Dumped on Christmas, Rich by New Year’s

1 On Christmas Eve, my husband and his forty-ninth canary went public. “My forever love, @Sylvie.” “My forever love, @SimonBeaumont.” He turned to me a moment later, his voice a placating murmur. “It was just a silly girl who lost a game of truth or dare. Don’t worry about it.” Everyone laughed at me, but I didn’t make a scene. I never did. They didn’t know about the deal I’d made with the System. For every time Simon cheated, one year of his life was transferred to me. By my count, after forty-nine affairs, Simon’s eighty-year lifespan had been whittled down to its final year. All I had to do was survive until the New Year, and he would die of natural causes. And I, along with our three children, would inherit the Beaumont family’s trillion-dollar fortune. … Twitter was melting down. The trending topic of Simon and Sylvie’s announcement was followed by a blazing red “VIRAL” tag. In less than ten minutes, the post had over a hundred thousand comments. “Simon is so romantic! This is what true love looks like! #CoupleGoals” “Did Sylvie save a small country in a past life or something?” “@IngridBeaumont, come get your man, he’s at it again!” I set my phone down, my heart a placid lake, and took a sip of the Earl Grey tea on the table. The doorbell chimed, and Simon’s parents swept in, cloaked in a storm of fury. His father’s face was ashen with rage. He let out a heavy sigh. “Ingrid, Simon is being a damned fool. Dad will have the yacht prepped for you. If you need to get away, just go clear your head.” His mother placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Ingrid, don’t you worry. You are the only daughter-in-law of the Beaumont family. Those… trollops will never set foot in this house!” I lowered my head to pour them some tea, my expression a perfect mask of understanding. “Thank you, Mom, Dad. I know.” Why would I cause a scene? After all, this was Simon’s forty-ninth canary. Wonderful. Only seven days left. Everything was about to end. The next day, the head of Beaumont Corporation’s PR department arrived at the house personally. “Mrs. Beaumont, here is the draft of the statement. If you could please take a look…” I scanned the document. It was the same old recipe. “It was just a game… I’m not bothered… Our relationship is very strong… We apologize for wasting public resources…” I’d issued countless statements like this over the last decade. But this time felt different, more significant. It was, after all, the first time Simon had made such a grand, public declaration. I’d seen pictures of the girl. She was different from the others. She seemed sharper, more intelligent, and she bore a striking resemblance to Simon’s first love, the one who had passed away. After the statement was released, my phone exploded again. In the group chat with the other society wives, someone tagged me directly. “Ingrid, you are the soul of grace! If my husband tried that, I’d have broken both his legs by now!” “That’s why Ingrid is the true matriarch. We could all learn a thing or two.” I was so tired of their backhanded compliments. I muted the chat and retreated to the study. In the bottom drawer of the desk, tucked away beneath old files, was a small, leather-bound notebook. The first page was dated ten years ago. “Carla, 23, a ballerina from the conservatory. Three months. Gifted a condo downtown.” The second page. “Veronica, 25, a streamer and influencer. Four months. Bankrolled her own fashion boutique.” … The forty-eighth page. “Sophie, 22, a student at the music academy. Two months. Gifted a sports car.” I turned to the forty-ninth page and began to write. “Sylvie, 24, a graduate of the drama academy.” What her final prize would be, I didn’t yet know. But I had a nagging feeling that her ambitions were far from simple. I closed the notebook. Outside the window, a light snow had begun to fall. The Christmas tree in the garden twinkled with colored lights, and the sound of my three children’s laughter as they built a snowman drifted faintly through the glass. The day I was transmigrated into this body, its original owner, the real Ingrid, had just swallowed her last breath. Empty bottles of sleeping pills were scattered on the bedside table. Her phone was still lit up, displaying a photo of Simon in bed with Carla. Her dying wish had echoed in the empty room, a desperate, lingering obsession. “Simon isn’t a bad man, it’s that woman’s fault… Please, take care of him for me…” The moment I heard it, I wanted to refuse. Was this not the classic case of a woman hopelessly blinded by love? Driven to her death by a mistress, yet still making excuses for the cheating scoundrel. But the System had intervened. “You can’t go back anyway. Complete the mission, and I can grant you one wish.” I considered it, then nodded. “Fine.” “Ingrid believed Simon wasn’t a monster? Then let’s make a deal based on that belief.” “For every time Simon cheats, one year of his life is transferred to me.” “If the day comes when Simon has squandered away his entire lifespan, my mission will be complete.” The System was silent for three seconds. “Deal accepted.” Forty-nine affairs equated to forty-nine years of his life, gone. Simon was supposed to live to be eighty. Now, he had only one year left. No, to be precise, once the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Eve, his time would be up. The thought filled me with a profound sense of liberation. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Simon. “Won’t be home for dinner tonight.” “About the stuff online, you know how it is… Just a silly girl who lost a game of truth or dare. Don’t worry about it.” I didn’t reply. He didn’t press the issue. This was the silent understanding we had built over many years. “Ingrid, you’re the most understanding woman I know. It’s just for fun, a way to blow off steam.” “Don’t worry, you’re the only Mrs. Beaumont there will ever be.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh and called the children inside for dinner. The faint sound of Christmas bells drifted on the wind. Seven more days. Seven days until New Year’s Eve, when fireworks would paint the entire sky. And the final page of my ledger would finally be written.

2 The next day, Simon didn’t come home alone. His hand was intertwined with Sylvie’s. “Ingrid, we need to talk.” I looked up at him, a flicker of unease stirring within me. He never brought his women home. He certainly never brought them before me. “Sylvie’s grandfather is gravely ill. His only wish is to see her married.” My brow furrowed slightly. “And?” Simon hesitated, then finally dropped the bomb. “So… we need to get a divorce.” The air in the room instantly turned to ice. A divorce? After ten years of quiet suffering, just as my victory was within reach, he was going to kick me to the curb? Seeing my prolonged silence, a hint of pity flashed in Simon’s eyes. “Just for a month. As soon as her grandfather passes peacefully, we’ll remarry immediately.” On cue, Sylvie’s eyes welled with tears. “Ingrid, please, I’m begging you.” She walked towards me, her knees buckled, and she actually looked like she was about to kneel. “My grandfather… the doctors said he only has a few days left…” I didn’t move, but my mind was racing. If I wasn’t Mrs. Beaumont when Simon died, how much of the inheritance would I lose? The thought of Sylvie and my three children fighting over the assets made my stomach churn. No. I couldn’t let that happen. For the original Ingrid, for my children, and for myself, I had to protect my title as Mrs. Beaumont. I looked Simon straight in the eye. “New Year’s is just around the corner. The whole family will be gathering. Let’s not make a laughingstock of ourselves. Wait until after the holidays. Then you two can play whatever games you want.” “No!” Sylvie cried out, the tears now streaming down her face. “I’m afraid my grandfather can’t wait that long!” She collapsed to her knees, her fingers clutching the hem of my pants, her eyes pleading and wet. “Please, Ingrid, he’s the only family I have left…” “If he doesn’t see me get married, he’ll never be able to rest in peace, and I… I won’t be able to live with myself…” Simon’s eyes filled with pain for her. He turned to me, his voice laced with irritation. “Ingrid, just do me this one favor. Her request isn’t unreasonable.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Simon, I have been ‘doing you a favor’ for ten years.” “You’ve had forty-nine canaries, and I have never raised my voice to you or spoken a single ill word about you to anyone.” “This home, your parents, our three children—I have taken care of everything perfectly.” “And now, you’re asking me to give up my place as your wife…” Simon cut in, his voice urgent. “It’s just for one month!” “No!” I stood up, my tone more forceful than it had ever been. “You made me a promise, Simon. You have to keep your word!” Recalling his long-standing promise, Simon looked torn. Sylvie covered her face and began to sob. “Forget it, just forget it… I’ll just go with my grandfather…” She tried to stand, then crumpled back to the floor with a delicate, theatrical shudder. Simon’s heart broke for her. He rushed to her side, gathering her into his arms. He looked back at me, his eyes turning to ice. “Ingrid, I’m not asking you.” “You’ve always done what I said. This time will be no different.” I scoffed, a plan already forming in my mind. If I refused to sign, it would take him at least two months to force a divorce through the courts. By New Year’s Eve, six days from now, it would all be over. As I turned to leave, Simon grabbed my wrist. “Where are you going?” I shot him a cold glance. “I don’t want to look at either of you. I’m leaving.” Simon sneered, his eyes glinting with a look that said he saw right through me. “Think you can run away from this? Planning to run to Mom and Dad and tattle?” He started dragging me towards the door. “We’re going to City Hall right now. We are getting this done today.”

3 On the way to City Hall, Simon held my hand in a vise grip, as if he expected me to leap from the moving car. “Ingrid, just one month. I promise.” I said nothing, merely trying to pull my hand free. He clamped down again, his voice insistent. “Sylvie and I won’t make it public. No wedding, no ceremony. No one on the outside will know. You’ll still be Mrs. Beaumont to everyone.” I was silently calculating my next move. How could I blow this up? If I created a big enough scene, could he really force me? I slipped my hand into my coat pocket and discreetly sent a text. The contact was saved as “Jennings - Reporter.” Three years ago, he’d broken a scandal about Simon and was nearly ruined by the Beaumont family’s retaliation. I had been the one to call off the dogs. He despised Simon, and he owed me a favor. We finally arrived at the steps of City Hall. Just as we were about to get out of the car, a swarm of reporters materialized around us. “Mr. Beaumont, are you here to file for divorce? You and Miss Sylvie just made your relationship official yesterday. Are you planning to make an honest woman of her?” “Mrs. Beaumont, do you have any comment on your husband’s infidelity? After tolerating it for so long, why has it come to this?” Simon froze, clearly ambushed and completely unprepared. For a moment, he was at a loss for words. I linked my arm through his, forcing a graceful smile. “You’ve all misunderstood. We’re not here for a divorce.” “Today is our tenth wedding anniversary. We’re just here to revisit where it all began…” Simon’s arm went rigid beneath my touch. After a few seconds, he recovered, his own lips curving into a strained, placid smile. “That’s right.” The reporters were stunned but pressed on. “Then what about Miss Sylvie…” “Sylvie is a new actress my husband’s company just signed,” I interjected, my smile feeling brittle. “The announcement… it was all just publicity for her new series. Isn’t that right, dear?” Simon ground his teeth, but nodded. “Yes.” I seized the opportunity, pulling him back towards the car, ready to make our escape. But just then, a piercing scream cut through the air. “Look! Someone’s going to jump!” Across the street, on the rooftop of an office building, a lone figure in white stood against the sky. The wind was strong, whipping at her clothes and making her sway precariously on the ledge. It was Sylvie. My heart sank. This was bad. This was very, very bad. As expected, Simon lost his composure, shouting her name in a panic. “Sylvie! Don’t do anything stupid!” Sylvie looked down at him, tears streaming down her face, her voice choked with sobs. “Simon, I can’t live without you…” Simon ran his hands through his hair in desperation. “Get down from there! I’ll divorce her! I’ll do it right now!” He spun back to me, his eyes wild. “Ingrid, get inside. We’re getting a divorce!” The reporters’ cameras swiveled in unison, focusing on my deathly pale face. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

4 “Is this divorce voluntary?” The clerk behind the counter looked up, her gaze sharp and suspicious. I opened my mouth to say “No.” But Simon’s fingers dug into the soft flesh between my thumb and forefinger, a jolt of pain silencing me. The clerk asked the question again. Simon’s other hand pressed down on the back of my neck, forcing my head down in a nod. Once. Twice. The clerk stood up, her voice tinged with anger. “Sir, this is coercion!” Simon let out a cold laugh. “Fine. Ask her yourself if it’s voluntary.” He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “Think about your three children, Ingrid. If you don’t sign, they won’t be Beaumonts tomorrow.” My entire body went rigid. I looked up at him, my eyes wide with disbelief. “Simon, they are your children!” “So what?” His eyes were like chips of ice. “The Beaumonts are never short on heirs. I can have more whenever I want. But you, Ingrid… can you afford that gamble?” I couldn’t. Ten years of forbearance, forty-nine betrayals. I had bled my heart dry, waiting not just for Simon’s death, but for the day my children could inherit everything that was rightfully theirs. To protect them, I had no choice. A bitter taste filled my mouth as I spoke. “I am here voluntarily.” The clerk stared at me for a few more seconds before finally sitting down and pushing the forms across the counter. As I signed the last stroke, my hand was trembling. Not from sadness, but from the searing bitterness of defeat.