My Husband Imprisoned Me for His Dead Lover

I spent five years in a rehabilitation center for a crime I didn't commit. When I was finally released, my husband, Courtland, was the one waiting for me. He was the one who put me there.

He brought me back to our mansion not as his wife, but as a prisoner. I was to serve as a living penance for the death of his true love-my stepsister, Kinsley.

I scrubbed floors on my hands and knees while his mother and the staff watched with contempt. I was a ghost in my own home, a constant, breathing sacrifice to his grief.

Then one day, the woman I had supposedly killed walked into the living room.

Kinsley was alive.

She shrank back in fake terror, and Courtland rushed to her side, shielding her from me.

"You're frightening her," he snarled.

That night, Kinsley brought me a cup of tea, her eyes glittering with triumphant hatred. It was the same poison that had made me barren in my first life.

I knew their perfect, diabolical plan. They would break me completely, then get rid of me.

But they didn't know that this time, I remembered everything. In my first life, their cruel games led to the death of my innocent little brother, Aspen.

I took the cup from her hands and drank every last drop. I would endure their torture. I would play their game. And when they least expected it, I would escape and save the only person who ever mattered.