He Chose Her Over Me, So I Let Him Die

I was born with a gift—or a curse, depending on how you look at it. My blood was a miracle cure, capable of healing any sickness.

In my past life, I, Victoria Baldridge, had used it to restore the use of Richard Thaddeus's paralyzed legs. He was a wealthy heir from Scotland's upper crust, and I'd thought I was doing a good deed.

Too late, I discovered the Thaddeus family's decree: Whoever cured Richard would become his bride.

So, he was forced to marry me.

When Scarlett McKenzie—the woman who'd once scaled icy cliffs to pick a rare snow lotus for him—heard the news, she was so distraught she lost her footing and vanished into the abyss.

A year later, Richard found her frozen corpse.

And then he forced me to slit my wrists to revive her.

"If Scarlett had brought back that snow lotus, we would've grown old together. You stole that from her!

Victoria, didn't you boast your blood was divine? Then bring her back!"

I begged him through tears. "She's been dead for a year! I can heal the sick, not raise the dead!"

But Richard didn't care. He watched, cold-eyed, as I bled out on the floor.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the beginning—standing in the Thaddeus estate, summoned to treat Richard's paralysis.

He sat stiffly in his wheelchair, his expression stormy.

This time, I smiled sweetly and said, "Mr. Thaddeus's legs are beyond repair. No one can fix them."

His head snapped up, eyes burning with fury. "You useless witch—get out!"

I turned to Diana Thaddeus, unfazed. "Madam, if the Baldridges say an illness is incurable, then it's hopeless. You might want to consider having another heir while you still can."

Richard hurled his teacup at me.

I sidestepped just in time. The porcelain shattered at my feet with a sharp crack.

His father, Anthony, rushed in, flustered. "Miss Baldridge, please forgive him—Richard's just frustrated—"

I waved him off. "Understandable. Being paralyzed tends to twist a man's mind."

Richard looked ready to explode. I turned on my heel and strode out.

Diana chased after me. "Miss Baldridge, is there really no other way? Your family's ancient texts speak of a legendary healing method. Name your price—we'll give you anything."

But it wasn't that I couldn't heal him.

I wouldn't.

In my past life, he'd blamed me for Scarlett's death, convinced her snow lotus would've magically restored his legs. Never mind that the flower was just a folk remedy—its "miraculous" powers were pure myth.

When he learned my blood was the real cure, he'd drained me dry just to resurrect a corpse.