Capítulo 3

"Iriqe, go to a domestic agency and find some reliable aunts, especially those who cook exceptionally well—preferably with nutritionist certifications," I instructed from the backseat, surrounded by tonic packets.

"Yes, Madam," Iriqe replied.

After marrying William, both sets of parents had suggested hiring servants for cleaning, gardening, and cooking, but my lovesick self had refused. I'd seen our home as a "nest of love," convinced any extra person would interfere with our "romance"—like "making love from the living room to the kitchen." Spoiler: I'd lived more like a widow than a wife.

Reborn, I wasn't about to repeat such delusions.

At home, I led the way with my Prada tote, Iriqe trailing with tonics. As I opened the door, William descended the stairs, adjusting his cufflinks—a casually gesture.

"Iriqe, you can leave," I said, dropping my bag.

Iriqe placed the tonics on the table, bowed to William, and hurried out.

"There's a cocktail party in an hour. Your parents will be there. Get ready to come with me,"

William said flatly, ignoring the tonics. He only took me to events where my family's presence added value.

I hadn't visited my parents since rebirth— out guilt from my past life made it hard to face them.

"Okay," I said, heading upstairs.

Over the last two weeks, I’d torn through my closet like a tornado. No more of those boring, cookie-cutter styles—today, I was rolling with a scarlet off-the-shoulder dress that meant business. The thing had a sheer V-neck that hit just right and a fishtail skirt that swished when I walked. Standing 5’6” with pale skin, I’d never been the curvy type, but that didn’t stop this dress from doing its thing.

Emma’s whole “girl-next-door” schtick? Yeah, that ship sailed. I wasn’t twenty anymore, chasing after some naive vibe. This look was all about edges—sharp enough to cut through the bullshit.

With crystal earrings and a matching necklace, I sparkled under the lights—a far cry from my old modesty.

William waited downstairs, chatting on his phone. He didn't glance up as I descended; I headed to the car alone. The ride was silent—he drove, I messaged John.

Me: John, if you hate the hospital food, I'll send someone with meals.

John: No need, sister!I'm fine.

Me: Forgot to buy you supplements today. I'll bring some tomorrow.

John: Really, you don't have to!

Me: It's my fault you're here. Don't be shy—let me know if you need anything.

John and Emma came from similar backgrounds. To Emma, William was a wealthy prince; to John, I could be a wealthy benefactor. Symmetry restored, sort of.

At a red light, William finally noticed my outfit. "That dress is wasted on you," he sneered.

I adjusted my chest padding. "Is it really that small?I'm

wearing extra padding today."

His face darkened.

"Alice, can you watch your behavior?"

"Why?"

I shot back. Years of "watching" had gotten me nowhere.

"Don't forget your identity," he snapped—ironic, coming from someone who treated me like a stranger.

At the party, we played "loving couple" for business contacts. Bored, I sat down—next to Isabella, the "ingenue" actress from William's recent scandal.

"Isabella, why are you sitting alone?" another woman, Vivian, asked.

"Just resting. Sit with me, Vivian," Isabella cooed. Her sweet voice fit William's type—like Emma, like all his flings.

They gossiped, ignoring me.

"Your William is over there—aren't you going to say hi?" Vivian coffeesed.

"Don't talk nonsense! He's married," Isabella protested, but her tone was smug.

"I heard he bought you an apartment? He's so good to you," Vivian envied.

"Yes…I'm lucky to have him," Isabella preened.

Lucky, sure—if "lucky" meant being another disposable trophy.

Just then, my parents approached. "Alice, where's William? Why isn't he with you?" my mom asked. Isabella and Vivian froze, staring at me.

I clung to my mom's arm, playful. "Why stay with him? All he does is talk business. I'd rather chat with you!"

My mom stared, surprised—I hadn't acted like this in years. My dad, clueless, wandered off to talk business.

Isabella recognized me, her face flushing then paling, eyes hostile but 不敢 confront me.

I sighed dramatically. "I didn't want to come today, but William insisted. So boring!"

"Honey, this is important! No complaining," my mom chided, but her tone was soft.

I glanced at Isabella, continuing. "I hired housekeepers today. William says I'm too thin—need to eat more."

Isabella bit her lip, struggling to stay calm.

"You should've done that ages ago! One person can't manage such a big house," my mom agreed.

"I wanted ‘alone time' with him. Now I've had enough," I said pointedly. Isabella bolted, Vivian trailing awkwardly.

After the party, I refused to go home with William, opting to stay with my parents.

"Fine," he said, indifferent. My dad was still chatting; my mom gave me the car keys and went to fetch him.

In the parking garage, I saw William with Isabella, her clinging to his shirt. "You're so good to me—you must care!"

"Believe what you want. Leave me alone," he snapped, shaking her off.

Our eyes met. His glare was icy, as if I were the nuisance. I locked myself in the car.

He marched over, mouthing "Get out!"

I mouthed back, "No."

My phone rang. "Alice, get out here!"

"I don't want to be part of this," I said, meeting his furious gaze. If I couldn't divorce before Emma, I'd wait for him to ask—at least I'd get shares. No need to fight this battle.

"OUT!" he roared. Isabella returned, clutching his arm. I watched him drag her to his car and speed off, relieved.

By the time my parents arrived, I was half-asleep.

"Your dad talked so much, Alice fell asleep!" my mom scolded.

"South project has issues—needed discussing," my dad muttered.

In the backseat, I leaned on my mom, exhausted. Past dreams replayed William rejecting me; now they replayed my past life's tragedy, as if the universe feared I'd forget.

"Mom, I want chicken noodles," I murmured, clinging to her. Her warmth was a lifeline—so different from William's coldness.

"At this hour?!" she scolded, but patted my hand. "Did you fight with William? You never come home."

"Just… moving on from puppy love."

My parents froze. My dad nearly swerved.

"You… don't love William anymore?" he asked.

"I did. But love isn't enough when it's one-sided."

"Good! That boy's been nothing but trouble with his gossips！" my dad snapped, finally voicing what he'd held back for years.

As they vented their frustrations, I realized how much they'd endured for me—guilt surged.

Home late, I showered and slept. Hours later, my mom knocked. "You wanted chicken noodles. I made some—eat before bed?"

I froze, tears sudden and hot. Reborn, I'd numbed myself to past pain, but this—this simple act of love—broke me. Mom, up late cooking for me, proved some things hadn't changed. Some loves were worth holding onto.