On Christmas He Cheated, on New Year He Died

The post broke the Internet. Roman Blackwell and Tiffany Vale's announcement shot straight to trending. In under ten minutes, it had over 100 thousand comments.

"Mr. Blackwell is so romantic! Now that's true love!"

"Tiffany must've saved the galaxy in a past life!"

"@CorinneHalstead, hey wifey, come look! Your husband's got a new one!"

I set my phone down, perfectly calm, and picked up my tea.

The doorbell rang. Roman's parents stormed in, both radiating fury. His father, Douglas Blackwell, was dark with anger, and he let out a heavy sigh.

"Corinne, that brat is a disgrace. Let me buy you a yacht. Go clear your head if you need to."

His mother, Judith Ainsley, patted my shoulder gently. "Corinne, don't you worry. You're the only daughter-in-law this family will ever recognize. Those little homewreckers will never set foot through this door."

I poured the tea with my head down and arranged my face into something understanding. "Thank you, Mom, Dad. I know."

Why would I make a scene? After all, this was already Roman's 49th mistress.

That was just wonderful. Seven more days, and this would all be over.

The next day, the head of Blackwell Group's PR department came to the house personally. "Mrs. Blackwell, here's the drafted statement. If you could take a look..."

I scanned it, and it read the same as always. It was just a game; I didn't mind. We were very happy together, and there was no need to waste public attention on something so trivial.

Over the past ten years, I'd put out plenty of these. This time, they were taking it especially seriously, because it was the first time Roman had gone fully public with a mistress, and he'd done it with fanfare.

I'd seen the young woman. She was different from the ones before, sharper and more perceptive, and she bore a stronger resemblance to the dead love of Roman's life than any of the others had.

Once the statement went live, my feed blew up again. In the socialite group chat, someone tagged me directly.

"Corinne, you're just so gracious! If my husband pulled that, I'd have broken both his legs!"

"See, that's why she's the real queen. The rest of us could never."

I'd long grown tired of the passive-aggressive nonsense. I closed the chat and went to the study. At the very bottom of a drawer sat a small leather-bound notebook. The first page was dated ten years ago.

"Lauren Oakes, 23. Dance academy student. Three-month affair. He bought her an apartment."

The second page read, "Bianca Keyes, 25. Internet personality. Four-month affair. He set her up with a clothing store."

…

On page 48, I had written, "Alexis Marlowe, 22. Music conservatory student. Two-month affair. He gave her a sports car."

I picked up my pen and started writing on page 49.

"Tiffany Vale, 24. Drama school graduate."

I didn't know yet what she'd walk away with. But I had a feeling her ambitions ran deeper than the rest.

I closed the notebook. Outside the window, a light snow had started to fall. The Christmas tree in the garden glowed with colored lights, and my three children were out building a snowman. Their laughter drifted in through the glass.

My real name used to be Sage Adler. The day I crossed over into this world, the woman whose body I now inhabited had just taken her last breath. Sleeping pills were scattered across the nightstand, and her phone screen was still lit up with photos of Roman in bed with Lauren.

She'd been consumed by one unshakable belief. "Roman isn't the villain... It was that woman's fault. Take care of him for me."

The moment I heard that, I wanted to refuse. She was a classic love-blind fool. She'd been driven to death by the other woman and was still making excuses for the man who'd destroyed her.

The System talked me into it. "You can't go back anyway. Complete the task, and I'll grant you one wish."

I thought it over and nodded. "Fine. The original Corinne believed Roman would never betray her, right? Then let's make a deal.

"Every time Roman cheats, a year of his life transfers to me. And if the day comes when he's burned through every last year, my task is complete."

The System went quiet for three seconds.

"Deal."

49 affairs meant 49 years gone. Roman was supposed to live to 80, and now he had just one year left.

No. To be exact, once the clock struck midnight on New Year's, his time was up. The thought filled me with a deep, quiet sense of freedom.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Roman.

"I won't be home for dinner.

"About the stuff online, you know how it is. She lost a dare. Don't take it seriously."

I didn't reply, so he didn't follow up. That was our unspoken arrangement, years in the making.

"Corinne, you've always been so understanding. I'm just blowing off steam.

"Don't worry. You're the only Mrs. Blackwell."

I scoffed and called the kids inside for dinner. Christmas bells chimed faintly in the distance. I only had to make it seven more days.

On New Year's Eve, fireworks would fill the entire sky. And I'd finally close the books on all of it.