Brigitta had travelled through time thrice and loved Damien in each different timeline. Unfortunately, they ended up as bitter enemies each time.
The first time, Damien’s kept that woman, Irene, had jumped from the balcony during their wedding. Damien had blamed Brigitta and tortured her for fifty years before finally carrying her to that same spot and leaping with her in his arms. His body crushed into the ground in a bloody tribute to his precious woman.
The second time, Irene had hanged herself in their bridal suite. That same night, Damien had stared at his beloved woman’s lifeless body, eyes burning red and in a blind rage, seized Brigitta by the throat—destroying her vocal cords.
The third time, before Irene could even make a move, Brigitta had stepped in and saved her. But Damien had said nothing. On the day after the wedding, he had simply vanished—and she hadn’t seen him again until the moment he lay on his deathbed.
Three times, Damien’s kept woman had killed herself on their wedding day. Three times, Brigitta had paid for it with years of Damien’s endless torment.
This time, Brigitta opened her eyes three days before the wedding. She tore off the gown she had been trying on, grabbed the phone and called Damien’s kept woman.
“Come pick out a wedding dress. The wedding is canceled. I'm not getting married.”
——
A mocking laugh came through the line.
“Lady Holmund, what game are you playing now? I don’t believe you. Unless... you bring the dress to me yourself.”
Brigitta tightened her grip on the phone, forcing down her anger.
Fine. Let it be the last thing she ever did for the two of them.
Upon arriving at the address Irene had given her, the door stood ajar. She pushed it open—only to be greeted by with lingerie and condom wrappers scattered across the floor, the air thick with the sharp scent of sex. From the bedroom came the sound of breathless, intimate gasps…
Brigitta knew that voice. She’d became familiar with it for the past three lifetimes. It was Damien's!
Even after three unfortunate lifetime, seeing the scene before her still tore her heart to pieces.
The man looked up, shoved the woman on top off him and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
Brigitta opened her mouth to answer, but Irene had already flung herself into Damien’s arms, weeping dramatically.
“Ms. Holmund must be trying to humiliate me again. She even came in person to deliver a wedding dress!”
Damien’s face hardened. He rose, not bothering to cover himself as he shrugged into a robe. “I’ve already given you the title of Mrs. Arkwright. What more do you want? She may be nothing but an ornament to me, but if you lay a hand on her, you’ll be my enemy. This is your last warning.”
No one knew better than Brigitta how much Damien cared for his kept woman.
Her mind flashed back to the three lifetimes she had already lived.
The first time, Irene had jumped from their wedding venue. Damien tortured Brigitta for the next fifty years before finally carrying her to the same spot and jumped with her, crushing his body into the ground in a tribute to his kept woman.
The second time, Irene had hanged herself in the bridal suite. That night, Damien had stared at her corpse with burning eyes, then seized Brigitta by the throat, destroying her vocal chords.
The third time, Brigitta had saved Irene before she could act—but Damien had said nothing. The day after the wedding, he disappeared. She never saw him again until his deathbed.
Three deaths had taught Brigitta one truth: Damien had always cherished Irene, while she had been the intruder that stood between them.
Damien's love—or lack of it—had always been clear. And Irene would be her enemy for life, yet Damien insisted on keeping her close.
As Brigitta stayed silent, buried in her thoughts, Damien wrapped an arm around Irene and looked down at her.
“The cleaner’s off today. Since you’re here, tidy this place up. Irene’s staying tonight,” he said.
Brigitta fists clenched. She could bear no more. “Damien, since you’re here, I’ll say it straight—about the wedding—”
“Enough!” he roared. “I agreed to marry you, as you wanted and now you can’t stop talking about the wedding? Are you trying to humiliate Irene? Get out!”
He snatched up a glass ashtray and hurled it at her.
Bang!
It grazed her forehead and shattered against the wall. Warm blood trickled down her face.
Brigitta felt a sudden ringing in her head, intense pain radiating from her forehead and she could barely stand.
Damien’s pupils constricted. He froze. “Why… didn’t you dodge?”
Why? Because she would never again stoop to begging for his mercy.
“Damien, I owe you nothing. And I warn you... do NOT touch me again.”
She wiped the blood from her face, dropped the wedding dress onto the floor and walked out without looking back.
Outside, she hailed a cab to the hospital. Her wound was cleaned and bandaged quickly.
At the time, her heart felt numb, though a dull ache still throbbed inside.
In the past, Brigitta might have exaggerated an injury to win Damien’s sympathy. And he would have tended to her around the clock.
Everyone said that Brigitta was Damien’s entire world and no one could shake her position in his heart. People still remembered the time Damien had celebrated her recovery from a mild cold by spending hundreds of millions on three nights of fireworks over Ardenport.
After Irene appeared, however, that place in his heart had vanished.
Three lifetimes had been enough for Brigitta to finally see the truth. This time, she would break free of Damien and live for herself.
After leaving the hospital, she pulled out her phone and sent emails to her expedition team.
As the lead director of The Thalasson Project—an expedition to uncover a lost civilization—Brigitta was ready to abandon her obsession with Damien and devote the rest of her life to the dream she had always yearned for.
