overzealous after a twenty-year drought. I don’t argue. I just slip out of bed and start putting my clothes back on. Liam rolls over, his expression pure shock. “Where are you going?” “To the guest room. It’s a mess in here.” The sheets are… damp. It’s uncomfortable, and probably bad for my joints. In my old life, I would have endured it just to cuddle with him. Now, I value my own comfort. If he wants to sleep in a wet spot, that’s his problem. I shut the door with a soft click, leaving him with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. The next morning, I sleep until ten. As expected, he’s already gone. A note is left on the nightstand: [Out of town for a week. Chicago.] Tucked underneath it is a thick stack of cash. Liam has this weird habit of giving me my allowance in cash. I could never decide if it was meant to be insulting or just eccentric. I count it. Ten thousand dollars. Generous as always. I get dressed, take the money, and head straight for the bank. The moment I walk in, I’m overwhelmed. It’s one of the quirks of being a spoiled princess: I have no practical skills. Complex environments make my head spin. I finally flag down an employee who guides me to a teller. I exchange Liam’s cash for gold bars and move my own savings into a new, separate account. With my finances secured, I grab a taxi to my parents’ house. If my memory serves me right, this is right around the time their business started showing cracks, though they were still trying to shield me from it. 4 The air in my parents’ home is thick with gloom. My father is chain-smoking on the sofa, and my mother is staring blankly at a spreadsheet on her laptop. When they see me, they share a panicked glance and force brittle smiles onto their faces. My mom starts to speak, but I hold up a hand. “Don’t pretend. I know the business is in trouble.” They run a traditional manufacturing company, and the internet age has hit them like a freight train. In a desperate final gambit, they’d sunk all their remaining capital into one big project, and that project was now imploding. The company’s credit line is about to be severed, leaving them with two choices. One: Double down, take out more loans, and bet everything on one last miracle. Two: Liquidate everything, pay off the debts, and shut the doors for good. In my last life, my parents, bless their stubborn hearts, chose to gamble. They lost everything. The stress, the constant smoking… it eventually gave my father lung cancer. My mother tried to rebuild, but every penny she earned was immediately seized by creditors. They could barely afford to live. This time, I’m taking charge. “Dad, Mom. Stop fighting it. You’re behind the times. The factory isn’t coming back.” AI and automation are developing at a terrifying pace. The tidal wave is coming for traditional industries, and my parents can't even see the storm clouds. They didn't die from failure; they died from obsolescence. They both bristle at my words. “What do you know? You’ve never paid attention to the business.” “Exactly,” my mom adds. “I’ve spoken to your Uncle Mark and Uncle David. They both said they’d back us if we want to try again.” Yes, they did. And they both later became regulars at our door, demanding repayment. I let out a bitter laugh. “Come on, sit down. Let me tell you exactly why I know what I’m talking about.” I curl up on the sofa and tell them everything. My whole, pathetic, miserable past life. With the two people I trust most in the world, there’s no reason to hide. When I finish, they’re both shaken. My father’s eyes are filled with tears. “So… for all those years… you were washing dishes to pay our debts? And you died… you died alone in a hospital because you couldn’t afford treatment?” He clutches my hand, his whole body trembling. My mother is silent, her head bowed. After a long moment, she looks up, her face a mess of tears and a strange, broken smile. “Okay,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “Okay, sweetheart. This time, we’ll listen to you. We’re done fighting.” 5 My parents began the slow, painful process of dismantling their life’s work. Thanks to decades of experience, they were savvy negotiators. After paying off all the debts and liquidating the assets, they were left with a few hundred thousand dollars and the family home, free and clear. After signing the final sale contract, my parents stood in the empty factory lobby, looking lost. “A whole lifetime of work,” my dad said, his voice hollow. “And it’s all gone. This factory, this land, all of it… it all belongs to someone else now.” I link my arms through theirs. “Dad, Mom, it’s okay. We’re all alive. That’s what matters.” Getting out now means they only lost a few million. If they’d held on, they would have been buried under a mountain of debt with no hope of escape. With no jobs to go to, my parents seemed to drift. They were aimless, their energy gone. So I took the nest egg I’d been building—a couple million from savings and savvy investments I remembered from my past life—and put it in their hands. “Mom, Dad, this is all my savings from… forever. It’s yours now.” They stared at the bank statement, speechless. “In my other life, I was miserable, but I also saw how fast the world was changing. The factory failed because you were both so busy working in the business that you never had time to see what was happening outside of it. If you try to jump into a new venture now, you’ll just be guessing.” I took a deep breath. “So here’s the plan. Take this money, and go back to school. Enroll in an executive MBA program. Learn about the new economy. And when you’re ready, when you see a real opportunity, we’ll start over. The right way.” My parents looked from the statement to me, their eyes wide with astonishment. Then, slowly, they both began to smile. “Wow,” my dad said, shaking his head in wonder. “Audrey, you’ve really grown up. That’s… that’s a brilliant idea.” “She’s right,” my mom agreed. “Your father and I will go back to school.” Striking while the iron was hot, I spent the rest of the night researching the top business programs in the country. Two days later, my parents were on a flight to Boston for an intensive course at Harvard. After arranging for better security at their now-empty house and letting go of the extra staff, I finally returned to the home I shared with Liam. He was already back, sitting on the sofa, reading through a case file. He looked up as I came in, then closed the file and tucked it into his briefcase. He stood, about to head into his study. I ignored him, went upstairs, took a shower, and started watching video tutorials on film editing. A friend of mine, Zoe, is a huge influencer. She told me the creator economy is exploding. I don’t have many marketable skills, but I know how to perform the role of a wealthy, carefree wife. I figured I could start a vlog. If it took off, great. If not, what did I have to lose? I was deep into a lesson on color grading when Liam pushed the bedroom door open and stood behind me. He asked, his voice low, “It’s Saturday.” 6 I almost choked on my water. I instinctively glanced at the calendar on my phone. Oh. So it is. I closed my laptop, walked over to him, and stood on my toes to kiss him. He caught me, his hand cupping the back of my neck. He paused. “Wear the one from last time.” …Excuse me? Oh. That one. Four rounds later, I was the one begging for mercy. As Liam rolled off me, I made a move to get out of bed. He grabbed my wrist. My eyes fluttered open. “Hmm?” He hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Sleep here.” “It’s wet.” He immediately leaned over to the linen closet, pulled out a fresh set of sheets, and expertly spread them over the mess. “Not anymore.” Fine. I settled back onto the pillow. He shifted, pulling me against his chest and wrapping his arms around me. I mumbled, confused, “What now?” “I’m cold.” Whatever. I was too exhausted to argue. I fell asleep almost instantly. I had no idea that the man beside me lay awake for hours, just watching me. I had a long, long dream about the days when I used to chase him. From his first day on campus, Liam was a star. The law school lecture halls were always packed, with dozens of students craning their necks just to get a look at him. He was cool, distant, never letting anyone get too close. The only person in his orbit was a girl from his hometown, Claire. They were inseparable. When I first set my sights on Liam, I tried to figure out if they were a couple. But before I could get a clear answer, Claire abruptly left the country to study abroad. Not long after, Liam’s mother was diagnosed with cancer. Pancreatic cancer. The king of them all. Treatment or not, the outcome was usually the same. But with money, you could buy comfort. You could buy dignity. Liam was tormented, unable to sleep, consumed by worry. I went to my parents and asked them for a million dollars to cover his mother’s medical expenses. With the bills paid, his mother could finally rest without pain. Liam found me the next day. “Thank you,” he said, his voice raw. “Don’t thank me,” I replied, my voice bold and clear. “Just marry me.” I was brazen, shameless in my pursuit. Liam looked at me, a soft, complicated smile touching his lips for the first time. I didn’t understand what that smile meant then. It took me two years of a cold marriage and a whole other lifetime to finally get it. It was the smile of surrender. The reluctant acknowledgment of a debt that could only be paid with his body, with his future. 7 The next morning, Liam was still home, a rare occurrence. He was setting out breakfast as I came downstairs. “I have some free time today,” he said. “I thought we could go see your parents.” “They’re not home,” I replied, not looking up from my oatmeal. “They’re in Boston.” He paused. “Boston?” “Mmmhmm. I signed them up for an MBA program. They’re taking classes.” “What about the factory? The business?” “It’s done. We sold it.” He watched me quietly for a moment. “Was that your idea?” “Yep. I figured there was no point in bleeding out slowly. Better to just rip the bandage off.” I wiped my mouth, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door to put on my shoes. “I’m meeting a friend. I might be late. See ya.” Liam started to say something, but the door was already closing behind me. I was meeting Zoe, my influencer friend, to pick her brain. She was a lifesaver, walking me through everything from setting up my accounts and writing a compelling bio to finding my target audience and boosting engagement. She talked a mile a minute, and I struggled to keep up with my notes. “God, your handwriting is atrocious,” she said, peering over my shoulder. “It looks like a chicken just had a seizure on your notepad.” I grinned. “What do you expect? I was a C-student, remember?” She laughed and playfully tried to shove me, but her eyes suddenly fixed on something over my shoulder. “Oh, shit.” I followed her gaze. Across the street, a handsome couple was walking side-by-side. A car sped past, and the man instinctively pulled the woman into the shelter of his arms. It was Liam. And Claire. When did she get back in town? And why didn’t Liam say anything? A flicker of the old hurt sparked in my chest, but I quickly snuffed it out. No. Do not go down that rabbit hole. You are not that girl anymore. I refocused on my notes. Zoe, who’d been at college with the three of us, knew the whole sordid history. She nudged me with her elbow. “Uh, hello? Your husband’s high school sweetheart just materialized. You’re not worried?” What was there to be afraid of? I already knew how this movie ended. In three years, Liam would make partner at his firm and he and Claire would get back together. He would propose to her with a fireworks display that lit up the entire city. While the sky exploded with light for them, I would be cowering in a dark restaurant kitchen, getting screamed at by my manager for dropping a stack of plates. “You can’t even wash a dish properly! What are you good for?” “That’s two hundred dollars out of your paycheck. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.” 8 I didn’t know that as Liam pulled Claire into his arms, he looked up and saw me turn my head away. When I got home that evening, he was standing by the living room window, lost in thought. I was mentally fried from my info-dump session with Zoe, so I walked right past him and headed for the shower. A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and he stepped inside. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, but he carried an aura of command that filled the small space. His handsome, chiseled face was an intense mask of inquiry. “You saw me today.” It wasn’t a question. I rinsed the shampoo from my hair. “Yep.” “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” I shook my head. He took a sharp breath, a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Why not?” I looked at him, genuinely perplexed. “Why would I?” What was there to ask? Whether I asked or not, she was still the one. The ghost of what could have been. Suddenly, he was furious. He crossed the space between us in two strides, pinning me against the tiled wall. His mouth crashed down on mine, a kiss that was more of an assault than an act of affection. His hands roamed, slick with soap and steam, igniting fires everywhere they touched. A tremor ran through me, a mix of arousal and simmering resentment. “It’s Sunday,” I managed to gasp out. It wasn’t his goddamn designated day. My protest seemed to enrage him further. He grunted, lifted me into his arms, and carried me out of the bathroom. “I don’t give a damn what day it is. I want you.” Money is hard to earn, I thought, as he threw me onto the bed. And some jobs are messier than others. The bastard went at it all night. The next morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. The man responsible, of course, was already at the office. There was a new friend request on my phone. The profile picture was of Claire, looking sharp in a business suit. The message read: Hey, it’s Claire. Do you have a minute to talk? 9 Claire could dream on. I wasn't about to let her mess with my mojo. I blocked her number without a second thought, then went to the mall and bought a new laptop and a GoPro. Under Zoe’s expert guidance, I filmed my first-ever vlog. I was under no illusions about who I was. I couldn’t fake being some intellectual powerhouse or a refined high-society lady. So I went with what I knew: "The Useless Princess’s Guide to Getting Her Life Together." My angle was to let my followers in on the secret that not all rich people have their act together. Thanks to my brutally honest self-deprecation and a clearly defined niche, I gained 3,000 followers overnight. Seeing the "99+" notifications in my inbox gave me a thrill I’d never felt before. It was proof. Proof that I could actually be good at something. I was excitedly texting Zoe the news when Liam came home. He wasn’t alone. He’d brought Claire into our house. His expression was perfectly neutral. “Claire had a little accident at a dinner party, spilled soup on her dress. She lives across town, so I was wondering if she could borrow something of yours.” Saying no would make me look petty. I went into the bedroom and pulled out a casual designer tracksuit Liam had bought me when we were first married. As if by cosmic coincidence, it looked stunning on her. She offered a small, polite smile. “You know, it’s funny. Audrey and I seem to have similar taste. I used to love this brand before I moved abroad.” Her compliment was a little too sweet. I met it with blunt honesty. “Liam bought it. I’ve never worn it.” I smiled back. “If you like it so much, you can have it.” Claire’s smile became a little more genuine, the hint of rivalry in her eyes softening. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly… though I do really love it.” I gave her my best eight-teeth-baring, pageant-winner smile. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Liam, whose face had darkened considerably. His brow furrowed, his composure finally cracking. “I’m sorry, my wife is joking. That outfit isn’t for you. Let me find you something else.” And to my astonishment, he actually went back into the closet and picked out a different outfit for her to change into. Claire stared at him for a long, tense moment before snatching the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom with a huff. I thought for sure this was it. The big showdown. The timeline was a little accelerated, and my new career hadn't taken off yet, but my family was debt-free. I wouldn't starve. If Claire stayed the night, if they slept together, I could use it as leverage to get a bigger settlement. The house, definitely. A car, for convenience. And the savings… how much did we have in our joint account again? Lost in thought, I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app, trying to count the zeros. I didn’t notice that Liam had already shown Claire out and changed his clothes. He was standing in front of me, his face a thundercloud. “What are you doing?” “Seeing how much I stand to get.” …I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. He yanked me to my feet. With a sweep of his arm, my brand-new laptop went flying, crashing to the floor. Before I could even register the loss, he lifted me onto the dining table, his mouth devouring mine in a rough, punishing kiss. His right hand tore at my collar while his left fumbled in a nearby drawer. His temper was getting more and more unpredictable. And this time, it hurt. Just when I thought he was about to go further, he stopped. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. His whole body shuddered with a frustration I couldn't comprehend. “Why aren’t you angry?” he whispered, his voice choked with despair. “Audrey… don’t you love me anymore?”
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