Elizabethp Juliana Trinityq

My husband, Ryan, poisoned me on our fifth wedding anniversary. I watched him smile as he handed me the champagne glass. "To us, Elara. To forever." I drank every last drop. Twenty minutes later, I was seizing on the kitchen floor, foam bubbling from my lips. Ryan stepped over my convulsing body and made a phone call. "It's done. She's almost gone." The voice on the other end—I'd know it anywhere. It was my sister, Maren. "Good. Make sure you clean up properly this time. I'll be there in an hour. I want to wear her Cartier ring tonight." Ryan laughed softly. "You can wear whatever you want, baby. This house is ours now." As my vision went black, I heard one final thing. The sound of my three-year-old daughter, Nola, crying upstairs. And neither of them went to her. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting at my own anniversary dinner. The champagne glass was in front of me—full, untouched. Ryan sat across from me, smiling that same smile. "To us, Elara. To forever." My hands were trembling. I was back. The night I died. The exact moment. Every nerve in my body screamed. I looked at the golden liquid in the glass, and I looked at Ryan's handsome, lying face. In my previous life, I had been the perfect wife. I gave up my career for him. I raised Nola alone while he "worked late." I ignored every red flag because I loved him. And he killed me for my money, my house, and my sister. Not this time. I picked up the glass and slowly poured the champagne onto the white tablecloth. Ryan's smile froze. "Elara? What are you—" "I'm not thirsty." His eyes flickered—Loss of control. I saw it. That micro-expression of panic I'd missed a thousand times before. "Don't be silly. I made this special for tonight." He pushed the glass back toward me. "Drink it." "I said no." I stood up, and my chair scraped loudly against the floor. Ryan stood too, blocking my path. His 6'2 frame towered over me. "Sit down, Elara." His voice dropped. The mask slipped, just for a second. "You're embarrassing yourself." In my last life, that tone would have made me sit. I would have apologized. I would have drunk the champagne. I would have died. But I'd already died once. I leaned in close, so close I could smell Maren's perfume still lingering on his collar. "Touch me," I whispered, "and I'll scream so loud every neighbor on this street calls 911." His jaw tightened. I grabbed my phone and my car keys from the counter and headed straight upstairs. Nola was in her crib, wide awake, her big eyes staring up at me. I scooped her into my arms, grabbing her diaper bag. Ryan appeared in the doorway. "Where do you think you're going with my daughter?" "She's MY daughter. And if you take one more step, I'll tell the police exactly what's in that champagne glass downstairs." The color drained from his face. I pushed past him, my heart hammering so hard I thought my ribs would crack. I strapped Nola into her car seat and started the engine. As I pulled out of the driveway, my phone lit up. A text from Maren. "Is it done yet? I'm already trying on her dress. It fits perfectly 😊" My blood turned to ice. Then another text came through. "Oh, and tell Ryan I moved the life insurance documents to the safe. We should file the claim by Monday." I stared at the messages, my grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel. They had planned everything. My death. The insurance. Even what Maren would wear to my funeral. I screenshot both messages. Then I drove into the night, my daughter sleeping peacefully behind me. They thought I was dead. They had no idea I was just getting started.