Choosing the Right Husband This Time

At twenty-eight, I held the dubious honor of being the last unmarried socialite on New York's Upper East Side. Everyone around me was growing increasingly anxious about my single status.

In my previous life, my mother arranged a matchmaking cocktail party, where I was told to choose a husband from ten handpicked elite bachelors. I bribed the event planner to place Mark West's profile at the very top—and as I had hoped, I chose him.

After we married, Mark treated me with what seemed like tender affection. He even bought me an oceanfront villa in the Hamptons, making me believe I had finally found true love.

But that illusion shattered the day I was nine months pregnant, just hours away from giving birth. Mark drove a scalpel straight into my abdomen—then, right in front of me, hurled our newborn onto the floor.

"If you hadn't forced me into this marriage with your family's power, Sofia wouldn't have been heartbroken enough to go drinking and get drugged and assaulted. This… this is what you owe her!"

He tossed the scalpel aside, then calmly let his private doctor pin down my blood-soaked body.

I fought through excruciating pain for six agonizing hours, until I finally bled to death.

Afterward, Mark dumped my corpse into the Hudson River. But for Sofia, he hosted a grand funeral—funded with my money, under my name—and paraded himself to the world as a grieving, devoted widower.

Given a second chance at life, I refused to step foot in that cursed matchmaking event. Instead, I went straight to my mother with a demand: marry me to Robert Black—the most ruthless, cold-blooded titan of Wall Street, whose scarred face was feared by all.

In the end, stripped of my financial backing, Mark's hedge fund collapsed. He became a disgraced fraudster, spat on by everyone on Wall Street.

My mother sat gracefully on the living room sofa, beckoning me over with a wave of her hand. The housekeeper stepped forward and placed a silver tray filled with photographs in front of me.

"Pick one, darling. My precious Via deserves only the very best man this world has to offer."

Each photo on the tray was of an exceptional young man—carefully selected by my mother. All Ivy League graduates. All boasting seven-figure annual incomes.

But one face was conspicuously absent. Robert Black.

In my previous life, even after death, my resentment couldn't rest. My spirit lingered next to my corpse, hatred threatening to twist me into something monstrous.

No one came to claim my body—no one except Robert. Despite the stench of the river, he pulled me from the water himself. His tears fell onto my cold, lifeless face, scalding my soul.

He gave me a real funeral. Then, wielding every resource at his disposal, he destroyed Mark. And when everything was over, he stood at my grave and ended his own life with a bullet.

That memory burned in my mind. I pushed the tray aside and rose to my feet.

"Mom, I want to marry Robert Black."

The teacup in her hand slipped, shattering on the floor. "Via, do you even hear yourself? That man is disfigured, violent, and cruel. You cannot ruin your life over a fit of spite!"

I met her gaze, firm and unwavering. "I love him. I want no one else but him."

Silence suffocated the room. My mother let out a long, weary sigh. "Very well. This is your choice. But you are my daughter, and I won't let anyone mistreat you."

Clutching the prenuptial agreement she had just signed, I stepped out of the Anderson Building, barely able to contain my excitement.

Only to run straight into Mark and Sofia in the lobby.

Sofia pretended not to see me and walked directly toward me—shoulder squared, head high—until I casually sidestepped. She stumbled forward, falling hard onto the marble floor.

"Miss Anderson," she whimpered, "if I've offended you, then insult me all you want. But why… why would you have someone cripple my brother?"

Mark rushed to help her up, then glanced at the documents in my hand. Disgust flickered across his face.

"I thought you were above all this. Turns out, you're so desperate you ran crying to your mother to arrange a match for you. Let me be clear—if you don't apologize to Sofia right now, I wouldn't marry a vicious woman like you even if you got down on your knees and begged."

Sofia clutched Mark's sleeve, looking pitiful. "Mark, don't fight with Miss Anderson over me. It's all my fault..."

And then, to everyone's surprise, she dropped to her knees in front of me. "Miss Anderson, I know you're rich and powerful. Snuffing me out would be as easy as crushing an ant. But my brother... he's innocent. Please, I beg you, show mercy."

She deliberately slammed her forehead against the marble. A red, swollen bump immediately appeared.

Mark helped her up, glaring at me as if I were a monster. "Via, do you think being an Anderson means you can do whatever you want? Apologize. Pay for her brother's medical bills. And when you marry me, you'll accept Sofia as my personal assistant. That's the least you owe her."

I watched their performance coldly. Without a word, the bodyguards behind me stepped forward.

Smack. Smack.

Each landed a slap—one for Mark, one for Sofia.

Sofia screamed. Mark staggered, clutching his face in disbelief. "Did your people just hit me?!"

The bodyguard glared. "Consider two slaps a mercy for harassing Miss Anderson."

I waved a hand dismissively and looked at Mark. How had I ever thought that face was handsome, even charming?

"Did you think I'd planned on marrying you?" I sneered. "Did you really think the name on this prenuptial agreement was yours?"

Mark lifted his chin, full of misplaced confidence. "Who else would it be? You chased me for three years. You even delayed your IPO just to wait for me. Who else could that agreement be for?"

A soft chuckle escaped me. "Keep dreaming."

His pupils shrank. He stared at me for a long moment before Sofia tugged at his sleeve, snapping him out of his daze.

"Via," he scoffed. "So this is your game of hard-to-get? You really think this'll make me fall for you?"

I couldn't be bothered wasting another second. I motioned to security. "Get them out. And put up a sign at the entrance that says: Mark West and animals are not allowed inside."

"Yes, Miss Anderson."

My assistant, Kate, was visibly holding back tears. "Miss Anderson, you've finally come to your senses..."

Hatred boiled in my chest. These two had destroyed me in my past life. This time... it would be their turn to go to hell.

The very next day, I went to a private clinic on Long Island—home to the best reconstructive surgeons in the country. I was here to fix the scars on Robert's face.

Following the garden path to the hot spring pool, I turned a corner... and froze at the scene before me.