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 3
For a brief moment, the living room fell into complete silence.
Braydon kept his gaze on Caroline, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
He had expected a spoiled girl, someone who had been indulged all her life and never endured even the slightest hardship. He had denied her a wedding, skipped the photos, and locked her out on the very first day of their marriage.
Even after all that, Caroline didn't break down, didn't lash out, didn't cause a scene, and didn't reach out to the Palmer family for support.
Instead, she simply dropped onto the couch and settled in as if she had every intention of staying.
That alone caught his interest.
Tilting her head up, Caroline met his gaze. "Braydon, I'm aware you don't like me. Still, we're legally bound now, so our lives are tied together. You don't want to acknowledge it? That's fine. I'll stay right here and wait. If you deny it for a day, I'll wait a day. If it takes a year, then I'll wait a year."
"Acknowledge what?"
"That I'm your wife."
A laugh slipped from Braydon as he looked at her.
"Fine," he said casually. "Then go ahead and wait."
Without another word, he turned and made his way upstairs.
Left alone in the living room, Caroline slowly let a faint smile form on her lips.
She wasn't simply waiting. She was taking a gamble.
From what she remembered of her previous life, she understood Braydon far too well.
He wouldn't bend to pressure, and pleading meant nothing to him. The only thing that ever moved him was curiosity.
As long as she managed to catch his interest, even slightly, he would start paying attention to her.
Once that happened, she would have the opportunity to change everything.
Upstairs, Braydon pushed the bedroom door open.
Jared lay stretched out on the bed, absorbed in his phone. The moment he noticed Braydon, he sprang up. "Well? Did that woman stir things up?"
Without responding, Braydon walked over and sat on the couch beside the bed, then poured himself a glass of whiskey.
Leaning closer with curiosity, Jared asked, "Did she cry? Did she call her family to complain?"
"No."
"What's she doing?"
Braydon raised his glass and took a slow sip. "She's downstairs, sitting on the couch."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"She's just sitting there doing nothing?"
A subtle curve formed at Braydon's lips. "She's waiting for me to acknowledge that she's my wife."
Morning came soon after.
Caroline had stayed on that couch the entire night.
The living room was spacious, and the couch felt comfortable, but it still fell short of an actual bed.
As she woke, a slight stiffness settled into her neck.
She pushed herself upright, massaged the soreness, and then noticed a glass of warm milk along with a sandwich placed neatly on the table.
For a brief moment, she paused.
Standing nearby, the butler stepped forward once he saw she was awake, and his tone carried more respect than before. "Madam, Mr. Lewis arranged breakfast for you."
Caroline's brow lifted slightly. "He did?"
"Yes."
Reaching out, Caroline picked up the milk and took a sip. The warmth felt just right.
A faint smile touched her lips, yet she said nothing.
Upstairs, Braydon stood by the study window, watching the staff move about as they cleaned the garden below.
The door opened as Jared walked in, then moved beside him and looked down. "So she really stayed? I figured she was just putting on a show last night."
Braydon didn't respond.
Jared kept rambling. "She's got patience. Most women would've broken down and run back home after being made to sleep on a couch on the first night after marriage."
Turning away from the window, Braydon walked over and took a seat at his desk. "That's not patience."
"Then what do you call it?"
"She's clever."
"Clever? How does that even count as clever?"
Instead of answering, Braydon stayed silent and flipped through the papers in his hand.
The file he was reading held Caroline's personal details.
Caroline was a smart woman. She knew tears wouldn't change anything and complaints would only fall flat, so she chose a different approach altogether.
After finishing her breakfast, Caroline picked up her suitcase and made her way upstairs without hesitation.
The butler moved as if to block her path, yet he held back and followed behind her instead. "Madam, Mr. Lewis' study is located on east side of the second floor. Please be careful not to head the wrong way..."
"Where's my room?"
The butler hesitated before pointing to a door at the end of the hallway. "That is Mr. Lewis' bedroom. The room beside it is meant for guests."
Caroline stepped forward and pushed open the guest room door.
The space looked complete with furnishings, though it carried the untouched feel of a room no one had ever used.
She placed her suitcase on the floor, opened it, and began taking out her clothes, arranging them neatly in the wardrobe as if she belonged there.
Lingering at the doorway, the butler seemed hesitant, as though words were stuck on his tongue.
Without even glancing back, Caroline said, "If you've got something to say, then say it."
"Madam, Mr. Lewis has quite a temper. If there's anything you need, it might be better to come to me first."
Turning around, Caroline met his eyes. "Then let me ask you something. Will he acknowledge that I'm his wife?"
The question left him speechless.
"If he won't, then what's the point of going through you?"
The butler stood there, unable to respond.
Returning to her task, Caroline continued hanging her clothes, her voice light and unconcerned. "Don't worry. I'm not here to stir trouble. I'll live my life as usual. When I'm hungry, I'll eat. When I'm tired, I'll sleep. He can act like I don't exist, and I'll do the same."
By midday, Caroline went downstairs for lunch.
The dining hall stretched wide, and though she sat there alone, the table was filled with an elaborate spread.
Once she finished eating, she returned to her room and took a nap.
Later that afternoon, she wandered into the garden and spent some time talking with the gardener, learning about the different varieties of roses.
When dinner time came, Braydon was nowhere to be seen.
Caroline didn't question it. She ate quietly and went back to her room afterward.
The second day passed the same way, and nothing changed on the third.
By the fourth day, Jared finally snapped.
"Seriously, this is driving me insane!" he burst out. "I've been staying here for four days and there's zero excitement! All I see is that woman strolling around the garden like it's her daily routine!"
A hand came up to Braydon's temple as he massaged it lightly.
Even he hadn't anticipated Caroline would keep this up for so long.
Not once in those past days had she tried to seek him out.
"Have the butler bring her to the study," he said.
If things dragged on any further, he figured Jared might settle in for the long haul.
At that same time, Caroline was outside chatting with the elderly gardener when the butler approached in a hurry. "Madam, Mr. Lewis would like to see you in his study."
Caroline lifted her gaze. "Right now?"
"Yes."
"Alright."
Brushing off her dress, Caroline followed him back inside.
They arrived at the study upstairs, and the butler knocked lightly on the door.
"Come in." Braydon's voice sounded from within.
Opening the door, the butler stepped aside to let Caroline pass.
The study stretched wide, with a large desk positioned in front of tall windows that reached from floor to ceiling.
Seated behind it, Braydon held a pen while reviewing documents.
Caroline paused at the entrance instead of stepping forward.
Without lifting his head, Braydon said, "Come here."
Caroline walked over and stopped across from him.
Setting the pen aside, Braydon finally raised his head and looked at her.
A soft blue dress framed her figure, and her long hair fell naturally over her shoulders. With no makeup on, she looked simple yet striking.
Compared to the last time he saw her, she seemed a little thinner.
Braydon asked, "Are you settling in well?"
Caroline nodded. "Everything's been fine."
"No tears?"
"None."
"No complaints either?"
"Not at all."
With his eyes fixed on her, Braydon studied her quietly. "Do you have any idea what people are saying about you right now?"
Caroline gave a slight shake of her head. "I don't."
"They're saying that you were rejected by me on the first night we got married, spent the night on the couch and still chose to stay, making a complete fool of yourself."
After hearing all that, Caroline only let out a faint smile. "I see."
"That's it? That's all you've got to say?"
"What else should I say?" Caroline replied, meeting his gaze. "If I cared about those rumors, I wouldn't have married you in the first place."
For a brief moment, Braydon simply stared at her before a low laugh escaped him.
He rose from his seat, walked around the desk, and stopped right in front of her.
As he stood over her, his height made his presence feel overwhelming.
In that moment, she couldn't help but think his reputation wasn't exaggerated at all. He ruled Praginia with unmatched influence and moved effortlessly between both sides of the law, a man everyone feared.
He asked in a low voice, "Caroline, what is it that you actually want?"
Caroline met his eyes. "I want you to acknowledge me as your wife."
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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.