My best friend gifted me a luxurious mansion. But my time enjoying it was short-lived. One night, as the world outside lay in silence, an intruder broke in, a glinting knife clutched in his trembling hand.
"Tristan, you framed me and sent me to prison! You destroyed my family! Go to hell!" he bellowed, his voice thick with fury and desperation.
Tristan was my best friend's name. The pieces fell into place in an instant—too late. I was nothing more than a scapegoat. And before I could even speak, cold steel slashed across my throat.
The pain was sharp, blinding and then... nothing. I collapsed, warmth pooling beneath me as my vision blurred. The last thing I heard before darkness swallowed me whole was the deafening crack of gunfire. The police had shot my attacker on the spot.
Then, amidst the chaos, he arrived. Tristan strolled in, cradling a woman in his arms, his lips curling into a sneer as he gazed down at my lifeless body.
"Charlie, thank you for dealing with my troubles and leaving me a fortune. I'll make sure to enjoy everything you left behind. Rest in peace."
My wife—the woman I had loved and trusted—nestled against his chest, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Tristan, I told you I'd help you take everything from him. And I did."
When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer drenched in blood. Instead, I was standing in the golden afternoon light of a lavish estate.
——
In front of me stood Tristan, his face beaming with the same carefully measured sincerity. His suit was immaculate. And beside him, wearing a gentle smile, was my wife—Vanessa.
"Charlie, you've taken care of me all these years," Tristan said, his voice filled with warmth. "As a token of my gratitude, I want to gift you this mansion."
A strange chill crawled down my spine. The words were painfully familiar. My fingers curled into my palms as I forced myself to stay calm.
"You're a big-shot CEO now," he continued, gesturing toward the sprawling mansion behind him. "And with Vanessa by your side, you should have a place that matches your status."
A lump formed in my throat. This already happened.
Hearing that line again, the same one from my previous life, sent a shiver through me. I could still remember how I had eagerly accepted his "gift," oblivious to the trap he had so carefully laid.
But now I knew better.
That mansion had been nothing more than a stage—an elaborate setup Tristan had orchestrated from the very beginning. He had deliberately purchased it in front of the media, ensuring that every news outlet knew it belonged to him. Then, in private, he transferred it to me, making sure I would live there.
By doing so, he had painted a target on my back. His enemy—the man he had framed and sent to prison—had come for me, thinking I was Tristan. And just like that, he had rid himself of a dangerous adversary and walked away with my wealth.
A perfect two-in-one scheme.
I turned my gaze to Vanessa, who stepped forward with a radiant smile. "Honey, Tristan is like a little brother to me," she said sweetly, latching onto my arm in a rare public display of affection. "This is a small gesture from him. Don't overthink it."
The way she touched me felt wrong. Vanessa had never once held my arm in front of others. And yet, she now clung to me, her touch unnaturally forced, as if trying to reassure me.
My gaze flickered downward—to where her other hand rested lightly on Tristan's wrist. It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. But I saw it.
Had I not lived through this before, I might have brushed it off as simple affection. But I had lived through it. I had seen how this story ended.
And now, I could see what I had been blind to before.
The lingering touches. The stolen glances. The way Vanessa always spoke up in Tristan's defense.
She wasn't just my wife. She was his accomplice. And she had helped him get rid of me.
I exhaled slowly, my mind racing. My killer would be released from prison three days after I moved into that mansion. That meant if I never accepted it, if I never stepped foot inside, then history couldn't repeat itself.
"You should keep it," I said finally, my tone casual. "I'd rather live in a house I buy myself."
A flicker of surprise crossed Tristan's face, though he was quick to mask it. But Vanessa? She wasn't nearly as controlled. Her smile faltered, her brows drawing together in a frown.
"Charlie, what's wrong?" Tristan asked smoothly.
Vanessa, however, didn't bother with subtlety. "Honey, why would you refuse?" she demanded, tightening her grip on my arm. "Tristan is being sincere and you're rejecting him? You're hurting his feelings."
I chuckled softly, my gaze drifting to where their bodies were slightly angled toward each other, unconsciously drawn together.
"He won't feel hurt," I murmured, my voice tinged with amusement. "You're already keeping him warm, aren't you?"
Vanessa instantly stiffened. "Charlie, what do you mean by that?!"
Her reaction was instant—defensive, outraged. The perfect mask of an innocent wife falsely accused.
"I only see Tristan as my little brother!" she cried, her voice rising. "We've been married for so many years and you still don't trust me?!"
I said nothing. I simply watched as she grew more agitated.
Before she could launch into another tirade, Tristan cut in smoothly. "Vanessa, don't get mad. Charlie's probably just jealous—that's why he won't accept the gift." He turned to me with an easy smile. "Maybe we should keep our distance, so he doesn't get the wrong idea."
Despite his words, he made no move to step away from Vanessa. If anything, he leaned in closer, his fingers brushing against the small of her back.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned back to me, his expression effortlessly composed.
"Charlie, don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I only see Vanessa as a big sister. There's nothing going on between us. If you don't like the mansion, I'll prepare another surprise for you later."
I met his gaze, a slow smile curling my lips.
"Sure," I said, my voice light. "As long as it's not a shock."
