"Mr. Howard, please save me..." Ericka Sparks whimpered, her thin shoulders shaking inside a torn million-dollar bridal gown. She was begging Dylan standing below the altar, Avery's husband. At the altar of Manhattan's Grand Cathedral on Fifth Avenue, the heavy scent of ten thousand white roses could not mask the sharp smell of fresh blood. Avery Schmidt stood behind her, pressing a steel letter opener against Ericka's pale neck. A red bead rolled down the skin, staining the lace collar. Below the steps, wealthy guests gasped and covered their mouths, staring at the bleeding bride and the lawful wife she had replaced. "Shut up! Save your disgusting tears!" Avery choked Ericka's throat harder with her left arm, her voice raw and raspy. For three years, Ericka had played the helpless intern around Avery's husband while secretly tearing their marriage apart. Heavy footsteps echoed across the marble floor, crushing fallen white petals. Dylan Howard, walked up the altar steps in a tailored black tuxedo. His tall frame cast a long shadow, and his deep gray eyes held zero panic - only a bone-chilling calm that made the air freeze. Avery raised her bloodshot eyes to the man she had served like a maid for three years. Her chest tightened until she could barely draw breath. "Dylan, we haven't even signed the final divorce decree. How dare you hold her hand and stand here today?" Dylan stopped three paces away. The old tactical scar near his right temple looked pale under the candlelight. "Put the blade down, Avery." His tone was flat and cold, carrying no warmth for the woman who shared his name. Avery let out a bitter laugh, holding back the hot tears burning her rims. "Put it down? Three days ago, Schmidt Enterprises was liquidated under the Bankruptcy Code, and my father shot himself in his study. Was that your trap?" Her hand shook, pressing the steel tip deeper into Ericka's flesh. "You traded my three years of obedience for my family's ruin, just to clear the Mrs. Howard title for her?" Dylan frowned slightly, his thin lips parting without hesitation. "The fall of the Schmidt family was the natural result of capital markets. It has nothing to do with personal grudges." He looked past Avery with open annoyance, fixing his gaze on Ericka's pale face. "Your sick possessiveness destroyed you. Stop blaming innocent people for your madness." A tear hung on the small mole beneath Ericka's right eye as she leaned her weak body toward Dylan. "Dylan... don't hurt Avery... I shouldn't have wished for happiness..." Hearing Ericka call him by his name made Avery's throat burn with rage. Every nerve in her body trembled. "Listen to her! For three years you let her provoke me right under my nose. Did you really think I was blind?" Avery screamed, pushing the blade down another half inch. Dim light filtered through the stained-glass dome above, casting dark shadows over the three of them. Dylan slowly slid his right hand into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket, his fingers brushing cold metal. "I gave you a chance to leave with dignity, Avery. You are wasting my last bit of patience." Avery stared into his eyes and realized there had never been a single second of affection in them. She threw her head back and laughed, her voice echoing through the hall. "Dignity? You stepped on my family's dead bodies. What right do you have to talk about dignity?" Her voice cracked, raw with rage. "She killed my child! Ericka pushed me down the stairs when I was two months pregnant—I lost the baby. Our baby. And you used that as your excuse to gut Schmidt Enterprises. My father shot himself in his study three days ago. My mother hanged herself in the sanatorium two days later. And you stand here telling me she's innocent?" Dylan's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed flat and cold. "Ericka told me you attacked her first. She was defending herself. She would never harm a child." "Of course you'd believe her." Avery's laugh was hollow. "She's kind and warm. I'm the ruthless one who schemes and stops at nothing. Isn't that what you always say?" "You said it yourself." Dylan's gray eyes were ice. "You're ruthless and you stop at nothing. Ericka is nothing like you." Taking advantage of Avery's shaking frame, Ericka narrowed her eyes with a sudden, vicious glint. The fragile bride bent her right elbow and slammed it hard into Avery's ribs. Pain exploded across Avery's chest. Her fingers went numb and spasmed. Ericka slipped free like a snake and threw herself into Dylan's arms, sobbing loudly. "Dylan, save me!" Losing her leverage, Avery stumbled back two steps and caught the marble podium to stay upright. When she lifted her head, she was not met with hesitation, but the matte-black barrel of a Sig Sauer P226 pistol. The dark muzzle pointed straight at her heart, and Dylan's wrist did not waver an inch.

The sharp smell of gun oil filled the space between them. Avery stared at the long-fingered hand that had once slipped a diamond wedding band onto her finger, watching his thumb pull back the hammer. For a moment, the old Avery—the one who had burned her fingers in the kitchen, who had begged for one kind word, who had believed love could be earned—rose inside her throat and nearly screamed. Then she saw his eyes. There was no hesitation there. Only judgment. "Dylan, are you really going to kill me for her?" Her voice was barely a whisper, her heart slamming against her ribs as if it might break. Hiding against Dylan's chest, Ericka trembled for show, mouthing words only Avery could see. "He chose me while you were still calling yourself Mrs. Howard. Your time is over, Avery." Dylan held the shaking woman with one arm, his gray eyes dark and ruthless. "You forced my hand, Avery. For three years, I tolerated you meddling in Howard Corp's affairs as my wife, and I tolerated your repeated attacks on Ericka." "I didn't! Every charge against her had real proof!" Avery shouted until her throat tore, her fingernails digging into the mahogany edge of the podium. "Enough! Those faked security tapes and financial sheets only prove how low you can sink." Dylan stepped forward, pressing the muzzle toward her chest. "You need to pay for your greed and jealousy." Thunder cracked outside the stained-glass windows, followed by heavy rain pounding against the roof. Avery looked at his cold face and let out a hollow laugh. She had burned her ten fingers in the kitchen just to cook meals that suited his strict habits, only to end up with her family dead and a bullet aimed at her heart. The last trace of love in her eyes died. What remained was pure, frozen hatred. "If there is a next life..." Avery straightened her spine, her amber eyes burning with pure hatred. "Dylan, I would rather tear you to pieces than ever look at you again." A tiny flicker crossed Dylan's eyes before vanishing under cold control. "You don't have a next life." Ericka suddenly gasped in his arms and shoved him slightly, screaming at the top of her lungs. "Don't shoot! Dylan, watch out, she still has the blade!" In that chaotic split second, Dylan's index finger pulled the trigger. Bang! The gunshot roared under the cathedral dome as gunsmoke filled the air. The bullet tore straight through Avery's chest, ripping open a gaping hole over her heart. The moment her body jerked backward, Dylan's breathing stopped. A dull, unfamiliar pain stabbed through his chest, so sudden and violent that his hand trembled around the gun. The heavy impact threw her backward. Her spine slammed against a stone pillar with the dull crack of breaking bone before she slid to her knees on the cold tiles. Blood poured from her chest, soaking the white wool carpet beneath her. A burning ache spread through her nerves as gray static blurred her vision. Through the red haze, she saw Dylan lower the pistol. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his lips parted as if to call her name. He took half a step forward—then Ericka clung to his arm, and he froze, his face pale with a confusion he could not name. Standing beside him, Ericka dropped her frightened act. Her red lips curved into a triumphant, mocking smile. Avery collapsed onto her back in the pool of her own blood. Cold rainwater leaked from a gap in the high dome, hitting her pale cheek. Faces flashed before her dimming eyes—her father's despair before pulling the trigger, her mother's madness in the sanatorium, and her illegitimate older brother Dax, who had been shot while trying to rescue her from kidnappers. "I ruined them all... my own blind stupidity..." She coughed up dark red clots, her chest heaving weakly. Her heartbeat slowed, and ice crept from her fingertips into her bones. As darkness swallowed her sight, a sudden, searing heat flared deep inside her shattered chest.

That burning pain shot through her limbs like live wire. Avery gasped for air and bolted upright on a leather examination bed. The sharp scent of hospital disinfectant filled her nose, and the bright overhead lamp made her squint. She pressed both hands hard against her chest. Instead of wet blood, her fingers touched a soft camel-colored cashmere sweater. Beneath the intact fabric, her heart beat fast and strong. There was no bullet hole, only cold sweat soaking her camisole. "Mrs. Howard, please sit up slowly. Take a deep breath and relax your stomach." A woman in a white coat stepped over and handed her a paper cup of warm water. Avery looked around the room in stunned disbelief, taking in the framed oil paintings, the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Manhattan skyline, and the luxurious quiet that felt both familiar and sickening. On the mahogany desk, a digital calendar displayed bright red numbers—April 14th, three years ago, the exact day her life had begun spiraling into hell. Her mind reeled as her fingers trembled around the warm cup. She was alive. Dr. Evelyn Vance slid a sealed light-blue medical folder across the desk, her expression serious. "The blood work and ultrasound results just came back. Congratulations, Mrs. Howard. You are four weeks pregnant." Avery's breath caught in her throat. In her past life, she had taken this exact lab sheet to Howard Corp with joy, only to see Dylan opening a car door for Ericka in the underground garage. Her mother-in-law had torn the paper to shreds and spread rumors that Avery was barren, paving the way for Ericka to step in. When Avery was two months pregnant, Ericka pushed her down the marble stairs of the Howard mansion—by the time anyone called a doctor, the baby was gone. Avery lowered her gaze and placed her shaking fingertips over her flat stomach. Her eyes burned. This was her only child. Across two lifetimes, she would never let her baby become a sacrifice again. "Aside from you, who else knows about this?" Avery looked up, her amber eyes turning sharp and cold. Startled by the sudden chill in the young wife's gaze, Dr. Vance pushed up her gold-rimmed glasses. "Only me and my private assistant. The samples went through an independent encrypted channel." Avery pulled her checkbook from her bag, uncapped a pen, and wrote a massive sum capable of buying half the clinic. She tore the check off and slapped it onto the desk. "I want the highest level of HIPAA privacy protection, plus a lifetime non-disclosure agreement. If a single word about my pregnancy leaks from this system, my legal team will revoke your medical license and bankrupt this clinic within twenty-four hours." Dr. Vance stared at the string of zeros on the check, swallowed hard, and immediately fed the temporary paper copies into the desk shredder. "Understood, Mrs. Howard. The system record has been permanently archived as a routine checkup for endocrine imbalance." Avery picked up the sole physical lab report, folded it into a thin strip, and tucked it into the innermost zippered pocket of her Hermès Birkin bag. She stood up, smoothed her trench coat, and walked briskly down the quiet VIP hallway in her seven-centimeter heels. Pushing open the frosted glass door of the clinic, the cool spring air of the Upper East Side hit her face. Across the street, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom waited at the curb. Her liveried driver hurried over in white gloves and pulled open the rear door. "Ma'am, Mr. Howard's special assistant just called to ask if you are heading to Howard Tower for lunch." Hearing that name made Avery's stomach churn with nausea. "No." She stepped into the leather backseat, her voice icy. "Turn around. Take me back to the Schmidt Estate on Long Island." The driver paused in surprise - on every checkup day in the past, she had begged for excuses to visit her husband's office - before bowing his head and closing the door. The soundproof partition rose as the Rolls-Royce merged into Fifth Avenue traffic. Avery leaned back and closed her eyes. Her parents were still alive, the family business had not been hollowed out, and her brother Dax was still safe. Just then, her phone screen lit up with Dylan's private number.