Chapter 1

In my last life, my sister-in-law's husband wanted to start a business and asked to borrow five million from me. I refused.

My husband, away on a painting trip, heard about it and made a special trip home, bringing me a jar of medicinal liquor.

I thought he'd come to smooth things over. I never imagined he'd laced the liquor with paraquat.

In my final moments my mind stayed clear, while my body drowned in agony.

When I opened my eyes again, I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through me.

This time, I would have his whole family drink the poisoned liquor.

……

"Honey, look what I brought you."

My body flinched before I could think. He was back, a jar of medicinal liquor cradled in his arms.

"On this painting trip I ran into an old master healer. I begged him for days before he'd give me this jar."

"I told him all about your condition. He said as long as you drink this, you're guaranteed to be cured."

As he spoke, he broke the seal and poured out a cup.

In my last life I suspected nothing. I drank it, and he watched me coldly as I collapsed to the floor, watched me slide toward death.

Afterward he said I'd panicked over my illness and drunk some quack's liquor that killed me.

My parents were already dead. He was my only family. No one ever questioned how I really died.

He took over everything I owned and lived the good life with his whole family.

Seeing me not react, he held the cup out. "The taste is a bit harsh, sure, but good medicine is bitter. Come on, one big swallow."

What should I do?

Call the police right now and demand they test what was in this liquor?

No…

That would let him off too easy.

He'd have some story ready by then. Even if the truth came out, the most he'd get is a few years in prison.

Debts are paid with money. Murder is paid with a life.

"I've been taking cephalosporin. I can't drink for the next couple of days. Pour it back for now."

I caught the clear disappointment in his eyes.

"It's medicinal liquor. It'll be fine."

"You want me dead?" I stared at him. "Cephalosporin and alcohol cause a disulfiram reaction. You know that perfectly well."

"Last year I was taking cephalosporin, and that glass of juice you gave me had alcohol in it."

"Have you forgotten how I nearly died on the operating table back then?"

"Look at my head. My fault, don't drink it yet." He quickly set the cup aside. "But whatever you do, remember to have a cup once the medication's out of your system. You'll see the effect then."

I rubbed my temples. "I'm a little tired today. Let me rest for a bit."

After he turned and left, my palms were slick with sweat.

Last year… only now did I understand. That glass of juice last year wasn't a coincidence. It was deliberate. He had tried to kill me more than once.

I looked at the medicinal liquor sitting off to the side, and a plan took shape in my mind.