And then he'd collect a massive payout.
My blood froze in my veins, then surged hot with rage the very next second.
I remembered so clearly—in my final moments of my past life, Brent had his arm around his new girlfriend.
He looked down at me crumpled on the floor like I was garbage, mocking me, saying my parents and I deserved to die.
"All you had to do was pay me the $90,000 and spread your legs so I could have a taste. But no, you had to play innocent and fight back."
"You got your parents killed and ended up branded a lunatic and attempted murderer."
He laughed. There wasn't a shred of pity in his eyes—only smug satisfaction.
"All it took was a little maneuvering, and everything your parents owned became mine. I'll be living large off their money for the rest of my life."
"Hahaha, Miranda Vance—I really should thank you."
"Don't worry. After you're dead, I'll burn a couple extra paper offerings for you."
In that moment, despair swallowed me whole. Hatred coiled around my heart so tight I couldn't breathe.
It should have been a joyous New Year, a time for family reunions and celebration.
Instead, my family was destroyed. I died with my eyes open, drowning in grief and rage.
I prayed countless times—if I ever got another chance, I would make him pay in blood.
I would make him suffer every ounce of pain he inflicted on me and my parents.
Brent Fleming, heaven must be watching—because it actually gave me that chance.
You wanted to force me into calling off the wedding first?
Not this time.
This time, I won't be walking into your trap.
You'll be falling into mine.
I was going to make him taste it—the bitter flavor of being framed, ruined, stripped of everything.
Every ounce of pain and humiliation he'd heaped on me and my parents in my last life? I'd repay it a hundredfold. A thousandfold.
I pulled out my phone and recorded Brent with the club girl, capturing every damning second of their passionate display.
Then I opened my chat with Claude Whitney and sent him the video, along with a single message:
"The Crown Bar. I need him unable to attend the wedding tomorrow."
His reply came instantly:
"For real? Don't you dare go soft on me—I've been itching to mess this guy up!"
I sent him a thank-you sticker.
In my previous life, Brent had destroyed everything I loved. My family, shattered. Me, dead in a mental asylum.
Claude was the one who collected our bodies. Who gave us proper burials.