In my previous life, my fiancé Ryan Miller’s first love was trapped in a fire. I blocked his way, threatening my own life to stop him from rushing in to rescue her.
Later, his first love, Chloe Adams, was disfigured by the flames. Three months later, on the day of my wedding, she threw herself into the sea and died.
When Ryan found out, he said nothing and still went through with the wedding. But on our wedding night, he set the mansion ablaze.
I woke up choking on thick smoke, desperate to escape, only to realize my body was weak and paralyzed, completely drained of strength.
Through the smoke, I saw Ryan standing at the door. I begged him to save me, but he only glared at me with hatred.
“Chloe was just as helpless back then. If you hadn’t stopped me, she wouldn’t have died. You owe her. Now I’ll let you feel the pain she endured.”
In despair, I was devoured by the fire. At that moment, I swore—if given another chance, I would never meddle again.
When I opened my eyes, I was back in the fire. This time, I decided to let him go.
…
“Emily Carter, let go of me. I have to save Chloe.”
The familiar voice rang in my ears. I looked around and instantly realized I had returned.
The pain of being burned alive in my past life still lingered, making my body tremble uncontrollably.
I released Ryan’s arm and said calmly, “I won’t stop you. But if you go in, our engagement ends here.”
He glared at me, furious. “You want to break up with me?”
“Yes. Break up. Whatever happens to you afterward will no longer concern me.”
Hearing this, Ryan sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “Trying to threaten me with that? Impossible. If you want to break up, I’ll gladly oblige. Let’s see how you come crawling back, crying.”
“Even if we were married already, if you threatened me with divorce, I’d still agree.”
I neither grew angry nor upset. I only smiled faintly at him. “Good luck.”
Without my interference, he spat a few harsh words and, ignoring the firefighters’ attempts to stop him, rushed headlong into the burning building.
I remembered my past life—how the fire inside had been too fierce, and Ryan had no experience or protective gear. I had only tried to stop him for his own safety.
Back then, the firefighters already had rescue operations underway, and one by one, the trapped victims were being saved.
Chloe was burned and disfigured because of her vanity. Even in such danger, she insisted on changing clothes and redoing her makeup, delaying the best chance for rescue.
Her recklessness even caused the death of a firefighter. Later, she killed herself because the incident went viral in the news, and she was viciously attacked online until she couldn’t bear it anymore.
But Ryan never cared about the facts. Simply because I had stopped him, he blamed everything on me—and in the end, cruelly killed me.
In this life, I no longer cared about their so-called tragic love. I only wanted to stay far away from those two lunatics.
Clutching my phone, I quickly left the scene.
Back home, I hurriedly packed my clothes, blocked every way Ryan could contact me, and booked the earliest flight out for a vacation abroad.
I turned off my phone for three days. But when I powered it back on the fourth day and saw the news from the U.S., I was utterly shocked.
I never expected their mess to drag me onto the headlines.
“Hero Firefighter Loses Leg Saving Others, Heartlessly Abandoned by Fiancée.”
Seeing that title—and my photo splashed across the screen—made my head spin with rage.
Clicking into the article, I learned the truth: this time, Chloe wasn’t injured at all. Instead, Ryan was severely burned in the fire, and his leg had to be amputated.
