The Wife on the Autopsy Table“Enough of your ridiculous games!” my husband snapped through the phone.
“Vanessa’s cat is missing. I don’t have time for your little dramas.”
The line went dead.
Two weeks later, I stood in the morgue and watched my husband examine a body sealed inside a concrete wall.
“One of the victims was pregnant,” his brother said quietly.
My husband’s face darkened.
“Elena is always lying about things like that.”
I looked down at my own body on the autopsy table.
“Honey,” I whispered, “this time, I wasn’t.”They Called Me a Liar—Then Found My Body“Mom, I’m really going to die. Please believe me this once.”
She was silent for two seconds.
“Since you hate coming back to this family so much, then don’t come back again.”
That night, while the fake heiress celebrated her engagement, I was tied up inside an abandoned clinic.
I begged my parents to call the police. My fiancé called only to warn me, then blocked my number.
Twelve hours later, my mother fought to save an unidentified burn victim.
In the end, she was the one who pulled the white sheet over my face.
She never recognized her own daughter beneath it.Mom Didn't Know the Body on Her Table Was MeMom touched my face gently for the first time.
I was lying on her autopsy table.
“Her family must be heartbroken,” she whispered.
She didn’t recognize the ring I’d made. Or the scar she’d once called disgusting.
Then my sister called.
“If Sophie won’t come to your match, she needn’t come home.”
I wanted to tell her I was already here.The Price of a Thousand DaysFor three years, I lifted my paralyzed father, changed his clothes, fed him, and slept beside his bed. When he died at three in the morning, I was the only child there.
My brother arrived asking for the property deed. My sister arrived with perfect makeup and dry eyes. At the will reading, they fought over a city apartment and hundreds of thousands in cash while I sat forgotten in the corner.
They believed the youngest son who had sacrificed a thousand days would receive whatever scraps remained.
Then the attorney reached the final item.
My father had kept a record of every hour, every payment, and every act of care they never saw. The inheritance was not simply money. It was his final judgment on the children who came home only when there was something to divide.
They counted his assets. He counted who stayed.Let Them Be Blind"In my previous life, my nephew Leo was diagnosed with cataracts. Swayed by a spiritual healer, my sister Sylvia became convinced that he was a blessed soul destined to gain divine sight. I warned her not to be superstitious and ensured Leo received proper treatment, restoring his vision. Yet Sylvia accused me of destroying his divine gift and ultimately murdered me by pulling out my oxygen tube after arranging a car accident. Reborn on the day she first took Leo to the healer, I decided not to interfere. This time, I would let her blind faith run its course—and watch as her precious “blessed soul” brought the entire family to ruin.Divorcing the Valerius EmpireI was bleeding through my dress, and the doctors said emergency surgery was our unborn baby’s only chance.
My husband owned an empire. His assistant wouldn’t release the deposit.
“Two signatures. An itemized bill. Finance approval.”
Every time I sent one document, Luciana demanded another.
When Dante finally answered, I begged him to authorize the transfer.
“She’s following procedure, Alessia. Stop making this difficult.”
“There’s still a heartbeat,” I whispered. “But we’re running out of time.”
“Then do what Luciana says.”
He hung up before I could tell him what she was asking for next.The Heiress's Backup PlanThen I overheard him laughing with his friends.
“Why fake being bullied?” someone asked. “Why make Clara transfer schools with you?”
Julian answered without hesitation.
“Lily can’t stand seeing Clara around me. If Clara leaves, Lily will finally stop crying.”
“But you’re transferring too.”
Julian laughed.
“Clara will go wherever I tell her to. I’ll stay behind with Lily.”
“And when Clara finds out?”
Julian gave a lazy laugh.
“She won’t. She’s so loyal, she’d take a beating for me without flinching.”
“She’ll get over it.”Erasing Mrs. Vanguard“Miss Vance, are you sure you want every identity record erased?”
“Once it’s done, no one will ever find you again.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Across the room, the news was praising my husband’s latest masterpiece.
A diamond necklace called Clara.
The world called Julian Vanguard the perfect husband.
Then he came home late on our anniversary, carrying the necklace—with another woman’s lipstick stains beneath his collar.
“This is for you,” I said, handing him a wrapped gift, still playing the loving wife he believed I was.
He smiled and reached for the ribbon.
“Open it in two weeks,” I told him.
He didn’t know the box held our divorce papers.
He didn’t know that by then, Mrs. Vanguard would no longer exist. 
