Swapping the Targeted Diamond Ring

"Hmph. Useless, lazy, and still no baby after all these years. But taking million-dollar gifts? That you're good at," my mother-in-law, Victoria Grant, said this with her lips puckered as if she'd caught a foul smell.

Lucas Reed—my husband—had just slid a five-carat diamond ring onto my finger when she cut in.

A strange chill ran through me. My hand, whole and unbroken, rested in front of me as if nothing had ever happened.

That was the moment I knew I was back.

In my last life, Lucas spent an outrageous amount on having that ring custom-made by a famous designer. And on the very day he gave it to me—this exact day—Victoria stood by, hurling the same tired insults.

She called me a "wannabe trophy wife," a pretty decoration who burned through her son's money and couldn't give him a child.

Back then, I kept calmly explaining that Lucas and I were planning to start a family—we were just swamped with work. Honestly, a million-dollar New Year's gift wasn't even unusual for him. He spent triple that on his mother every single year.

Not that she cared.

In her world, my greatest sin was an empty nursery. Her golden boy was flawless; everything wrong in the universe had to be my fault.

And Lucas? The ever-dutiful son?

He never pushed back.

He later told me not to take it personally and suggested I buy her something nice, emphasizing that we shouldn't ruin the holiday mood.

So, I went out to buy her a present.

I didn't expect to walk straight into a bridal party at the mall.

The bride stepped out of the group like she was the star of her own show—couture gown, perfect hair, flawless makeup.

I barely glanced at her.

As we passed each other, she grabbed my hand.

She saw the ring and slapped me so hard my ears buzzed, accusing me of being a mistress trying to steal her man.

I stared at her ring—identical to mine—and froze.

Before I could speak, she and her bridesmaids surrounded me. They tore my clothes, hit me, and slapped me until my vision swam.

I begged them to stop. I said there had to be a mistake.

The bride planted her stiletto heel down onto the back of my hand, grinding it cruelly.

She leaned in, her voice low and mocking. "There's no mistake. This ring is one of a kind. It's custom-made. If you have it, then you're the mistress."

My hand split open under her heel. Blood smeared the diamond.

Then, she took out a small knife and carved "mistress" across my face. She dragged me by the hair out of the mall and into the street.

"So good at seducing men, huh?" she stated with this sugary-sweet smile. "Cute. I'll even help you find some clients—maybe then you'll stop circling my fiance like a stray."

She shoved me toward a group of wandering men and turned away.

I never survived that night.

When Lucas showed up, he looked at my body once and signed a settlement. Just like that, everything was cleanly wrapped up.

I only learned the bride's name after I died.

Sophie Lane—Lucas' so-called true love—the woman he'd been saving his heart for all along.

My body hadn't even been laid to rest before they registered their marriage.

They threw a massive wedding.

And because she was pregnant, Victoria adored her instantly.

She even praised her for "fixing the family problem."

That memory burned through me like acid, but on the outside? I smiled—warm, easy, almost cheerful.

I slid the ring off my finger and gently set it on Victoria's hand. "Mom," I spoke gently, like spring sunlight, "this ring looks much better on you."