Refuse to Be that Jerk’s Scapegoat

My head was splitting with pain. I opened my eyes, the familiar crystal chandelier piercingly causing me to squint. This was not the prison visitation room, but the living room of the villa where Jimmy Collins and I lived after our marriage. The electronic clock on the wall clearly displayed the date—July 15, 2022. My entire body stiffened. This was the day Jimmy Collins forced a woman onto his client, which ultimately resulted in the client's accidental death. On this very day in my previous life, I was deceived by his honeyed words and helped him hide the drugs and the illicit money involved in the case. Later, when the truth came to light, he shifted all the blame onto me. My father and stepmother abandoned me to protect the family's reputation. My stepsister, Melody Scott, even wept before the media, accusing me of having long been involved with that client. I fell from the position of the envied young mistress of the Collins Family to that of a reviled prisoner. The days in prison were an unending darkness filled with torment. With no one to turn to for help, I ultimately perished in despair upon a cold sickbed. With a creak, the study door swung open. Jimmy Collins stepped out, his face fraught with anxiety, clutching a black plastic bag. He glanced around, and when his eyes met mine, a flicker of panic crossed them before he swiftly regained his composure. "Emily, you're awake?" He approached, reaching out to touch my forehead. I abruptly pulled back, evading his touch. Those hands—in my past life, it was with those hands that he thrust me into hell. Jimmy Collins's hand froze mid-air, his brow furrowing. "What's wrong with you?" I remained silent, my gaze fixed unwaveringly on the plastic bag in his hand. Inside were hallucinogenic drugs and the fifty thousand bribe from the client. In my past life, he was the one who made me hide these things in an old trunk in the attic. "I'm feeling a bit unwell; I want to return to my room to rest." I stood up, my voice trembling slightly with agitation. Jimmy Collins blocked me, his tone edged with a hint of command: "Emily, do me a favor first." I sneered inwardly, yet feigned ignorance on my face: "What is it?" "Take this to the attic and place it inside the old trunk at the very back." He handed me a black plastic bag. I gazed at the bag; the despair and anguish of my past life surged through me all at once. "I won't." I spoke slowly and deliberately, word by word. Jimmy Collins was stunned, seemingly unprepared for my refusal. "Emily, don't be absurd." His tone darkened, "This is urgent; you must deal with it immediately." "Jimmy," I lifted my head and stared directly into his eyes, "you know exactly what this involves. I will not help you." His face completely transformed, his gaze turned sinister: "Emily, do you know what you are saying? We are husband and wife; if you don't help me, then who will?" "Husband and wife?" I laughed, tears welling in my eyes, "Do you truly consider me your wife, that you would ask me to commit such an unlawful act?" "This is merely temporary storage. Once this ordeal passes, it will all be over." He tried to explain, but his tone was noticeably uncertain. "I don't care. In any case, I will never help you." I stepped back, creating distance between us. Jimmy Collins fixed me with a menacing gaze for several seconds. "Emily Scott, have you truly thought this through? If you don't help me, we will both be finished." "Whether I live or die, I will never assist you—a murderer." After I finished speaking, I turned and walked toward the door. "Emily Scott, stop right there!" he shouted angrily from behind me. I did not look back; instead, I quickened my pace. I knew I had to leave this place immediately. This time, I would not make the same mistake again. I grabbed my bag from the entrance, opened the door, and rushed out. The air outside was fresh, and the sunlight unrelentingly bright. I drew a deep breath, and the tears finally spilled down my cheeks. Reborn—I was truly reborn. This time, I would live for myself.