Signed Away: His New Wife

In my past life, I died alone in a sterile hospital bed while my fiancé, Dyllan, comforted his "foster sister" Heather through a fake panic attack.

He missed the birth and death of our child because Heather was "too delicate" to be left alone.

Even as I took my last breath, he was wiping away her crocodile tears, ignoring my desperate calls.

I sacrificed my dreams, my money, and my life for him, only to be a forgotten footnote.

But when I opened my eyes, I was back at the City Hall counter, the marriage license waiting.

Dyllan tapped his foot impatiently, checking his phone.

"Hurry up, Ivy. Heather called. She' s having an episode. She needs me."

The old Ivy would have trembled and obeyed, desperate for his approval.

But I just smiled, a cold, calculated expression he didn't recognize.

"Go to her," I said, pushing him toward the door. "I'll handle the paperwork. Family comes first, right?"

He rushed out without a backward glance, relieved to be the hero again.

Left alone with the official document, I didn't write my own name on the bride's line.

With a steady hand and a heart full of vengeance, I wrote Heather Rosales.

Congratulations, Dyllan. You're legally married to the burden you love so much.

And I am finally free.

Chapter 1

**IVY POV**

The pen felt heavy in my hand, heavier than any burden I' d carried in my past life, which was saying something because in that life, I died alone, forgotten, after years of sacrificing everything for the man now tapping his foot impatiently beside me. Dyllan Chambers, my supposed fiancé, looked at me, then at the half-filled marriage license application lying on the cold, municipal counter. His impatience was a familiar ache deep in my gut.

"Ivy, what' s taking so long?" His voice was a low rumble, laced with the same frayed nerves that had become his default setting whenever Heather was involved. "We' re already running late. Heather called again, she' s having one of her… episodes."

My gaze lingered on the blank space labeled 'Applicant 1: Full Legal Name' . In another life, exactly five years ago, my hand would have trembled with joy, not this cold, calculated resolve. That Ivy would have etched her name with reverence, seeing it as the gateway to a shared future, a future that promised warmth and belonging. That Ivy would have ignored the red flags and the nagging doubts, clinging to the illusion of love.

But that Ivy was dead. She had died in a sterile hospital bed, the faint beeps of a monitor her only companion, while Dyllan, her husband, comforted his divorced foster sister, Heather, through a made-up anxiety attack. The memory was a fresh, raw wound, even now. The cold neglect had mirrored the cold steel of the gurney, the chill seeping into her bones long before her heart finally gave out. My fingers, now tracing the empty line, felt the phantom cold of