Chapter 2

In my previous life, I refused to let Julia recognize Henry as her "brother". As a result, he swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills and tried to kill himself. Thankfully, one of the maids found him in time and saved his life.

After that, my relationship with everyone in the house only grew worse. They all thought I was petty and jealous that I couldn't even forgive a dying man.

Later, Julia went to develop her business in Ashridge. Without hesitation, she took Henry with her.

When he died, no one cared what I thought. Julia officially called him her brother, and he was buried in the Summers Estate.

My son, Ryan Reed, said, "Dad, Uncle Henry spent his whole life suffering for Mom's sake. Now that he's dying, he just wants a label. What's so wrong with that? If it weren't for you, the two of them would've been a perfect couple long ago!"

My daughter, Ella Reed, said, "Dad, you're just a country bumpkin. Mom comes from a powerful old family. You were never her equal. Why do you insist on clinging to the title of her husband?"

Sometimes, even I started to wonder if I really was the villain they said I was.

When the kids got sick, I was the one who stayed up all night nursing them.

When Julia's mother had a stroke and was bedridden, I was the one who cared for her day and night.

When the Summers family faced financial trouble and ran out of liquidity, I used my own savings to fill the gap, even dipping into my father's fortune to keep them afloat.

Every day I lived in torment, drowning in silence and bitterness.

And my wife? She was out there whispering sweet nothings with her lover.

My children praised their "divine love story".

Why did everyone expect me to endure it all by staying quiet, to keep smiling, to keep forgiving, and play the role of the endlessly patient fool?

I looked into the mirror at my young reflection. Grief and fury surged in my chest as memories of pain flashed before my eyes.

Nonetheless, I laughed. This time, I'd do exactly what they wanted.

For the rest of my life, I'd live only for myself.

That afternoon, I was sitting with my lawyer, David Walsh, calculating every cent I'd spent and how the assets should be divided, when I heard a knock at the door, followed by Henry's gentle voice.

"Jake," he said, stepping in with a bowl of soup. "I've caused you a lot of trouble lately. I made a pot of bouillabaisse myself today. It's really good. Try some."

I noticed my two kids standing behind him in the hallway, but their eyes were fixed on him, not me, as if he were their father.

I waved a hand. "No thanks."

Henry froze for a split second. Then it was as if someone had pushed him. He stumbled backward, and the bowl flew from his hands. Fish soup splattered across the floor and onto his skin, turning it red instantly. He yelped in pain.

Ryan shouted angrily, "Dad! Even if you don't want to drink it, you can't push him!"

Ella added, "Dad, that was too much! You hurt Uncle Henry!"

Clutching his burned hand, Henry said quickly, "It's not Jake's fault. I just didn't hold it right."

Watching him pull the same stunt again, I remembered that in my past life, he'd done the exact same thing. Only then, he'd gone even further by deliberately breaking his own leg to make it look like I'd done it and earning everyone's sympathy.

He hadn't been dying at all. Back then, he'd lived another five happy years with Julia in Ashridge.

I didn't hold back this time. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face.

Before I could hit him again, someone caught my wrist. It was Julia. Her face was pale with fury, her eyes sharp as ice.

"Jake," she hissed. "I can't believe you'd actually hit someone!"

Henry still looked stunned. He hadn't expected me to fight back.

When he finally came to, he pulled Julia into his arms, the bright red handprint standing out on his cheek.