After Rebirth, She Picked The Right Guy
Everyone knew Caroline loved Jacob, the frail man in a wheelchair, even giving up her chance at marrying into wealth for him.
She devoted everything to his recovery, enduring hardship and humiliation to help him stand again.
When he finally recovered, they were praised as perfect together-until danger came.
Faced with saving her or her sister, Jacob chose the latter without hesitation. Only in her final moments did Caroline realize his heart was never hers.
Reborn, she made a different choice, choosing power over love.
When Jacob later begged, she looked down coldly. "I have no interest in men who can't stand on their own."
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Chapter 2
In the private room at Allure Club, smoke hung heavily in the air.
With one leg draped over the other, Jared Willis, Braydon's friend, sprawled across the couch and swirled the wine in his glass.
"Braydon, you're seriously marrying Caroline?"
Resting against the leather couch, Braydon held a cigarette loosely between his fingers.
Jared continued, "I looked into her already. She's spoiled rotten, quick-tempered, and always stirring trouble. Just recently, she fought someone over Jacob, and the whole city's talking about it. Honestly, Vivian sounds like the smarter pick. Yeah, she's illegitimate, but she listens, keeps her head down, and she's not bad to look at. No drama, no hassle. Marry someone like that and life's easy."
"Life's easy? That just means she's dull," Braydon replied in a calm yet distant tone.
"So that's it. You want someone who keeps things interesting."
Braydon crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "I've already decided. It's Caroline."
"Everyone knows she's hung up on Jacob. You're really going to marry her? That's embarrassing."
"I said I'd marry her, but how I do it—that's up to me."
That answer made Jared uneasy at once. "What are you even thinking? Don't pull something reckless. The Palmers are respected people, and Caroline's been raised like a princess. If you treat her like one of your street deals, that's crossing the line."
Braydon stood and walked out.
Still seated, Jared called after him loudly, "At least give me a heads-up. Braydon! You hear me?"
Word of both Palmer sisters getting married soon spread through Praginia in no time.
Three days passed before Caroline received a marriage certificate along with a wedding photo.
The image showed her seated beside Braydon. Her smile looked forced, while his expression stayed blank.
But the thing was, the wedding never happened in the first place.
Instead, the Lewis family arranged for her to take the photo alone, edited Braydon into the picture afterward, and used it as proof of a supposed wedding to apply for a marriage certificate.
From start to finish, it all wrapped up in under two hours.
With the certificate gripped tightly in her hands, Caroline kept her eyes on the poorly edited wedding photo.
Her thoughts drifted back to her previous life, when Vivian became Braydon's wife and the Lewis family hosted a grand celebration that lasted three full days, drawing every elite figure in the city.
Back then, Vivian stepped out in a custom-made gown, walking beside Braydon along a lavish aisle while everyone watched in admiration.
Now that she was the bride, all she had received was a fabricated image.
Even so, the reason behind it was clear to her.
Across Praginia, everyone believed she was hopelessly devoted to Jacob, and that rumor had already tarnished the Lewis family's name.
Because of that, Braydon chose to humiliate her in return.
As for her previous life?
Since Vivian was an illegitimate daughter, Braydon had arranged an extravagant wedding to raise her standing.
That display ensured no one would dare to mock Vivian for her origins ever again.
In the end, it all came down to preserving the Lewis family's image.
Love had nothing to do with any of it, since the marriage existed only as a calculated deal.
Caroline felt no concern over Braydon's treatment of her.
What mattered to her was simple: she wanted the authority and reach that came with the Lewis name.
Meanwhile, Vivian's situation wasn't much better.
Because Jacob's condition was so fragile, he never even appeared at the City Hall, and their marriage registration felt just as hollow.
Before long, the night arrived.
Caroline reached the entrance of the Lewis estate with her suitcase beside her.
A soft rain had begun to fall.
The gate before her, however, remained firmly closed.
There were no festive touches anywhere, and there was no wedding.
Wanting to avoid attention, the Lewis family had instructed her to come alone and settle in quietly.
Standing by the gate, the butler regarded her without emotion. "Are you Mr. Lewis' newly wedded wife?"
"Yes. I came to see him."
"Mr. Lewis has no intention of meeting you."
A slight lift of Caroline's brow followed. "He refuses to meet me? Then where do you expect me to stay?"
Holding out an umbrella, the butler explained, "Mr. Lewis wants you to head back to the Palmer residence for now. If he decides to see you, someone will be sent to bring you over."
Caroline accepted the umbrella, yet her feet stayed rooted in place.
A short laugh slipped out as she glanced at him. "So the Lewis family summoned me here, and now they're sending me away? Do you really think this is funny?"
Unfazed, the butler answered, "Mr. Lewis doesn't mean it that way."
She pushed the umbrella back toward him. "Go back and tell him—I will step inside tonight no matter what it takes."
"Mr. Lewis made it clear. If you refuse to leave, you may wait outside, but he still won't meet you."
Hearing that, Caroline gave a small nod.
She already understood how stubborn Braydon could be.
He thought he could keep her out? She had no plans to play along.
Without another word, Caroline strode toward the gate, slipped off her heels, and grabbed onto the iron bars before climbing up.
The butler stared in shock, his composure cracking instantly.
The alarm system started wailing without pause, but Caroline kept climbing without sparing a glance.
Several guards rushed over, yet they stopped short the moment they recognized her.
Uncertainty held them back, and none of them dared to act.
Wasn't she supposed to be the refined daughter of the Palmer family? How did she end up scaling a gate like that?
"Madam, what are you doing?"
"I'm Braydon's wife now. I'm entering my own home. Who dares to stop me?"
Caroline's eyes swept across everyone in front of her.
Not one guard stepped forward to interfere.
Caroline picked up her heels and strode straight into the house.
The house was huge. Lights filled the living room, yet the space sat completely empty.
She paused at the center, scanned the surroundings, and then moved toward the staircase.
A voice suddenly cut through the silence just as she reached the bottom step.
"Stop right there."
The tone carried a sharp chill.
Lifting her gaze, Caroline looked up.
Braydon stood by the railing on the second floor.
A black robe hung loosely on him, his collar open, and his damp hair clung slightly to his forehead.
From above, he stared down at her with a faint frown. "Who gave you permission to come in?"
"I did." Setting her suitcase aside, Caroline faced him calmly. "Braydon, we're legally married now. Where do you expect me to sleep?"
Braydon's eyes narrowed at her words.
At that moment, the butler and several guards rushed inside.
Hurrying forward, the butler said nervously, "My apologies, Mr. Lewis! Your wife climbed over the gate to get in. We tried to stop her, but we failed."
She climbed over the gate?
Braydon's gaze dropped to Caroline's legs.
A short white dress clung to her, while her heels were stained with dirt. Mud streaked across her legs. Nothing about her appearance matched that of a refined young lady.
Braydon walked down the stairs and stopped in front of her. He lifted his hand, and the butler, along with the guards, quickly withdrew.
Standing so close to him, Caroline caught the faint scent of alcohol mixed with tobacco.
Looking down at her, Braydon let out a quiet laugh. The chill behind it sent a sharp unease through her.
"Caroline," he said in a low voice, "do you really think you're my wife now?"
Caroline refused to step back. Meeting his eyes, she answered slowly, "We're legally wedded now, so I am your wife."
A slight arch appeared in Braydon's brow.
"Alright," he said as he set his glass aside. "Then tell me this. As my wife, where should you be spending your night?"
A sudden grin appeared on Caroline's face.
Turning away, she walked to the couch and dropped onto it.
"Right here," she replied.
That answer caught Braydon off guard, and he paused.
Leaning back, Caroline tossed her dirty heels straight into a nearby trash bin. "You won't let me go to your bedroom, so I'll sleep here instead. I'm still your wife no matter where I stay. Whether it's here or anywhere else, that won't change."
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8.1
She thought patience would earn her love.
She was wrong.
After years of waiting for her best friend to finally see her, she meets the one man she should never want-his older brother. Dark, forbidden, and dangerously perceptive, he sees through every excuse she's ever made for being overlooked.
Now she must choose between a safe fantasy that keeps breaking her heart and a dangerous truth that offers no escape once it begins.
Because the brother who looks at her like that?
He doesn't believe in halfway love.
7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
7.5
For five years, I was locked away in the freezing royal dungeon, starved and used as a bloody plaything by the kingdom's sadistic Cabinet Minister, Brandt Fischer.
He tortured me daily for one twisted reason: I simply looked like someone else.
When he visited my cell to casually announce my father's execution and drag a silver dagger across my neck, he expected me to beg.
Instead, I laughed, sank my teeth directly into his carotid artery, and was violently thrown against a jagged stone wall to my death.
As my skull cracked and my blood stained the moss, I thought about my so-called family. The moment Brandt had demanded me, my father, the Duke, handed me over without a single hesitation to save his own political career.
I was nothing but a disposable pawn, left to rot in the dark while the monsters who ruined my life thrived.
I died suffocating on my own blood and absolute, destructive vengeance.
Then, I opened my eyes.
I was lying in my silk-sheeted bed, reborn as my fifteen-year-old self.
Today was the exact day Lord Daryl Langley, the God of War, would be ambushed and crippled—the event that allowed Brandt to seize ultimate power.
I immediately stole a horse, rode to the palace gates, and threw myself directly in front of Daryl's moving carriage.
"I just didn't want to see a hero die like a slaughtered pig."
I didn't care if I had to shatter my own ankle to hijack his convoy. This time, I was going to save the general, and he would become the blade I use to slaughter them all.
7.6
I woke up to the suffocating smell of copper and sulfur, my fingers wrapped around a blood-soaked leather whip.
Hanging from an obsidian cross in front of me was a boy with silver hair and dead, golden eyes.
His pale chest was torn open to the bone.
I recognized those eyes immediately. I had spent three years describing them on my laptop.
He was Kamari Monroe, the tragic, overpowered protagonist of my own web novel.
And I wasn't just a bystander. I was Benedict Guerrero, the sadistic academy headmaster. The ultimate villain.
A reel of images flashed in my mind: my original ending. Kamari, fully awakened, skinning me alive and burning my soul in a furnace for forty-nine days.
My loyal attack dog, Gideon, stepped forward with a basin of glowing green liquid.
"Headmaster, let me wake him up with this bone-rot acid so you can resume."
If that acid hit Kamari, his hatred would become permanent. My gruesome death would be sealed.
But if I broke character and apologized, the magical world would sense the shift, and Kamari would just think it was a sicker, more twisted trap.
How was I supposed to survive a death sentence I wrote myself?
I couldn't show weakness. I had to play the monster to survive.
Suppressing my terror, I smashed the acid basin, healed his ruined flesh with agonizing dark magic, and lied straight to his face.
"Someone had to be the monster to push you into the fire."
This time, I will rewrite my own fate.
7.5
I thought my best friend Mila and my lover Preston were my only salvation from Essex Langley, the ruthless billionaire who kept me caged in his estate.
I trusted them blindly when they planned my grand escape.
But it was all a cruel setup.
Mila deliberately leaked the plan to Essex's guards to win his favor, and Preston only wanted my family's shares to pay off his massive debts.
When we were caught in the rose garden, Preston shoved me toward the guards and ran for his life.
"You're insane if you think I actually loved a freak like you!"
I was dragged back into the manor, my ribs cracking under heavy boots.
I bled out on the freezing marble floor, staring into Essex’s unhinged, mad eyes as I took my last agonizing breath.
Until the moment I died, I couldn't accept it.
I had ruined my own life, adopting a hideous punk look with fake tattoos and piercings just to make Essex hate me, all for two people who saw me as nothing but a sacrificial lamb.
Why was my blind rebellion rewarded with such a brutal betrayal?
Opening my eyes again, the white-hot pain was gone.
I was back in the freezing bedroom on my eighteenth birthday, the very night Mila would come to orchestrate my ruin.
I looked at the rebellious, smudged stranger in the mirror.
This time, I calmly washed off the black makeup, took out my lip ring, and put on a pristine white dress.
If fighting the devil got me killed, then in this life, I would tame him and make them all pay.
7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.