Two Souls, One Fate Chapter 1

On our third anniversary, my amnesiac husband suddenly looked at me with red eyes, claiming he'd crossed over from age eighteen.

"I'm sorry, babe. How could that bastard betray you? I'm eighteen now. I only love you."

He sobbed, repenting as he blocked his mistress on WhatsApp. I stared, stunned by his smooth performance. For the past year, this version of him had trampled my heart for that woman. Now, he spent every day clumsily trying to please me like a boy in first love.

I thought a miracle had come. Until I overheard him on the phone, his tone careless and cruel.

"Aly, don't be mad. Wasn't the bet to see if she could tell I was faking? Once she's moved and forgives me, I'll tell her the truth. I promise I'll shred her heart for you, okay?"

I stopped walking, my heart chilling. There had never been a lover crossing time. He was still twenty-five-year-old Adrian Caldwell.

But he didn't know. I had truly crossed over from eighteen. And the affection that version of me held for him was nowhere near enough to let him humiliate me like this.

I stood frozen, my mind in chaos.

My memories still stopped before I got together with Adrian. At that time, he had already chased me for an entire year.

He delivered breakfast for a hundred days. He stood under my dorm building on countless rainy nights.

Only then had I slowly opened my heart.

The next moment, I woke up seven years in the future.

On the other end of the phone, Aly Shaw was still laughing.

“Adrian, you’re so bad.”

Adrian’s voice was lazy, full of unconcealed malice.

“If I don’t crush her pride completely, how will she learn? All right, I’ll go coax her some more. Sleep early.”

He hung up and turned to open the balcony door.

When he saw me standing outside, the tenderness on his face instantly switched to panic.

With red eyes, he strode over and pulled me hard into his arms.

“Babe, I was wrong. I really know I was wrong.”

“My head is full of memories from when we were eighteen. I only remember how much I loved you. How could I hurt you for another woman?”

If this had been twenty minutes ago, twenty-five-year-old Skye Harper might have cried her heart out and forgiven all the awful things he had done over the past year.

But I was eighteen.

Three days ago, I had only barely agreed to Adrian’s pursuit.

My mind flashed through what he had done this past year.

When Skye was sick, he let Aly pour all her medicine into the toilet, saying Skye was faking illness to compete for attention.

He threw the cheap silver ring I bought him into the trash, then spent millions buying Aly a three-pound set of gold jewelry.

He said, “Aly saved my life. Of course I should treat her like a princess.”

On Skye’s birthday, he brought Aly into our marital bed.

In that daze, I seemed to feel the pain Skye had felt then.

I trembled with anger and shoved him away.

Adrian froze for a second, then immediately came close again, tears falling in large drops.

“Babe, hit me, curse me, anything. Just don’t ignore me. From now on, I’ll only revolve around you, okay?”

I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face.

The sound was crisp.

Adrian’s face turned from the force, and five red marks appeared instantly on his pale skin.

A flash of fury passed through his eyes.

Then he forced it down, turned back, and looked at me with wounded devotion.

“Babe, does your hand hurt? If you’re not satisfied, hit this side too.”

He grabbed my hand and brought it toward his face.

I pulled my hand back and went to the bathroom to wash it.

“Adrian Caldwell, stop acting. It’s disgusting.”

His body stiffened. His eyes flickered.

“Babe, what am I acting about? I really only remember being eighteen…”

Before I could speak, the doorbell suddenly rang.

Adrian’s expression shifted. He strode over and opened the door.

Aly stood outside holding a thermal container, eyes red, looking fragile and pitiful.

“Adrian, I made your favorite fish soup.”

Adrian suddenly raised his voice and snapped, “What are you doing here? Get out! My wife is home. If you don’t care about shame, I do.”

He knocked the container over.

Soup splashed onto Aly’s calf.

Aly screamed, tears falling rapidly.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me anymore. I won’t give up on you…”

She cried and ran into the elevator.

Adrian slammed the door shut, then turned back with a humble expression, waiting for praise.

“Babe, see? I didn’t care about her at all.”

I stared at his right hand.

When he had knocked over the container just now, his index and middle fingers had crossed discreetly.

That was his secret signal with Aly.

When twenty-four-year-old Skye discovered that signal, she had confronted him without hesitation, and in return, he threw her out of the car in pouring rain.

But eighteen-year-old me only found the signal ridiculous.

The moment the door closed, I saw pain flash across Adrian’s face.

I ignored him, walked into the guest room, and locked the door.

No matter how hard he pounded on it outside.