Eleventh Time I died, My Husband Finally Regretted

I stared at my reflection, not recognizing the woman in the mirror anymore.

Tonight was the family dinner. An extravagant display of wealth and power held at their ancestral house, where every chandelier glittered with secrets and every guest had blood-stained intentions hiding beneath velvet gowns and tailored suits.

They called it a celebration, but we all knew better. It was a battlefield dressed in finery. The only goal? Inheritance. Control. Favor from the matriarch seated on her throne of gold and manipulation.

And me?

I was just a placeholder. A living doll Jarren kept around to maintain the illusion of a perfect marriage. Especially for those relatives who still didn’t know—or pretended not to know—that Elisa, his mistress, was carrying his child.

As I pulled the delicate chain of my father’s heirloom necklace around my throat, the bedroom door flew open without warning.

Jarren stormed in like a gust of cold wind, eyes sharp, jaw tight.

"Take that off," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

He didn’t explain. He just reached forward, and before I could stop him, his hand yanked the necklace from my neck. The clasp snapped. I gasped, my fingers automatically flying to my now bare skin.

“That was my father’s,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s mine. You can’t just—”

“Elisa wants it,” he interrupted flatly, already turning toward the door. “It matches her dress.”

I laughed bitterly. “You’re giving my heirloom to your mistress?”

He looked over his shoulder, annoyed. “Don’t stress her. It’s not good for the baby. Just wear another necklace.”

“The baby?” I choked. “You’re more worried about the baby she’s carrying than the wife you humiliate every day?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

“I’m going ahead with her,” he said, as if this conversation wasn’t even happening. “You’ll follow with the driver.”

“And tonight?” I asked, my voice low. “What am I supposed to be? The smiling wife, pretending we’re in love?”

His gaze met mine, hollow and cruel. “Exactly. Smile. Behave. Pretend. But don’t get too close, and don’t lift your chin too high.”

His words hit like stones.

“I don’t love you anymore, Hayley,” he said. “You’re nothing to me now.”

And then, he walked out. Just like that.

I stood there, stunned, staring at the door long after it shut behind him. My hands trembled as I touched the spot where the necklace had been. My father’s last gift. A reminder of home, of a time before this mess. Gone. Just like my dignity.

I turned slowly back to the mirror, meeting the hollow-eyed woman again. And I waited. Waited until I heard the sound of his car leaving the estate, until I was sure they were both gone.

Then, I moved. I grabbed my small black bag from the corner drawer. I stepped outside and walked briskly toward the awaiting limousine. The driver opened the door with a bow. We pulled away from the mansion gates, the grand estate growing smaller behind us. I stared out the window as the trees blurred past, my heart strangely still.

Then, without hesitation, I pulled my phone out. Removed the SIM card. Rolled down the tinted window. And tossed it out.

I inhaled deeply, letting the cold air rush into my lungs like a cleansing wave.

A private plane waited for me at a discreet airstrip just outside the city.

A new country. A new identity. A second chance.

I leaned back in the seat, letting the silence settle around me.

This was it.

I was finally leaving.

Leaving Jarren. Leaving the pain. Leaving the woman in the mirror who had forgotten how to dream.

And I didn’t look back.

Third person’s POV

The ancestral hall gleamed with chandeliers. Jarren walked in, arm-in-arm with Elisa. Her dress clung to her like a second skin, crimson and calculated. Eyes followed them—some curious, some judgmental—but no one dared speak. They all knew who Elisa was. They just pretended not to.

At the head of the hall, Grandmother Aurora sat like a queen surveying her court, eyes sharp despite her age. As soon as she spotted them, she raised her hand.

“Jarren,” she called. “Where is Hayley?”

“She’s on her way,” he replied with a forced smile, masking irritation. “Grandma, this is Elisa—”

“I don’t care who she is,” Aurora cut him off coldly. “If you fail to take care of Hayley—if I even sense betrayal—you’ll get nothing. No inheritance. No title.”

Jarren’s jaw tensed. He stepped away, pulling out his phone. Call after call—voicemail. Her phone was off.

“Elisa,” he barked at a nearby servant, “tell the butler to find Hayley now.”

Beside him, Elisa crossed her arms. “Why are you acting like this? I’m the one carrying your child. Just let her be. We don't need her.”

“I have to play by her rules,” he muttered. “You heard my grandmother.”

Just then, the butler approached, his face pale and drawn. “Sir… we’ve received a report.”

Jarren’s heart skipped a beat. “What is it?”

“Miss Hayley’s car was struck by a 12-wheeler. The vehicle is completely destroyed.”

Jarren’s voice caught. “Where is she? Is she—”

The butler hesitated, lowering his gaze. “For the eleventh time of almost dying… Miss Hayley didn’t survive. She’s dead.”

Jarren’s fingers trembled, the wine slipping and staining his hand, but he remained frozen in place, unable to move as the weight of the words crushed him.

His vision blurred as another butler added, “Sir… here are the divorce papers. They’ve been finalized, as her dying wish.”