Killed by Her Thrift, Reborn for Revenge

Ever since I married Myra Cowan, I started living like a beggar despite making an annual salary of a million dollars.

She kept telling me, "We should hang in there for now, honey. Once we've saved enough money, we'll be able to live however we want without worrying about our financial situation."

My closet was stuffed with old suits bought ten years ago. My lunches were always sandwiches, which were nearing their expiry dates, bought from convenience stores.

My friends made fun of me for marrying a woman who was addicted to saving money. But my heart went out to Myra for suffering with me in life.

But when I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer and needed money for a life-saving surgery, Myra broke down in tears and told me that all of our savings were kept in a fixed-term deposit.

Before I drew my last breath, I heard Myra telling her younger brother, Dwight Cowan, over the phone in a gentle tone, "I've already transferred you the down payment for your house."

When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Myra demands that I sell my gaming account in exchange for money.

The monitor shows a familiar login screen. Myra can be seen standing next to me.

"This account can be sold for 8,000 dollars. We can save three months' worth of expenses with this money!"

I just laugh in response.

In my previous life, I had done nothing but save money. In the end, all of my money became someone else's assets.

Why the hell should I save money in this life?

With just one click on the mouse, I reload a million dollars into the game right away.

Immediately, a reddish-golden meteor shower covers the skies of the entire server. The system makes an announcement in a bold, enlarged font that gets repeated for a long time.

"Player 'Void' spares no expense, inviting fair maidens from across the realms to forge a destined bond! Those who are interested are welcome to attend the Celestial Lake Gathering. A bride price of one million awaits—offered in exchange for a single, sincere heart."

"Glenn Miller, have you gone completely insane? How could you spend so much money in a game? This is one million dollars we're talking about!"

Myra Cowan's scream was deafening. Heaving violently, she stared fixedly at the still-scrolling announcement on the screen, as if the money that had gone up in flames was her very life.

"Hurry and contact their customer service! Tell them you made a mistake when topping up and ask for a refund! Do it now!"

I looked at her and said calmly, "I earned this money, so I can spend it however I want."

Myra seemed choked by my words, and the fierce expression of her face froze for a moment. In the next second, she took a deep breath and forced a smile.

"Honey, are you mad at me? Was it because I asked you to sell your account?" she asked softly, her voice laced with an almost hesitant eagerness to please.

Tugging at my sleeve, she continued tearfully, "I'm doing this for our sake. Haven't you always said work is exhausting, and you dream of retiring early to give us a comfortable life?

"Didn't we agree that sacrificing a little now and being more frugal is all for our future? You push yourself so hard at work that it's even giving you stomach issues. It simply breaks my heart to see you like this."

As she spoke, she turned and hurried into the kitchen. Moments later, she came back out holding a white ceramic bowl with a gentle smile.

"See? I remembered you've been complaining about bloating lately. I even asked the herbalist and made you this chicken soup. It's really good for the stomach." She held out the bowl toward me, her gaze earnest. "Have some while it's still hot, okay?"

The soup was clear and light, with a few pieces of vegetables floating on the surface. My stomach seemed to twinge faintly again.

It was just like this in my previous life.

Myra would always gently tell me to endure and save a little more for our future. She would make soup for me, plan every expense meticulously, and hold tightly onto every penny I earned through blood, sweat, and tears.

Every time I asked, she would tell me the money was in a fixed-term deposit, that we were working toward "financial freedom".

And I had believed her.

Behind the gleaming title of a million-dollar annual salary, I lived like a beggar hiding in the shadows. I gave her all my trust and money, yet in the end, she let me die in agony on a hospital bed.

The chicken soup she had brewed countless times now carried the scent of deceit.

As I gazed into the feigned worry and tenderness in Myra's eyes, I suddenly let out a low laugh. The sound was so cold it felt foreign even to me.

"Fine, you're right," I said as I took the bowl from her.

I placed the soup gently on the table and fixed my gaze straight into her eyes, which were struggling to remain composed.

"I will get every last cent of my money back."