The Mistress Always Wins... Until I Died Twice

On the eve of our anniversary, my son and I set out on a yacht trip—only for disaster to strike. The boat collided with a floating pile of debris and began to sink. My husband, a trained lifeguard, saved our son first, then turned away without hesitation to rescue the little girl struggling in the water.

I didn't scream. I didn't call for help. I let the cold, unforgiving sea swallow me whole.

In my past life, my panicked cries had distracted him. He'd dropped Myrna—his precious childhood sweetheart—to save me instead. She drowned. My unborn child and I survived, but the guilt festered in my husband and son like a poison.

On the night of Myrna's funeral, they dragged me back onto that cursed yacht. My own son, the child I'd nearly died bringing into this world, shoved a rusted knife into his father's hands and snarled, "You killed Aunt Myrna! You deserve to die for it!"

Franklin's eyes gleamed with madness as he raised the blade. "You used our baby to manipulate me," he hissed. "Because of you, Myrna's dead. You and this brat should've drowned together!"

Ninety-nine stabs. That's how many it took for him to finally let me bleed out.

And then—I woke up.

Back on the yacht.

Back to the moment everything went wrong.

The ship lurched violently, passengers screaming as they scrambled for lifeboats. The hull groaned against the reef, seawater already rushing in. Disoriented from my sudden return to the past, I instinctively curled around my swollen belly, shielding my son behind me.

Then—a shove from the panicked crowd sent me crashing overboard. The icy water stole my breath. I fought to surface, but the current dragged me under, slamming me against jagged rocks. Pain exploded through my abdomen. My legs seized—cramps locking my muscles as seaweed coiled around my ankles like living ropes.

Above the waves, my son Oliver stood frozen on the deck, watching me drown with empty, soulless eyes.

Then the rescue boats arrived. Franklin, ever the hero, dove in—saving Oliver first before swimming straight past me.

I already knew who he was heading toward.

Myrna.

As they passed, I heard him murmur to her, voice dripping with tenderness, "I've got you, Myrna. You're safe now."

Like I didn't even exist.

One of the crew finally spotted me. "Frank—isn't that Jenna?!"

Franklin barely glanced my way, his once-loving gaze now ice-cold. "You can swim," he snapped. "Stop faking. Myrna can't—she needs me first. Quit being dramatic and get yourself to the boat!"

Oliver's voice cut in, sharp with disdain: "God, Mom. Even now, you're still jealous? Pathetic."

"I have a cramp—"