It was Harbor City's worst-kept secret: Henry Sanchez, the billionaire heir, was pining for a ghost. A woman he couldn't have.
And I? I was just the stand-in. A body double kept in a gilded cage because I bore a passing resemblance to his "one that got away."
Everyone mocked me for it. They called me cheap, a parasite clinging to a man who despised her, shamelessly refusing to leave. That was true—until the real obsession returned. When Amelia Harding came back to the country, Henry didn't hesitate. He cleared the house to make room for her overnight.
Amelia was even more arrogant than I remembered. She didn't just want my place; she wanted to crush me beneath her heel.
Henry looked at me with cold indifference. "You have two choices. Stay and be her maid to atone for your existence—I'll pay you twenty thousand a month. Or sign the divorce papers, take that worthless wasteland in the West End, and get the hell out of my sight."
Everyone expected me to swallow my pride. They thought I would beg to stay in the Sanchez orbit, no matter the humiliation.
Instead, I packed my bags in record time, snatched the land deed, and walked out.
In my previous life, I had humbled myself. I tried to please them, to be the perfect wife. In return, that bastard and his mistress tortured me until I broke, dying a miserable death in a mental asylum without even a grave to mark my passing.
In this life, I only want to stay as far away from them as possible.
As for that "worthless" land? Joke's on you, Henry.
The government demolition and redevelopment notice for the West End would be officially issued tomorrow. This heaven-sent wealth had finally fallen into my lap.
——
Splash.
Scalding heat lashed across my cheek. Brown liquid dripped from my chin, staining the freshly printed divorce agreement on the table.
Across from me, Amelia Harding held the now-empty coffee cup, her fingers manicured to perfection. A smug smile played on her lips, though her eyes widened in feigned innocence.
"Oops. My hand slipped, Annie. You aren't mad, are you?"
Mad? No. I want to kill you.
In my previous life, this exact cup of coffee broke my spirit. It was the moment I chose to submit, to stay in the Sanchez household and work like a slave. In exchange, they joined forces to destroy me.
Today, we make a clean break.
Henry, sitting at the head of the table, didn't even lift his eyes. He flicked his lighter open and closed—click, snap, click—his voice dripping with disgust.
"Anna Pruitt, don't push your luck."
He stared at the flame. "Lick the coffee off the floor, wipe Amelia's shoes until they shine, and we'll consider this matter settled. Otherwise, don't expect to walk out of this door alive."
If it were the old me, my knees would have hit the floor instantly. After all, I was the Sanchez family's obedient dog—a fact known by all of Harbor City.
But the old Anna was dead.
I pulled a wet wipe from my purse and calmly cleaned the filth from my face.
Mistaking my silence for submission, Amelia stretched her leg out, offering her shoe. "Make it sparkle," she sneered. "These are limited edition. I had to pull strings to get them."
Smack!
The slap cracked through the living room like a gunshot.
The force whipped Amelia's head to the side. Her carefully styled hair exploded into a mess, and a crimson handprint blossomed on her pale cheek.
Henry surged to his feet, smashing the lighter onto the coffee table. "Anna! Have you lost your mind? You dare touch her?"
He raised his hand to strike, but I slammed the land deed onto the table between us.
"You want to get physical, Henry?" My voice was steady. "Consider that slap a lesson for your mistress. Lay a finger on me, and I'll torch this deed right here, right now. Then nobody gets what they want."
Henry's hand froze midair.
His gaze dropped to the document, contempt flashing in his dark eyes.
To him, the West End plot was a toxic asset—a garbage investment made by his grandfather during a bout of senility. The land was a graveyard of unfinished buildings and chemical factories. Zero commercial value, bleeding money in maintenance costs every year.
Henry had been desperate to offload this hot potato for years. I was giving him the perfect excuse.
"Fine," he scoffed, tension leaving his shoulders. "You've got guts, Anna. I'll give you that."
He sank back onto the sofa, crossing his legs with arrogant ease. "Take this broken piece of land and get lost. But when you're starving on the street, don't come crawling back begging for charity."
