Destroying the Homewrecker Who Stole My Youth

After the final procedure, the nurse carefully helped me to my feet and handed me a mirror.

"Mrs. Faulkner, look—see how immediate the results are?"

The reflection staring back at me was flawless. Skin taut and luminous, every fine line erased, as if I had returned to my twenties.

A satisfied smile curved my lips, and I drove straight to the Faulkner Group headquarters.

Pushing open the door to the CEO's office, I saw Henry bent over some documents, Karen standing close by his side.

At the sound of my entrance, both looked up simultaneously.

For a moment, my smile froze.

Karen's face was even more astonishing than the one in my mirror. Her features were impossibly delicate, almost unreal, and every glance exuded a magnetic, intoxicating charm.

She spotted me, hesitated for a beat, then offered a knowing, almost pitying smile.

"Audrey, you're here," she said.

Henry cast a brief glance at me, his eyes barely lingering on my face before returning to Karen, his tone calm.

"Refine the plan a bit more. We'll need it for the afternoon meeting."

"Understood, Mr. Faulkner."

As Karen turned to leave, she raised an eyebrow at me from just the right angle—only I would see it.

Beneath my skin, the familiar, searing sting returned, like it had been pulled taut.

The door closed behind her, leaving only Henry and me.

Finally, he looked at me. There was no astonishment in his gaze—only irritation.

"What are you doing here?"

I pointed to my face.

"Henry, look… I've gotten younger, haven't I?"

He frowned, staring at me as though I were insane.

"Audrey," he interrupted, his voice cold, "stop harassing Karen."

"I'm not—"

"Not?" His tone sharpened, leaving no room for denial. "You canceled her appointment and stole her procedure slots. If that isn't harassment, what is? Your current mental state is dangerous."

He stepped closer, his towering frame pressing down on me like a storm about to break.

"If you dare cause her any more trouble, don't blame me for forgetting we're still married."

I stumbled out of the Faulkner Group building, collapsing into my car. I buried my face in the steering wheel, my body shaking uncontrollably.

I locked myself at home.

Meanwhile, Karen's social media posts grew more dazzling.

One photo showed her in a full split by the floor-to-ceiling window, captioned: [Preparing for the Sauldi project—sculpting the perfect body line.]

Another showed her lifting dumbbells in the gym, sweat soaking her tank top, effortlessly sexy yet inspiring.

The next morning, I awoke to excruciating pain—not in my skin, but in my bones. Rust seemed to have formed in my joints, dull agony radiating through me.

I tried to sit up, but my waist felt like it had snapped; I could barely summon any strength. Every movement made my joints crackle with a sharp, brittle sound.

I staggered to the full-length mirror, and froze. The reflection showed a twenty-year-old face attached to a fifty-year-old body.

My back refused to straighten. Shoulders slumped. My whole form was bent and frail, sickly in appearance.

This time, I had been reborn. I had foreseen everything. Yet, I could only watch helplessly as myself once again slid toward that bottomless abyss. Despair and rage clenched my throat like two iron hands, suffocating me.