***

“Ugh….”

Curled tightly into herself, Eliza groaned as she regained consciousness.

The mere sensation of having hands and feet she could move felt strangely unfamiliar.

‘So… God hasn’t abandoned me.’

Without thinking, she wiped at her damp eyes and slowly opened them.

A familiar ceiling came into view.

She recognized it at once.

This was not Lim A-young’s tiny one-room apartment.

This was the bedroom of Eliza Ashton’s two-story home.

The delicate floral wallpaper she had chosen after searching all over the city, the carefully crafted furniture she had taken pride in—everything was just as it had been. White linen curtains hung by the window, swaying softly in the breeze.

As she stared at them, she understood.

Her name was Eliza Ashton.

She had already lived an entire life in this house once before.

Then she had lived again, in another world, as Lim A-young—and now she had returned here.

To the very heart of her past life.

‘Why…?’

As memories of her life as Eliza resurfaced, hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

‘Right… that’s how it ended….’

‘And when I was Lim A-young, it ended the same way.’

“…You know too. You understand, right?”

“Ha….”

‘Understand?’

The last words of that b*stard from her previous life flashed through her mind, sending a shudder through her body.

She had suffered under the unknown voice that had rebuked her—but she couldn’t bring herself to resent it.

If someone was born into a precious human life, only to die each time as a fool who gave everything to a man, even the most merciful god would turn away.

The only thing that made it unbearable was the realization that she had been that fool.

Her chest ached so fiercely she could barely breathe.

But then, why was someone like her, who had died so pitifully after being struck by a truck, now standing once more in this bedroom?

As if possessed, she pushed herself up and stepped out of the bed.

Across from it, atop a console against the wall, hung a portrait of the couple.

In the painting, she stood with one arm lightly looped through a man’s.

The man had clear golden hair, blue eyes, and sharply defined features. His expression was composed and strong—yet tinged with arrogance. The suit he wore fit his solid frame flawlessly, accentuating his refined appearance.

Her husband.

James Ashton.

A brilliant banker of Athern.

The man who had committed adultery with her only friend and who had abandoned her in misery after she was poisoned by that very friend.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out toward the painting.

‘Ah… I loved him….’

But now, that feeling felt distant and hollow—like a stranger’s story from a novel.

The deep, overwhelming emotion that had once ruled her life had long since faded.

She slowly withdrew her hand from the air and clenched it tightly.

“No… not anymore. If this truly is my last life—no.”

Perhaps it wasn’t even true that she had passed through another life and returned here.

Perhaps it had all been nothing more than a single night, a cruel, exquisitely vivid nightmare.

But the version of herself described from a third-person perspective in the novel Lim A-young had read—that version was far more pitiful and wretched than the memories she had just regained.

She despised the person she had been, someone who found joy in giving everything and sacrificing herself in the name of love.

Perhaps calling such blind devotion love had been an insult to love itself.

A past life, a return, or a twisted dream—it didn’t matter what name it was given.

She had learned a crucial truth about herself.

And because of that, there was no turning back.

Eliza now knew she must never again waste even the smallest part of her love.

She had to protect her life from being exploited by others and sever herself from the naïve, easily swayed Eliza of the past.

Exhausted from her return from death, she moved her lips and spoke softly,

“Last… chance.”

As she drifted in and out of consciousness, burning with fever, Eliza heard the voices of her physician, Dr. Phillips, and her maid, Marie.

“Marie, when did Mr. Ashton say he would return?”

“Well… the master said he has an important business engagement. He sent word that he would leave the mistress in your capable hands, Doctor.”

After Marie left, Dr. Phillips let out a long sigh and muttered to himself,

“It’s not a fatal illness, but with how busy he is, I wonder if he’ll even find the time to attend his wife’s funeral.”

Only then did Eliza recall what had happened yesterday, and she slipped back into sleep.

She had been on her way to the bank to bring James a change of clothes when she was startled by a horse racing down the main road and fainted.

Whether there had only been a long sleep between that “yesterday” and the present—or an entire lifetime—she could not tell.

Ever since she was young, when she had nearly been trampled to death by a runaway horse from the stables, she would freeze whenever she met a horse’s gaze, her limbs locking up as her breathing turned ragged.

Sometimes, she fainted.

Her fear of horses wasn’t fatal, as she would recover with time, but collapsing like that carried its own dangers: concussions, bruises, or worse, being struck by a horse or carriage.

But James was not a man who wasted time on unnecessary concern.

Even if he rushed home, it wouldn’t make her wake any sooner—or recover any faster.

‘That’s just like James.’

After Dr. Phillips left, Eliza woke up alone some time later and let out a cold, faint laugh.

She knew that, in the past, she would have greeted James with a gentle smile when he returned home that night and said,

“I’m sorry for worrying you when you’re so busy, James.”

Because she hadn’t wanted to burden him.

Because she had only ever wanted to show him her best side—to treat him well, and nothing more.

While reading the novel that told the story of her previous life, Lim A-young had often grown frustrated with that version of her.

“Honestly, you fool!”

Before she even realized it, tears were streaming down her face.

For the first time in her life, Eliza could see the truth with perfect clarity.

‘He never cared whether I lived or died. Not when I collapsed in the street. Not even when I was nearly poisoned.’

‘I was the only one in this house who ever loved anyone.’

As the corner of her lips twisted upward in a bitter smile, she heard the sound of her maid, Marie, approaching along the corridor.

She quickly wiped her tears.

Marie entered carrying a basin and fussed over her the moment she saw Eliza awake.

“My lady, you’re awake! Thank heavens—your fever was so high, and you kept groaning without waking. Even Dr. Phillips said something wasn’t right this time. I truly thought… I thought we might lose you—leaving our handsome master a widower.”

“….”

Eliza looked at Marie coldly, then her gaze drifted to the vase beside the bed.

It was filled with beautiful flowers.

Noticing her attention, Marie spoke.

“Miss Winclaire came by yesterday. When she heard you had collapsed, she sent such a large bouquet.”

“Oh… how thoughtful.”

Eliza found herself startled by the sarcasm laced in her own voice.

Until now, she had never once failed to feel touched or grateful for a gift from anyone.

Marie, too, seemed taken aback, offering an awkward smile at the unfamiliar tone.

Eliza asked,

“And my husband?”

“Someone came from the bank earlier to collect a change of clothes for the master. It seems he won’t be coming home today. Dr. Phillips said he’ll return early tomorrow morning.”

“I see.”

“……”

When Eliza responded just as flatly again, Marie’s eyes widened slightly as she studied her expression, uncertain.

“The master told me to stay and tend to you through the night.”

Marie usually returned home after preparing breakfast, then came back in the afternoon to prepare dinner before leaving again. Staying overnight was a rare exception.

Though her tone carried a hint of comfort, Eliza simply looked at her and said,

“I’m fine now. Aside from a few bruises from the fall, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Oh my, really? That’s such a relief!”

“Then go home. And on your way, send a telegram to Dr. Phillips—tell him there’s no need for him to come tomorrow. Ask him to send the bill.”

“But the master said—”

Eliza held her gaze.

Under that steady look, Marie reluctantly nodded.

“Yes… my lady. I’ll send the telegram on my way.”

“Good. You’ve worked hard.”

When Marie left, silence settled over the house.

Eliza slipped on a robe and sat by the window in her bedroom.

Outside, dusk was beginning to fall. Gentlemen hurried along the pavement on their way home, while, from time to time, couples walked leisurely arm in arm.

It was a familiar scene—and yet, strangely unfamiliar.

‘Back here again….’

Eliza pressed her lips together as a surge of emotion rose within her.

Fear, bitterness, anger—so many feelings tangled together into something sharp and suffocating.

Quietly, she murmured, recalling Lim A-young’s voice,

“Fool.”

Lim A-young had been obsessed with a novel titled The End of Foolish Love.

A tragic romance fantasy with ‘Eliza Ashton’ as its protagonist.

That knowledge from her past life had been meant to awaken her—to guide her toward a different choice.

And yet, Lim A-young had been a fool. She had read her own past like a mere story, felt thrilled by it… and learned nothing.

Just like Eliza in her previous life, who had lost everything yet refused to accept it.

“How consistent….”

With a bitter smile, Eliza thought of the life that lay ahead of her.

She would try to prove her love by perfectly supporting her husband—a successful banker and a workaholic.

But as was often the case, such devotion would only invite betrayal.

James would cheat on her.

With her only friend—Lady Lorina Winclaire.

Count Winclaire, Lorina’s father, coveted James’s talent for investment, and James could not resist the temptation to rise in status—a lifelong inferiority of his.

And Lorina had no intention of waiting for a divorce.

She chose instead to eliminate Eliza.

She had poisoned her tea.