Panic flashed across Tristan’s face. He turned urgently to our parents for help. My mother stepped forward, blocking the Langford Family members just as they began to leave. Her voice rang out sharply.
“Since things have come to this, I won’t keep it a secret any longer. The real reason we didn’t want Lucas to marry Sienna… is because he’s incapable.”
Her words fell like a thunderclap.
“Over the years, he’s been fooling around with countless women. The doctor said he’ll never be able to function properly again.”
All eyes turned toward me, laced with contempt and revulsion, as if I were the one tainted and despicable.
I gave a slow, calm smile, then reached into my pocket and pulled out a neat stack of photographs. Deliberately, I flipped through them one by one so everyone could see.
“Mother, are you referring to these women?”
The photos revealed Tristan in intimate situations with various women, arms entwined, kisses shared, shirts half-off. Evidence of his indulgent, chaotic private life.
Each image had been purchased at great expense.
In my previous life, Tristan hadn’t taken his life because of me. He ended it out of sheer terror, after being blackmailed with these exact photos and receiving a devastating medical diagnosis.
I’d cleaned up his mess back then. I had even paid those women off, trying to protect his so-called legacy.
What I hadn’t known was that he had left behind a suicide note, one that blamed everything on me.
“If Lucas hadn’t ruined our wedding, I could have stayed by your side… We could’ve lived happily as a family of three. I hope in the next life, I can meet you and the child again. Sienna, please forgive my cowardice.”
That note shattered everything. Sienna blamed me for his death. In her twisted grief, she tied me up, doused me in gasoline and set me on fire.
But this life… this life will be different. Let’s see without my extreme yang constitution to protect her whether Sienna can even survive past twenty-five.
Suddenly, Tristan lunged forward, yanking the stack of photos from my hand. His face was a mask of panic.
“These photos are fake! All digitally altered! Don’t believe him!”
With trembling hands, he tore the photos apart, pieces fluttering to the floor like ashes.
“Lucas,” he snarled, “you were the one sleeping around. You photoshopped my face onto your mess!”
Unfazed, I pulled out a small USB drive and held it up.