No Forgiveness

The cold kiss of the rubber stamp hit my cheek. Delilah, Callums little secretary, giggled as she pulled her hand back, the wine bottle still tilted in her other grip. A literal livestock ink stamp marking me like a piece of cheap meat.

In my past life, my palm would have connected with her jaw. I would have screamed for a divorce the second Callum rushed to defend her, looking like a manic housewife. This time, I just tilted my head and gave Callum a serene smile. "She's adorable," I said, my voice steady. "Have fun playing with her. Let's call this seventh-anniversary dinner a wrap. I'm heading home." I grabbed my clutch and walked out of the private dining room. I didn't look back.

I couldn't afford a tantrum.

In my past life, a messy divorce with Callum left me decimated. He weaponized his legal team, treating me like a hostile corporate takeover and suffocating my finances. I scoured the city for a lawyer, only to walk away with a pathetic forty-eight dollars to my name.

Then came the cancer diagnosis.

When the pain pushed me to the brink of death, I swallowed every last ounce of my dignity and fell to my knees at his feet. Callum just stood there. He watched his secretary slap me three times across the face and didn't offer me a single cent. Penniless and shivering, I froze to death on the porch of the house I had called home for seven years.

Dignity didn't mean a damn thing if you were dead.

Chapter 1

Callum gripped my wrist. "Let me explain, Nova," he urged. "Delilah is just young. She thought the livestock stamp would be a funny joke to make you laugh. She doesn't have a mean bone in her body. We grew up together, and she's always been mischievous. She sees you as my wife and just lost track of boundaries for a second. Don't hold it against her."

The exact same script from my past life.

Back then, the humiliation of that ink on my face sent tremors through my entire body. Hearing his gentle, patient tone wrap around Delilah like a protective blanket triggered a blind rage. I slapped Callum right in front of our entire social circle, screamed for a divorce, and bolted from the room. I was so naive. I actually thought the threat of leaving him held power.

I spent four hours wandering the streets, icy winter rain soaking through my clothes, tears blurring the streetlights. My heels rubbed raw, leaving bloody footprints inside my shoes. I spiked a hundred-and-four-degree fever. While I lay shivering in our bed, gasping for air, my phone never rang once.

Not a single call from Callum. Instead, he boarded a red-eye flight to Europe for a business trip with Delilah. By morning, a video of him adjusting her slip dress strap while she kissed his cheek went viral on his company's internal forums.

I let out a cynical, hollow laugh at the memory. Callum's grip tightened before he suddenly shoved my hand away, his features twisting with irritation. "How many times do I have to spell it out for you? She's the daughter of Theodore, my dad's business partner. I'm just looking out for her," he snapped. "It's just ink, Nova. Go home and wash it off. Stop making up toxic scenarios in your head and acting like a jealous maniac over nothing."

The sheer annoyance in his eyes hit me, bringing a sudden ache to my chest. Not for the man standing in front of me, but for the pathetic version of myself from a past life. After the divorce, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a disease notorious for causing the most agonizing pain imaginable.

Every single day was a battle. Nurses jabbed massive needles into my bruised veins while I sobbed uncontrollably, my face completely drenched in tears. I spent nights curled in a fetal position on the cold bathroom floor. My nails dug into my abdomen as I writhed, screaming to whatever God was listening to just stop my heart and end it.

When the money completely dried up, the agony drove me insane. I took a paring knife and dragged the blade across my skeletal frame, praying the sting of new wounds would distract my nervous system long enough for me to sleep through the night. Even then, starving and dying, I refused to pawn his wedding ring for painkillers.

When Dr. Ramsey handed me a one-month death sentence, my broken mind still clung to an illusion. I dragged my decaying body across town, desperate to beg Callum to take me back. He had sworn an oath over my parents' graves. He had promised to protect me until his dying breath.

I dragged myself to the gates of our old estate. I fell to my knees, scraping my forehead against the concrete until Randy, the security guard, finally took pity and radioed Callum. I managed to choke out his name through the speaker.

"Nova, we are divorced," Callum's voice crackled, chillingly flat. "That means we are strangers. Whatever drama you're dealing with, leave me out of it. Do not ever contact me again."

The line went dead.

My legs gave out. I collapsed into the dirt behind the sprawling house we had shared for seven years. As my vision faded to black, the sheer drapes of the dining room parted. I watched Callum pull Delilah against his chest. They were eating off the imported plates I had bought, drinking from the crystal stems I had hand-picked in Italy. They kissed, wrapped in my home, bathed in a warm light, while I took my last shivering breath in the dark.

Chapter 2

My chest ached so much I could barely breathe. I shoved the memories of my rotting body down and forced a placid smile. "Callum, I'm not playing the jealous wife. I'm really not mad at Delilah," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I'm just exhausted. Go back inside."

A flicker of genuine shock crossed his features. I did not even wait for him to process it. I just turned and walked away into the street. I pulled out my phone and dialed the private clinic, booking an urgent VIP screening with a specialist for tomorrow morning.

I just wanted to survive this time.

The line disconnected just as the front door of our townhouse clicked open. Callum strode in, impatiently tugging his silk tie loose. "What the hell was that little stunt on the street?" he snapped. "Nova, can you stop throwing a tantrum over every little thing?"

Ever since Delilah took over as his secretary, he had been hyper-critical. Nothing I did was ever good enough. His constant gaslighting, combined with her petty little provocations, was exactly what drove me clinically insane in my past life.

My chest ached. I forced down the bitter lump in my throat and turned to face him. "Callum, believe whatever you want. I'm not mad. I'm not being toxic, and I'm not throwing a fit," I said smoothly. "Look. The ink is gone. I washed it off. I don't have the energy to fight you, and I certainly don't have the nerve to cross Delilah." I spun on my heel, walked straight into the master bathroom, and shoved the heavy door shut, twisting the lock into place.

When I finally stepped out, the bedroom was empty. My phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand. A stream of iMessage notifications lit up the screen. It was Delilah's favorite power play. Whenever she was alone with Callum, she bombarded me with candid photos of them together. She treated my inbox like her personal scrapbook.

Those little digital taunts used to break me. I would sob until my throat bled or scream at Callum until I lost my voice.

This time, I just swiped open the chat and studied the blurry club lighting before offering a genuinely helpful critique. "Your angle is all wrong. Callum's side profile is his best feature. Hold the phone a little higher next time. Also, you left too much negative space in the frame. Crop it tighter so you guys look more intimate."

The typing bubble appeared immediately. "Did someone hack your phone?"

I sent back a simple smiley face emoji. "No. Just giving you a heads-up. He is all yours." I hit send and immediately blocked her number.

This twisted little arrangement worked perfectly for me now. I get to keep the wife title and the unlimited Amex. Delilah can have his body and his baggage.

The pathetic girl who only wanted her husband's love died a long time ago.

Chapter 3

That night, the luxury of a second life didn't buy me a peaceful sleep. My brain looped the same haunting flashbacks of my past with Callum, exactly like it did when the pancreatic cancer was eating me alive.

As a kid, Callum was painfully introverted. He barely spoke. His mother, Eleanora ruthless prep school disciplinarianbeat the silence out of him. I would wake up at midnight, glance out my bedroom window, and see him hunched over his desk. He wore these thick, heavy glasses, furiously scribbling through test prep packets. Eleanor hovered over his shoulder, gripping a wooden yardstick. Every time his pencil hesitated or he got an equation wrong, the wood cracked hard against his spine.

I lived right across the street. Watching him flinch under those blows night after night twisted my gut. Whenever I scored some Jolly Ranchers or chocolates, I would sneak up to him before the school bell rang. I'd slip the candy into his backpack, flash him a grin, and whisper, "Callum. Whenever your back stings, eat one."

The first time I did it, a deep, furious red flushed his cheeks. I had run a hundred yards away before he finally choked out a raspy, defensive mutter. "I I don't eat sugar."

I just turned around, walking backwards, and waved. "You should talk more, Callum. You have a really nice voice."

It became our unspoken ritual. Callum, the boy who pushed everyone away, started waiting for me at the corner of our street. He waited for me to drop the candy into his bag. We walked down that same cracked suburban sidewalk together, surviving a blur of freezing winters and sweltering summers.

Then came senior year. Callum graduated valedictorian and secured a full ride to an Ivy League university. One afternoon, he pushed his thick glasses up his nose, shifting his weight nervously, and shoved a crumpled community college brochure into my hands. "I looked into this campus. It's only a ten-minute walk from my dorms," he mumbled, avoiding my eyes. "Your SAT scores aren't high enough for a university, but you can get your associate's degree here."

I stared at his shifting gaze. I never told him the truth. I never told him that my parents, Russell and Valerie, had held a panicked family meeting the night before. They swore they would drain their retirement savings to send me to an expensive private out-of-state college, just so I could get a real degree.

Instead, I secretly turned down the private university and enrolled in the community college. When they found out, the screaming match shook our house to its foundation.

But I never regretted it.

We moved to the same city. The second Callum escaped Eleanor's shadow, he had a massive glow-up. He ditched the Coke-bottle glasses for contacts. He let his rigid buzzcut grow into soft, dark curls. His entire wardrobe shifted overnightgoodbye, stiff plaid shirts; hello, crisp white button-downs. Even those beat-up black sneakers he wore for years were replaced by pristine white Nikes.

I honestly had no idea what sparked the sudden reinvention. Not until the day I started squealing over a pop star bringing his tour to our city.

Callum snapped. He grabbed my wrist, his knuckles turning white, his eyes flashing with a raw, red-rimmed intensity. "I changed into exactly the kind of guy you obsess over," he gritted out, his voice trembling. "And you still can't look at me like that?"

The realization that he actually liked me slammed into my chest like a sledgehammer.

Chapter 4

Even though we went to different campuses, Callum's legend preceded him. He was a tech prodigy. As a freshman, he represented the university in hackathons and brought home the national championship. By sophomore year, his flawless coding secured him offers from Silicon Valley giants. And with his sudden glow-up, girls were literally making threads on Reddit tracking his transformation.

I thought an entire ocean separated us now. I thought we were permanently stuck in the friend zone.

Until Callum confessed he liked me.

Shameless as ever, I did not even hesitate. I went right up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his.

We started dating. My whole personality dissolved into bringing him boba, pastries, and whatever dessert I was craving. I had zero career plans. My days consisted of figuring out our dinner orders and weekend trips.

Callum's life, meanwhile, stayed on easy mode. He launched his startup during grad school. The moment he defended his master's thesis, venture capitalists threw millions at him. By the time he earned his PhD, his tech firm ranked in the top ten nationwide.

My life felt cursed. I failed to transfer to a four-year university. After finishing my associate's degree, I lived entirely off the allowance Callum gave me.

Then the real nightmare hit. During my second year out of school, I was hospitalized with severe pneumonia. My parents, Russell and Valerie, rushed to see me. Their car never made it to the hospital. A fatal crash wiped them both out.

Suddenly, I was an orphan.

My lungs burned as I gasped for air. I clung to their cold bodies in the morgue, a wave of nausea washing over me as my vision blurred with hot tears. Callum dropped to his knees right beside their covered bodies. Under Eleanor's venomous, disgust-filled glare, he swore a blood oath to protect me for the rest of his life.

Just like that, we got married.

Then came the miscarriages. Over and over. Every positive pregnancy test ended in blood and hollowed-out grief.

Eventually, Callum met Delilah. That was when the subtle disgust started. He looked at me like I was an empty shell with zero intellectual depth. All I ever did was ask what he wanted for takeout. I was not Delilah. I could not debate Renaissance art or analyze the future of the tech industry over a glass of wine.

Hot moisture spilled over my lashes. I blinked my eyes open.

Morning light spilled through the blinds. Just like in my past life, the pillowcase was soaked right through with my tears. My screen lit up with an iMessage from Callum. "Visiting my mom at the nursing home this afternoon."

Before I could even type, his name flashed across the screen with an incoming call. I answered, and his voice immediately cut through the silence. "What's your schedule today?" he demanded. "Nova, how many times do I have to spell it out? Delilah and I are strictly professional. Why are you obsessing over such a minor thing?"

A bitter scoff escaped my lips at the sound of her name. Ever since his startup blew up, Callum only spoke in short, clinical commands. This was the first time he had dragged out an explanation. He was either trying to gaslight himself into believing he did not have feelings for Delilah, or he was just desperate to ease his own guilt.

My chest trembled uncontrollably. The pain radiated down my ribs. Still, I kept my voice perfectly flat. "Callum, I am feeling sick. I have a doctor's appointment at the clinic, so I really cannot go with you to see your mom today. Besides, Eleanor has a heart condition, and she has always hated my guts. Isn't it better if I just stay away so I do not trigger her? She adores Delilah anyway. She is always saying Delilah's old-money background is the only one fit for your status. Just take her with you."

I was genuinely trying to offer a practical solution.

Callum just snapped again. "Keep playing the victim, Nova."

Chapter 5

The line went dead.

I listened to the dial tone, a cynical smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. The difference between being loved and being discarded was staggering. The old Callum would have panicked at the slightest droop of my shoulders, begging to know what he did wrong. Now, even when I handed him a perfectly logical solution, he treated me like a hysterical burden.

I left my phone on the nightstand. I could not risk his toxic texts spiking my cortisol today. This clinic appointment was my lifeline. It was the only thing standing between me and the brutal fate of my past life.

For the next seven days, I practically lived at the hospital. Needles pierced my veins, drawing vial after vial of blood. I endured endless biopsies. I had Callum's black Amex and his elite status to thank for the VIP treatment. Just dropping his name bypassed a month-long waiting list. Now, Dr. Ramsey, the top oncologist, made me his first rounds every single morning.

In my previous life, I had been penniless. I pawned my Birkins and Cartier bracelets just to afford basic scans. I waited two hours in crowded lobbies for a single blood draw and a whole week for an MRI slot. Now? I lounged in a private VIP suite while Cora, my dedicated nurse, wheeled the equipment directly to my bedside.

The results were a twisted kind of miracle.

Pancreatic cancer. Stage 1.

Dr. Ramsey delivered the news with a somber, apologetic gaze.

I broke down. My muscles trembled uncontrollably. My chest heaved as ugly, raw sobs tore through my throat. Everyone in the room thought I was sobbing out of sheer terror.

But beneath the tears, a manic relief flooded my veins. I had caught it. I was actually going to survive.

I checked myself in immediately and started the aggressive chemo protocols. I was absolutely confident I could beat this. I had endless funds, the best medical team in the state, and access to premium imported drugs. The treatments still dragged me through hell, but the early-stage dosage was far more tolerable compared to the cheap, agonizing generics that had destroyed my organs in my past life.

My hair thinned out, and the weight melted off my bones. But I still had the energy to stroll through the hospital courtyard. Not once did I feel that soul-crushing, paralyzing abdominal pain.

A month into treatment, Dr. Ramsey handed me a lifeline. Two more rounds of chemo, and I would be in remission.

A sudden surge of hope filled my chest. Survival was the only thing I had begged for before I died.

Then, right as billing processed my third cycle, reality hit.

The payment bounced. My supplementary Amex had been frozen.

When Cora handed me the declined receipt, my pulse did not even spike. As long as Callum and I were legally married, he was legally obligated to foot this medical bill. I signed myself out on a day pass, hailed an Uber, and headed straight to his corporate headquarters.

I barely stepped through the revolving glass doors before Paige, the front desk receptionist, blocked my path. "Excuse me, miss. If you are looking for the CEO, you need an appointment."

I locked eyes with her, a cold smile touching my lips. I reached into my bag and pulled out my official marriage certificate.

Chapter 6

"Does this marriage certificate get me past the lobby?" I asked, sliding the paper across the polished marble.

Paige blinked, scanning the document before scrambling to her feet. "I am so sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize it was you."

I just shook my head, my face completely blank, and followed her to the private elevator. Whispers rippled through the open-plan office. Eyes raked over me as I walked past the glass cubicles.

I knew exactly what I looked like. A shaved head. A bulky winter puffer coat thrown over a faded hospital gown. But I didn't feel a single ounce of shame.

In my past life, when the medical bills drowned me, I dragged myself to this exact building to beg Callum for a loan. I never even made it past the front doors. Paige had me escorted out by security. Back then, I only had a divorce decree, not a marriage license.

"Delilah, Callum just told me to get Marshall to draft up divorce papers," Carly's voice drifted from the secretary's lounge. "Is he finally doing it?"

"Honestly, it's about time. None of us have even seen this wife of his. She's probably completely unpresentable. I heard she went to community college. She just got lucky locking down a guy like him. A man of his status needs someone with your old-money background." "Right?" Another girl chimed in. "I shadowed Callum at the investor dinner last week. Every single client asked where you were. When they realized you weren't coming, Callum totally checked out. He wouldn't even touch his scotch."

Delilah let out a soft, rehearsed giggle. "You guys are crazy. Callum and I are just friends. My dad, Theodore, really respects him, so he sent me here to learn the ropes. Callum is still a married man. I would never cross that line." She paused, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But the divorce it's definitely happening soon."

A bitter smirk twisted my lips as I stood outside the door. So this was the difference between being loved and being discarded.

Before Delilah showed up, Callum had run this floor like a dictator. Casual gossip in the secretary pool had been an instant firing offense. Now, it was a country club.

I pushed the heavy glass door open, my smile terrifyingly calm. "Excuse me, ladies," I said, my voice slicing through the room. "Your boss isn't getting a divorce. He's becoming a widower."

Delilah's perfectly curated expression immediately crumbled. Panic flashed in her eyes as she darted a look at the other girls. "What are you doing here?" she blurted out. "Callum banned you from the corporate office."

I met her gaze without blinking. "When exactly did Callum tell you I was banned?" I pulled the frozen Amex from my pocket and tossed it onto her desk. "Did you freeze my supplementary card, or did he?"

A furious red flush crept up Delilah's neck. "How would I know?" she snapped.

I gave her a slow nod. "Fine. I'll just go ask him myself." I turned toward the CEO's suite.

Before I could take a step, Delilah lunged forward. Her manicured fingers clamped violently around my wristright over my IV port. "You can't go in there," she hissed. "Callum is in a meeting."

A sharp pain flared in my wrist. Her acrylic nails dug directly into the plastic catheter buried in my bruised vein.

The needle had slipped.

Chapter 7

My brow furrowed. I twisted my arm out of her grip and drove my palm straight across her cheek. The crack echoed through the room.

Delilah stumbled back, her hand flying to her stinging jaw. Her eyes widened in absolute disbelief.

I didn't even look at her. I calmly pushed up the sleeve of my puffer coat. Dark blood had already seeped around the IV port. The plastic catheter was twisted deep into my bruised flesh. Without a flinch, I pinched the plastic hub and ripped the needle out, pressing my thumb hard over the bleeding puncture. "You drew blood first, so you earned that slap," I said, my voice deadpan. "You know exactly how much an IV getting ripped out hurts. Do not play the victim."

Delilah cradled her reddening cheek, her features contorting with vicious hatred. "You have no right to touch me! I am Callums secretary. He is in a closed-door meeting. Blocking you is my job!"

In my past life, dealing with her was like talking to a brick wall. Clearly, death hadn't cured her delusion. I let out a slow, exhausted exhale and turned to Carly and the rest of the secretary pool. "You all understood the basic logic of what just happened, right?"

The girls froze. They stared at me with wide, panicked eyes, completely paralyzed.

The heavy mahogany doors of the CEO's suite suddenly swung open. Callum stepped out, his brow pulled into a hard, irritated line the second his eyes landed on me. "What are you doing here?"

Before the words fully left his mouth, Delilah shoved past me. She threw herself directly against his chest, burying her face in his tailored lapel. "Callum! Nova hit me!"

A muscle ticked in Callum's jaw. Deep annoyance settled over his features. I didn't defend myself. I just met his gaze with dead, hollow eyes and raised my blood-smeared wrist. "She ripped my IV out."

Callum didn't even glance at the blood. His eyes swept over my shaved head, my sunken cheeks, and the oversized coat swallowing my skeletal frame. "Where the hell have you been disappearing to?" he barked, his voice dripping with disgust. "You look completely deranged."

I let out a bitter, broken laugh. I was literally wasting away, and his first instinct was to accuse me of spiraling out on some wild bender. I leveled my gaze with his. "I haven't been on a bender, Callum. I have been living at the hospital. I told you I was sick. I told you I needed tests. Unfortunately for you, it came back as cancer. If you still don't believe me, pull the medical records yourself. Every single biopsy and chemo log is right there."

Callum stopped breathing. His pupils blew wide open, swallowing the irises. He shoved Delilah off his chest without looking at her and closed the distance between us. "Cancer?" His voice cracked, stripping away the CEO persona. "What do you mean, cancer?"

The sudden panic in his eyes did nothing for me.

"Just pancreatic cancer," I stated, my tone conversational. "I am in the middle of active chemotherapy. But someone froze my supplementary Amex. My medical bills bounced. So, I had to risk a fatal infection to drag myself down here and beg you for cash." I tilted my chin up, a mocking, triumphant smirk twisting my dry lips. "So, Callum. Are you going to pay to keep me alive?"

I couldn't help the provocation. I had given up on this man a lifetime ago. But the memory of my past selfbegging, crying, pleading for a single dollar to stop the agonizing pain, only to be thrown out into the snowstill burned.

Callums shoulders shook uncontrollably. The shock in his eyes fractured. Pure, suffocating agony poured in. "Nova!" The roar tore out of his chest, agonized and desperate. "You have cancer! Why the hell didn't you tell me?" He grabbed his own hair, his chest heaving. "Is that why you ignored my calls for two months? Is that why you had Carmen throw away everything in the house? Because you were rotting in a hospital bed? Do you have any idea what the last two months have been like for me? You left your phone. You vanished without a trace! And you were hiding out getting chemotherapy