chapter 1

In my past life, the jewelry brand I co-founded with my three childhood friends soared to global fame. And my love for Samwell Harris was a lifetime devotion.

Reborn on the day I was trapped in that fire, fear didn’t consume me. I knew he would come for me.

I watched him running through the flames. I reached out, ready to pick up where we had left off.

But he didn’t stop. He ran straight past me, scooping up the maid's daughter, Lotta Parekh, and rushing out. My two other childhood friends, Mike Benson and William Stark, surrounded her without a second thought.

"Lotta, we finally saved you this time."

In that moment, I realized their hearts had never been mine.

When I was finally rescued, I discovered my right arm was shattered beyond repair.

The memory of my past life, so full of illusions, pushed me to tear up the design for the token brooch we had once shared.

I've always had a clean soul—once something is tainted, I no longer care for it.

I picked up my phone and called Oliver Harris, who was overseas. "I'm going abroad for further studies."

...

Waves of searing heat crashed over me, and choking clouds of smoke filled my lungs the second I opened my eyes. I doubled over, coughing hard.

Even trapped in the fire, I wasn't afraid. I knew my husband, Samwell, would save me.

In my past life, it was his reckless courage—charging into the flames without a second thought to pull me out—that made me pick him. Out of three childhood sweethearts, he was the one I chose as my husband.

We were the perfect couple everyone talked about. Our jewelry brand, "Cor Lotus," which I started with all three friends, was famous worldwide.

We stood by each other through thick and thin, for a lifetime. Everyone in our circle was jealous—I had the perfect love, great friends, and a booming career.

On my deathbed, I asked Samwell, "Next life, you'll still be my hero, right? The one who swoops in and saves me?"

He carefully pinned the lotus brooch I designed onto me—our token of love. Then I closed my eyes, smiling.

Living this life again, I looked forward to him saving me like a hero once more.

When his familiar figure finally appeared, I was about to call out Samwell's name.

But he barreled past me without a flicker of hesitation. He snatched the nanny’s daughter from behind me, tucked her close, and bolted out of the fire—never even sparing me a glance.

I heard other voices outside—Mike and William. I screamed their names, begging for someone to save me.

But they just glanced at me.

The last thing I heard before blacking out was them saying, "Lotta, we finally saved you this time."

A burning beam crashed down. A sharp pain shot through my arm, and I blacked out.

I woke up in the hospital. A nurse told me the firefighters had pulled me out.

But they got to me too late. My right arm was shattered, and my lungs were badly damaged from breathing in too much smoke.

"Poor thing," the nurse murmured, "all banged up like this, and not a single family member or friend has showed up."

"Not like that Lotta girl next door. Just a little scratch from the fire, and three guys are hovering like she’s their entire world."

My heart hurt even more than my body. For days, no one came to see me.

Then one day, I spotted Samwell hurrying past my door. I called out to him with my hoarse voice, stopping him in his tracks.