Chapter 1Everyone on the military base knew Olivia was the perfect wife.
Every 6 P.M., Benjamin's uniform was pressed, starched, and flawless.
Every 7 P.M., the smell of a home-cooked meal filled their apartment—braised pork belly, crisp stir-fried greens, perfectly fluffy rice.
Every 8 P.M., she was waiting by the door, listening for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs.
But today? The house was a disaster.
A pile of dirty laundry sat on the sofa, the stove was cold, and the floor hadn't been swept.
Olivia stood in front of the mirror, staring at her own young face, her fingertips trembling.
She had been REBORN.
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In her previous life, Olivia Taylor had spent a lifetime in love with Benjamin Brown, pouring every ounce of her being into winning his affection.
It was only on her deathbed that she learned the truth: he'd had a secret vasectomy years ago.
Not only that, he'd written a will leaving everything—his entire inheritance—to his first love, Blanche, and her son, whom he planned to legally adopt.
And Olivia, the woman who had stood by his side for fifty years?
Her name wasn't mentioned.
Not a single word.
It was as if she had never existed.
This time, she refused to be that fool again.
Olivia calmly accepted the fact that she'd been reborn. Then, she picked up a folder, walked out the door, and did two things.
First, she went to the county clerk's office and filed for a compulsory divorce.
The clerk stared at her. "Ma'am, are you sure? A compulsory divorce for a military spouse requires organizational approval. It could take a month."
"I'm sure," Olivia said, her voice soft but firm.
Second, she went to the local dance company and found Blanche Watson in the middle of a blind date.
Blanche wore a blue dress, looking gentle and delicate. When she saw Olivia, her face went pale.
"Olivia? You..."
Olivia cut her off. "Blanche, I know you still have feelings for Benjamin. And he still has feelings for you."
Blanche froze. The man she was with, sensing the tension, quickly excused himself and left.
"I've filed for a divorce," Olivia stated calmly. "In a month, once it's approved, I'm leaving him. Then you two can be together."
Blanche stared at her, shocked. "What are you talking about? I thought you adored Benjamin! How could you..."
A bitter smile twisted Olivia's lips.
Yes, she had adored him.
She had trailed after him since they were kids, dreaming of the day she would marry him.
But he had fallen for Blanche, the dancer. His heart had no room for anyone else.
Later, his parents had disapproved of Blanche and forced them to break up, pushing him to marry Olivia instead.
She had been overjoyed, thinking she'd finally found happiness.
But after the wedding, he'd treated her like ice. She'd tried so hard to be the perfect wife, only to be rewarded with a secret vasectomy—he never intended to have a child with her.
And then, the will.
It had taken her fifty years to learn a simple truth: you can't force someone to love you.
"As of today," Olivia said softly, "I'm done with Benjamin. I'm willing to step aside for you both."
Just as Blanche opened her mouth to speak, a sharp, cold voice cut through the air from behind.
"Olivia! What are you doing now?!"
Benjamin strode over, his hand clamping around her wrist with bruising force.
He was in his impeccably starched uniform, his handsome face twisted with anger.
"The moment I married you, it was over between me and Blanche!" he snarled. "She's just a friend now. Why do you have to keep harassing her?"
His voice dropped even lower. "Will you only be happy when you've driven her away completely?"
A sharp pain pierced Olivia's heart.
Again.
Every single time, no matter what happened, he never asked for the truth. He always assumed she was the one bullying Blanche.
Just like in her last life.
"You're misunderstanding," she said, lifting her head calmly. "I just came to tell her..."
"Olivia!" Blanche suddenly interrupted, her eyes turning red. "You don't have to say another word! You just want to force me to leave, don't you? Fine! I'll go!"
Olivia stared at her, stunned.
She hadn't expected Blanche to twist the truth so blatantly.
"Blanche, what are you talking about? That's not what I meant..." She reached for Blanche's arm, wanting to make her explain, but Benjamin shoved her hand away.
"Go home, now!" he commanded, his voice cold. "And don't you dare bother her again!"
Olivia stumbled back. Before she could steady herself, the screech of tires tore through the air.
THUD!
A military jeep slammed into her.
Pain exploded through her body as she was thrown into the air, landing hard on the pavement.
Blood streamed from her forehead, blurring her vision.
In a daze, she saw Benjamin rushing towards her...
But his first instinct... was to reach out and steady a terrified Blanche.
Chapter 2
"Benjamin..." Olivia tried to speak, but blood filled her throat.
Just like before, as she lay dying, his eyes were only for Blanche.
Covered in her own blood, she slowly closed her eyes.
She felt herself floating in darkness. Muffled voices buzzed around her.
"This is bad, she's hemorrhaging! Blood bank is critical! Who here is Type A?" a doctor's urgent voice asked.
"I am!" It was Blanche's voice, soft but firm. "I'll donate."
"No!" Benjamin's voice cut in, cold and hard. "You're too frail. You can't."
"But Olivia's in critical condition! If we wait for blood from another hospital, she could die..." Blanche's voice trembled with fake tears.
"Then we'll wait," Benjamin's tone was absolute. "I won't let you risk even a single drop of your blood for her."
Olivia's heart felt like it was being crushed.
So, in his mind, her life wasn't worth a single drop of Blanche's blood.
The agony was overwhelming, and she plunged back into darkness.
When she opened her eyes again, the harsh white light of the hospital room made her squint.
"Thank God, you're finally awake," a nurse said, sighing with relief.
Olivia's throat was parched. "...Who... who gave the blood?" she rasped.
The nurse sighed. "It came from another hospital. There was a woman right here who was a match and could have donated immediately, but your husband stopped her. He insisted on waiting."
She lowered her voice. "It was incredibly risky. Yesterday, while we were waiting, you almost didn't make it..."
Olivia's fingers curled into the sheets. Her heart felt like a frozen wasteland.
"Oh," the nurse hesitated. "You really should have family with you after a surgery like this. But your husband said he had to go take care of that other woman, who sprained her ankle. He wouldn't come. Do you have any other family?"
Olivia just shook her head.
The nurse gave her a sympathetic look and quietly closed the door.
Silence. Olivia stared at the ceiling, her eyes dry and aching.
She should have known.
To Benjamin, even Blanche's sprained ankle was more important than her life.
In the following days, Olivia changed her own bandages and fed herself.
A military wife in the next bed would sometimes bring her a cup of water, sighing, "That husband of yours is really something else! His own wife, injured like this, and he doesn't even visit!"
Olivia would just smile faintly.
She was used to it.
In her past life, when she'd had a fever of 104, he'd been out on the training field and hadn't even called.
She'd learned then that he simply didn't love her.
On the day she was discharged, Olivia packed her meager belongings and walked out of the hospital alone.
Just as she stepped outside, she saw Benjamin helping Blanche out of another entrance.
Blanche's foot was bandaged, and Benjamin supported her with a patience Olivia had never seen him show her.
Spotting Olivia, Benjamin frowned. "Get in the car."
His tone was flat, like he was ordering a subordinate.
Olivia didn't move. He had already helped Blanche into the front seat. Seeing her still standing there, his voice turned colder. "What are you waiting for?"
Olivia silently climbed into the back.
"Blanche sprained her ankle. There's no one to look after her at her place," Benjamin stated as he started the engine.
It wasn't a question; it was a decree.
"I'm bringing her to stay with us for a few days."
Olivia just watched the scenery fly by and replied with a calm, "Okay."
After all, this home would soon belong to Blanche anyway. What right did she have to object?
Chapter 3
When they got home, Blanche's stomach let out a loud gurgle.
She blushed and lowered her head, but Benjamin just chuckled. "Hungry?"
Blanche nodded. Benjamin turned to Olivia, his eyes instantly turning cold. "Go cook."
He listed off several dishes, all of them Blanche's favorites. "And she can't handle spicy food. Make it mild."
Blanche looked up, surprised. "You still remember what I like?"
"I remember everything about you," Benjamin said softly.
Olivia watched them, then slowly raised her bandaged hand. "I can't cook."
Her voice was quiet. "The doctor said my hand is fractured. I can't even lift a knife right now."
Blanche sighed dramatically. "That's a shame! I've heard Olivia's cooking is amazing. I was really hoping for some home-cooked food..."
"It's fine." Benjamin stood up. "If you want it, I'll cook for you."
Olivia froze.
She watched as Benjamin rolled up the sleeves of his uniform and started expertly chopping vegetables.
So he knew how to cook. The realization was like a blunt knife sawing at her heart.
In all their years of marriage, he had never once lifted a finger in the kitchen. Not even when she was doubled over in pain from cramps or burning up with a fever.
The first time he ever cooked... was for Blanche.
Just then, Blanche screamed. "Ah! Something bit me!"
Benjamin immediately dropped to the floor to check her leg.
His expression changed. "A poisonous scorpion!"
A bite like that could be fatal. There were no tools at home to extract the venom.
Just as Blanche's face turned pale with panic, Benjamin bent down and sucked the venom directly from the wound with his mouth.
"No!" Blanche struggled. "Benjamin! It could kill you!"
He held her leg firmly. "Blanche, listen to me. If one of us has to die, I'd rather it be me."
Olivia stood to the side, feeling as if a knife had been plunged into her heart.
Silently, she went to call a medic.
After the medic arrived and gave them both antivenom, a young soldier said, "Sir, I know you cherish your wife, but please don't take risks like that again!"
An older medic quickly elbowed him and pointed at Olivia. "That's his wife!"
The young soldier gasped and stammered an apology.
Olivia just shook her head. "It's fine."
Everyone could see who Benjamin cared about more.
And soon, she, the nominal Mrs. Brown, would be completely out of the picture.
Late that night, Olivia got up for a glass of water.
Passing the guest room, she saw Blanche dozing while Benjamin sat by her bed, softly reading her a story.
His expression was full of a tenderness she had never seen.
After Blanche fell asleep, he leaned down as if to kiss her, but restrained himself, only gently stroking her hair. "Goodnight."
Olivia stood in the shadows, her heart numb.
Just wait a little longer, Benjamin, she thought.
Soon, I will give the title of Mrs. Brown back to Blanche.
Soon, you can openly kiss the woman you love.
A few days later, Blanche, fully recovered, held out two tickets. "I have a performance tonight. I hope you both can come."
Olivia was about to decline, but Benjamin's cold gaze stopped her. "Don't spoil the mood."
Four words, like four daggers to her heart. She silently got in the car.
Halfway there, Benjamin stopped at a flower shop and bought a bouquet of roses.
Olivia watched him and suddenly remembered that in all their years of marriage, he had never once given her a gift. Not even a single wildflower. Once, when she'd told him she envied another wife's romantic husband, he'd coldly replied, "If you want surprises, you married the wrong person. I don't do those things."
Now she understood. It wasn't that he didn't understand romance.
He just reserved all of it for Blanche.
Backstage, when Benjamin gave the roses to Blanche, the other dancers erupted in exclamations of envy.
"Blanche, your beau is so good to you! Those roses must have cost a fortune!"
Benjamin didn't bother to correct them. He just gazed at her tenderly.
Olivia stood on the edge of the crowd, just like an accidental spectator in someone else's love story.
