This Time I Chose Him

This Time I Chose Him

Kao La

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The list lay on the polished mahogany table, four names, my future, dictated by my father. Just four heirs to the city' s most powerful families. The world expected me to choose Ethan Miller, the charming heir I had publicly chased for years. They thought they knew our story, the pathetic heiress hopelessly in love. They didn' t know the real story, the one that ended with the screech of tires and the crushing impact of metal. I remembered the joy of my wedding day, shattered a year later when he declared our marriage a sham, publicly embracing his assistant, Sophia, his supposed true love. Then Sophia vanished, and Ethan turned his grief into a weapon against me. He brought home a new woman with Sophia' s gentle eyes every week, forcing me to endure his cruel reminders. The last thing I remembered was his unfeeling face as paramedics pulled my broken body from the car wreckage – the brakes had failed. It was no accident. Six months ago, I woke up in my own bed, nineteen again, the cold truth a burning scar on my soul. My heart went cold, a familiar chill, as I looked at the list. I would not choose Ethan Miller. I would not walk that path again. My finger traced past his name, landing on Liam Thorne. He was quiet, often overlooked, but he was kind. This time, my definition of smart had changed. It was no longer about power or passion. It was about survival.

Introduction

The list lay on the polished mahogany table, four names, my future, dictated by my father.

Just four heirs to the city' s most powerful families.

The world expected me to choose Ethan Miller, the charming heir I had publicly chased for years.

They thought they knew our story, the pathetic heiress hopelessly in love.

They didn' t know the real story, the one that ended with the screech of tires and the crushing impact of metal.

I remembered the joy of my wedding day, shattered a year later when he declared our marriage a sham, publicly embracing his assistant, Sophia, his supposed true love.

Then Sophia vanished, and Ethan turned his grief into a weapon against me.

He brought home a new woman with Sophia' s gentle eyes every week, forcing me to endure his cruel reminders.

The last thing I remembered was his unfeeling face as paramedics pulled my broken body from the car wreckage – the brakes had failed. It was no accident.

Six months ago, I woke up in my own bed, nineteen again, the cold truth a burning scar on my soul.

My heart went cold, a familiar chill, as I looked at the list.

I would not choose Ethan Miller.

I would not walk that path again.

My finger traced past his name, landing on Liam Thorne.

He was quiet, often overlooked, but he was kind.

This time, my definition of smart had changed. It was no longer about power or passion. It was about survival.

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Coma, Betrayal, and Broken Hearts

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The monotonous beeping was the first thing. Not the familiar sounds of my life-architectural blueprints or classical music. Then came the blinding glare and the crushing impact. I was on my way to Lily' s school play. When I opened my eyes, a nurse told me I was Mr. Johnson, that I' d been in a coma. My wife, Sarah, and daughter, Lily, were safe, she said, with a pity that chilled me. Ten years. A decade gone. My heart shattered as I searched a tablet for Sarah. She wasn' t the warm woman I knew, but CEO Sarah Miller, a tech titan, always pictured with Alex Chen, her "constant companion." I frantically searched for Lily, finding nothing. It was as if she' d vanished from her mother' s glossy new world. Ignoring hospital staff, I ripped out my IV. Weak and desperate, I fled. I found Lily on a street corner, a ghost of my seven-year-old girl, selling charcoal sketches. Thugs harassed her, a city official threatened to confiscate her work, and then Sarah' s sleek car pulled up. My wife looked at our daughter, not with warmth, but cold annoyance. "Lily, just stop. You' re hopeless." The word echoed, hitting Lily harder than any physical blow. Something inside me snapped. Ten years of helplessness erupted. I attacked the thugs, the official, protecting my daughter. Then, Lily collapsed. Back in a drab hospital, I called Sarah. Her assistant dismissed me: "Ms. Miller is in a very important board meeting." Later, a kind nurse revealed Lily paid for my care, sacrificing everything. My daughter, starving, while her CEO mother was too busy. When Lily visited, gaunt and tired, she tried to lie about an art class, but I knew. She was going back to work the streets for me. My wife was in a board meeting while our daughter gave up her life for mine. Raw guilt and rage consumed me. I vowed to get stronger, to save my daughter.

My Betrayed Heart, My Stolen Life

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The first thing I heard wasn't a doctor's voice but a detached system humming in my head: "Welcome back, Liam Miller." I woke from a six-month coma, only to find my home infested. My wife Sarah, pale and distant, offered no embrace, just a flat, "You're back." My children, Emily and Josh, stared at me like a stranger, then scurried behind another man. He was in my clothes, in my spot at my table, with his arm around my wife-Mark Harrison, a disturbing mirror image of me, radiating triumph. My son, Josh, clutched Mark's leg and mumbled, "You' re not our daddy. Mark is our daddy." Even my in-laws, David and Carol, defended this usurper, accusing me of being "confused" and "causing trouble." I, Liam Miller, successful architect, loving husband and father, was a ghost in my own life, stripped of everything. Later, in my own living room, Sarah's phone flashed with a text from "M ❤️": "Can't wait for tonight. The kids will be asleep soon. I'll make sure he's out of the way." The betrayal was no longer a suspicion; it was a cold, hard truth. I watched, hidden, as Sarah and Mark shared an intimate kiss in my bed, heard my children call him "Daddy Mark." Then, Mark staged a scene, deliberately injuring himself and framing me for the attack. "You animal!" David roared, striking me as Emily shrieked, "I hate you! We don't want you here!" Condemned by my own family, I knew there was no going back. Just as they threw me out, I heard the roar of a familiar engine. It was Mark's car, speeding toward me. The impact. A sledgehammer of force. I lay broken, bleeding. My mother-in-law, Carol, hung up on my plea for help, accusing me of a "stunt." Then, a bowl of soup, a "gift" from Carol, reeked faintly of peanuts-the allergen that could kill me. They weren't just trying to erase me; they were actively trying to murder me. Lying in my hospital bed, I finally spoke to the voice in my head. "System," I thought, "I'm ready. I accept. Get me out of here. Whatever it takes."

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