To Make A Billionaire Regret

I woke up in a hospital bed, the lingering scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep of machines my first reality after a car crash.

But the real shock wasn't the physical pain; it was the vivid nightmares, clearer than memories, of a future where I was dead, my husband Michael married my sister Jessica, and my entire identity was systematically erased.

My own mother, Karen, greeted me not with relief, but with sharp impatience, blaming me for the "trouble" my coma caused, while Jessica, feigning concern, subtly tried to steal my dream journalism grant and clung possessively to Michael. Michael, my supposed husband, stood by, his weakness paving the way for their manipulations, even as I recalled divorce papers hidden in his desk, signed by him weeks before my accident.