Her Scars, My Agony

My fiancé, Alessandro, the Don of the Moretti family, had his top assassin, Isabella, cast a curse on me—one that transferred the pain of every injury she sustained directly to my body.

During a firefight, she took three bullets while eliminating a major rival for the family. The excruciating pain overwhelmed my body, and I died of cardiac arrest in a hospital bed.

I had tried to explain it to my fiancé, begging him to make Isabella stop. He had looked at me with contempt. “Could you be any more pathetic? If you’re jealous of what she does for this family, just admit it. That kind of excuse is just cheap.”

After that, every time Isabella was on a mission, I would be rushed to the family’s private clinic, crippled by the sudden, agonizing pain that seized my body.

The doctors could only explain it as a rare case of phantom pain syndrome, assuring me it wasn't fatal.

That is, until a month later, when Isabella stormed a rival family’s stronghold single-handedly to win a crucial showdown, suffering what should have been fatal wounds.

I went into shock from the intense pain and died of neurogenic cardiac arrest.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Isabella accepted her first high-risk mission.

Though my body was completely unharmed, a familiar agony seized my limbs, as if my bones were being crushed inch by inch. This time, I kicked open the door to the war room.

“Tonight, I’m overseeing the operation.”

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1

Standing before the tactical map, Isabella was checking a wound beneath her bulletproof vest.

At that very moment, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through me, as if a blade was tearing at my ribs.

Just as I thought. Even in this new life, it was still the same.

I had done nothing, yet every price she paid in blood for her glory was exacted from my flesh.

While I stood there dazed, Isabella, completely unfazed, began to calibrate her sidearm.

My fiancé, Alessandro, sat nearby, his eyes filled with undisguised admiration. “Isabella’s fearlessness is the family’s sharpest blade.”

His tone shifted, shooting me a snide glance. “See, Alessia? I told you it was purely professional between us. She bleeds for this family, unlike some who just complain from the safety of the estate.”

He waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a fly. “Alright, you should go back to your room and rest. Don’t distract us from our planning.”

It was the same in my past life.

Because I was crippled with pain every time Isabella returned from a mission, she was my first suspect.

But back then, she had just taken a bullet for Alessandro and was at the height of her favor. Alessandro had scoffed at my suspicions.

“Are you jealous that Isabella saved my life? Is that why you’re making up such a ridiculous story to get my sympathy?”

“I’m warning you, Isabella is crucial to my family right now. If you dare spread any more of this nonsense, I’ll make you regret ever setting foot in the Moretti family.”

From then on, whenever Alessandro sent Isabella on a mission, he would post bodyguards at my door.

If I ever got near the war room, I would be unceremoniously dragged away.

A few times, unable to bear the pain after Isabella’s triumphant return, I collapsed in the estate’s hallways.

When Alessandro emerged, he would personally tend to Isabella’s wounds, his gaze on me dripping with derision.

“Hah, still hungry for attention? Still playing the victim? Alessia, you disgust me more with every passing day.”

In the months that Isabella’s fame skyrocketed, making her the family’s most feared assassin, the family doctor had declared me in critical condition no fewer than twenty times for “chronic phantom pain of unknown origin.”

I wanted to ask my father for help, but Alessandro told all our allies that I was suffering from a delusional disorder with severe hallucinations, causing everyone to distance themselves from me.

Until the very last time, when Isabella launched a suicide charge in that crucial firefight.

I died in agony on my bed in the estate.

The moment my soul left my body, I saw Alessandro and Isabella clinking glasses intimately at the victory banquet.

Alessandro waved the newly signed territory agreement, whispering in Isabella’s ear.

“Isabella, you’re my lucky star. Tomorrow, I’ll break off my engagement with that weakling.”

Filled with endless resentment and indignation, I thought it was all over.

I never expected to live again.

This time, I had to uncover the truth and make them pay in blood.

Dodging the bodyguards’ reflexive attempt to block me, I stormed back into the tense atmosphere of the war room.

Carrying a bowl of warm, rich soup, I smiled and offered it to Isabella, my tone as gentle as a dutiful future Mamma.

“Isabella, getting injured all the time is bad for your body. Have some soup to replenish your strength. I’ll stay with you tonight. We won’t rest until the operation is over.”

I did this for two reasons. First, to test a theory—if her injuries caused me pain, would my recovery make her weak? Second, since this pain was unavoidable, I might as well seize the initiative and control its rhythm.

The moment I finished speaking, the entire room fell silent.

My smile vanished, and I looked at Isabella coldly. “Miss Isabella, I’ll be supervising tonight’s operation. All the credit will be yours. If you’re scared, you can go rest.”