The floor felt cold beneath my feet as I walked further into the unfamiliar house. Everything was too modern—no candles or chandeliers, only artificial lights glowing softly from glass bulbs on the ceiling. The sharp scent of cleaning agents and perfume lingered in the air, not the scent I was used to.
I approached the cracked wedding photo again. It's size towering over me.
They looked like happy couple, something that triggers unpleasant memories.
I traced my hand over it. On far right side at the bottom was written, in a silver ink:
> "To Allesha, my forever. – Damien."
Lies.
A name to burn into my memory. Damien. My new husband. A different man, but also felt so familiar. The same breed of serpent, only in a different skin. And if fate had decided to throw me back into another betrayed wife's body, then so be it. I would simmer all this hatred and pour it into this life of hers.
I moved around the house until my feet brought me into a room like an instinct, examining every corner. The closet was cracked open, and inside were pristine suits and dresses—none of them mine. On one of the shelves, tucked beneath a box of perfume bottles, was a diary. Pink leather. Gold letters that read "Allesha's Journal."
I opened it.
The entries were written in small, shaky handwriting. Each page was drenched in pain. There were passages about Damien's late nights, about him not touching her anymore. Notes about Margot—her best friend—who had started coming around more often. The way they laughed in the kitchen while she cried in the bedroom.
Margot.How interesting that the name wasn't far from Margarette. Almost like the fate playing games. Another snake hiding in a friend's skin. Like a cliché story.
> "He says I'm too emotional. But Margot says I just overthink too much. Maybe I do. But why do I feel like they've started to isolate me from them?"
> "I found her earring under the bed. When I asked, Damien said I was imagining things again and that it was mine. He said he is so tired of me. I'm tired of me too. But I never wore earrings."
> "I'm sorry, Mom. I just wanted someone to love me."
I closed the diary with shaking hands. The rage inside me was now boiling. It wasn't just Esther who had been betrayed. Allesha had been quietly bleeding long before she cut her wrist in that cold bathtub. I felt her pain in my chest like her memories are extensions of my body. And it made the flame inside me burn brighter.
"I won't be like you, Allesha, I won't be crying." I muttered.
A knock at the door startled me. It was sharp, consecutive and impatient.
"Allesha! What the hell are you doing? The floor's a mess!" a woman's voice barked.
The door burst open.
An aged woman entered. Thin, harsh features. She was wearing a gray dress and apron. Her hair tied in a tight bun. She held a rolled-up paper—no, a map, curled and stained with water from the floor.
She smacked it against her palm, then pointed it at me.
"You're not going to play crazy again, are you? You're always such a mess. Master Damien has guests today. Clean up. And don't you dare look at him with that face like a lost dog."
The voice was like sandpaper against my ears.
Her.
She's the same woman who had slapped Allesha down again and again in her own home. Her face is so vivid in my memories. The same type that would snicker behind her back. The one who believed herself superior because she had Damien's favor, and that Allesha was a discarded wife.
"You're dripping all over the damn place—"
I stepped forward.
"What are you—?" she didn't finish.
My hand came up and struck her across the face, hard and fast. That the map fell to the floor.
Her eyes went wide.
"You crazy bitch!"
I hit her again, this time with my fist, slamming her back into the door frame. She stumbled, holding her cheek. I don't respect old people who don't respect me.
"You think you can talk to me like that?" I growled. "You think because I let you once that you can walk all over me down and down again?"
"You're crazy!"
"No," I said, my voice low and calm. "I'm just no longer pathetic."
She opened her mouth, probably to scream, but I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her forward.
"I remember you," I whispered close to her ear. "You thought you could bully me because i've been too soft. Well, I'm done being soft. And if you speak to me like that again, I will make you regret it."
"You're insane—you're just a discarded wife. He'll divorce you soon enough!"
"Let him," I smiled, "but you? You're just a maid and I'm the lady of this place. You should remember your place."
She tried to shove me back, but I shoved harder, sending her tumbling into the hallway.
The commotion drew attention.
And just like that, he appeared. Damien.
Tall, sharp suit, dark hair combed back. The same agitating blue eyes as him. Smiling like nothing was wrong—like he hadn't just almost lost his wife a few moments ago. And beside him, a woman clung to his arm.
Margot.
She was beautiful. Young, thin, with long curled hair and the most punchable smug face I'd seen in both lifetimes.
"Allesha," Damien said, voice sharp with warning. "What are you doing?"
"I should ask you that," I said, smoothing my wet hair back. "Why are you parading your whore through my hallway?"
Margot's lips parted in mock offense. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," I said.
And before Damien could speak, I walked over to Margot and slapped her across the face, open palm, no hesitation.
The sound echoed like thunder. Both of them froze.
"You think you can play best friend while you're screwing my husband?"
"Allesha!" Damien shouted, grabbing my wrist.
I turned to him, slowly, and without flinching, I slapped him too with my free hand.
The silence afterward was suffocating. The maid gasped from the hallway. Damien stared at me, his cheek red, but I bet his pride is the one that's hurting the most.
"I am your wife," I said. "Not your doormat and I'm not an idiot."
"You've lost your mind," Margot hissed, rubbing her cheek. "You've completely—"
"Lost my mind?" I laughed. "No, Margot. I finally found it." I replied in a mocking tone.
I looked between them. These pathetic, traitorous creatures. They hadn't even waited for her to die before walking in hand-in-hand. And now, my own rage pulsed inside Allesha's veins.
"You want to get rid of me?" I whispered to Damien. "Try. I dare you."
Damien's face darkened. "Are you really going the act like this? You're gonna regret this."
"No," I replied. "You will."