I Loved You Once, I’ll Destroy You Twice

“100 million. Take the money, leave the country within a week, and never come near my grandson again.”

Mrs. Livingston, my boyfriend's grandmother, sat across from me in her silk blouse and diamond earrings, her face tightened with disgust, as if my very presence dirtied the air she breathed.

In my old life, I would have broken down, red-faced and trembling, telling her I loved Austin, that I was not after money. I would have fought for him until my last breath.

But this time, I only smiled faintly and nodded. “Alright.”

Her brows lifted for a second, then she gave a cold laugh. “At least you finally know your place.”

I lowered my eyes, took the check, and stood. I did not argue. I did not beg. Not anymore… Because I had already died once for Austin.

He pulled the trigger himself in my past life by staying at his side. It was an accident, they said. A drunken rage, a gun meant for someone else, but it found my chest instead. And while my blood soaked the floor, he did not even look at me. He only whispered another woman’s name.

When I opened my eyes again, I was here. Back to the night I was still his wife. Back to the time before the betrayal was complete. Back to this moment, where his grandmother handed me a check meant to erase me from his life.

So I took it. Quietly.

By the time I returned to the villa, the night was heavy. The house was far too big and the only warmth came from a photo on the coffee table. Austin’s arm around my waist, his eyes locked on me with a tenderness so deep it once melted my heart.

I brushed my fingers across the glass and memories flooded in.

Three years ago, under a bridge, I found him half-dead in the rain. My officemate—spiteful and cruel—had thrown my phone into the dark floodwater, and I had gone searching for it, cursing her name, when I heard the sound of someone struggling to breathe.

There he was. Collapsed against the concrete, a fresh gunshot wound tearing through his side. Blood mixed with the storm, pooling beneath him as he fought to stay conscious.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice trembling with fear.

“I… don’t remember,” he whispered, shivering, his lips pale as the rain plastered his hair to his face. “Don’t take me to a hospital. Please… no hospital.”

So I took him home. To my tiny apartment where the walls cracked, where the pipes dripped, where we survived winter by huddling under three quilts.

And in that poverty, we found love.

He waited for me downstairs after my late shifts, just to walk me home. When cramps twisted me into knots, he stayed up all night, rubbing my stomach until I could sleep. Behind my back, he worked himself to exhaustion at three different jobs just to buy me a bracelet I had only glanced at three times through a shop window.

And every night, he pulled me close, whispering against my skin, “Baby, I only want you because I love you too much.”

Back then, I believed him. Back then, I thought we would always stay like that. He even dragged me to a tattoo shop, had my name etched on his chest. “Pain means I’ll never forget you,” he said with a smile.

I thought it was forever.

Until his memories returned.

He was never a poor, broken man. He was the heir of the Livingston mafia, a man who controlled half of New York’s underground empire. He had not been abandoned. He had been hunted, nearly killed by rivals but managed to killed them.

And once he remembered who he was, everything changed.

He moved me into this sprawling villa, gave me jewels I never asked for, but the man I loved was gone. He wore suits I could not pronounce, held meetings about power and blood, and disappeared for nights on end.

I lied to myself that he was simply busy.

But then I saw the photos. Him opening a car door for Yvette McKinsey, her smile glowing up at him, his eyes soft in a way they no longer were with me. The headlines screamed “A Perfect Match” and “A Marriage Made in Heaven.”

That night, I sat alone under the moonlight and finally understood.

The man who braved storms for me, who broke his back to buy me a bracelet, who carved my name into his flesh… had died the day he remembered who he was.

The Austin I loved no longer existed.

In my past life, I refused to let go. I begged. I humiliated myself. And I ended up buried six feet under because of it.

But not this time.

Because this time, I had been reborn

--

That night, the villa was silent, just like always. Austin didn’t come home.

In my past life, I would have sat on the sofa until dawn, waiting for his shadow to finally appear through the door. But this time, I didn’t. I went to bed early. At sunrise, I headed to the visa center.

I took the express lane, signed what needed signing. A passport and visa could be ready in a week. Freedom was that close.

By the time I stepped back outside, it was noon. I walked aimlessly and picked a random restaurant. But the moment I pushed the door open, I froze.