How I Deal With the Ultimate Betrayal After Rebirth

Holding On

Julian's eyes burned with fury. He hadn't expected me to turn his image of a loving husband into a weapon against him. "Of course," he said.

With so many people watching, he had no choice but to agree.

I seized the phone, my lifeline, and dialed home at once. "Mom, Dad, please come save me!"

I had married far from home. My parents had set out two weeks early, planning to take care of me after I gave birth.

Julian, wanting to keep them away, had secretly fed me labor-inducing drugs so I would deliver early.

In my last life, by the time they arrived, I was already in the ICU, locked away where no one was allowed to see me.

They never questioned me. They only felt my pain and agreed to everything I asked without hesitation.

"We've arranged for the nearest hospital," my father said, trying to steady his voice. "Lexi, hold on! You must hold on!"

The nearest hospital was about a forty‑minute drive. If I could just make it through, I could save my daughter and myself.

I hung up and clung tightly to an iron pipe jutting out from the wall. "I'm not going anywhere until the doctor in charge of my transfer arrives."

Julian let out a bitter laugh. My defiance was shredding his mask of gentleness.

If there hadn't been witnesses here, he would have knocked me out and dragged me into the delivery room himself.

"So, you're just missing your parents," he said with mock tenderness, patting my head. "I'll have my mom come keep you company right away."

His mother was in on it too. He wasn't calling her here to comfort me; he was calling in reinforcements.

She had never liked me. After my death in my last life, she took my inheritance for herself, even the portion meant for my parents. There wasn't a single decent soul in the Steele family.

If his mother showed up, she would almost certainly create a scene to force me into the delivery room.

I pulled out the phone and hit record.

"From this moment on, I, Lexi Summers, retain full decision‑making authority over myself," I said clearly. "No one except my parents may make medical decisions on my behalf, not even my husband. This recording is made publicly and has legal force."

Julian's expression darkened even further. He hadn't thought I would go this far.

With this recording, the hospital staff wouldn't dare touch me without my consent.

The onlookers' eyes shifted to him, searching his face as though trying to piece together just how badly he had wronged me, and what could make me so desperate that I would publicly deny him the right to speak as my family.

I had expected Julian to back down. Instead, his lips curled, his tone going cold.

"Babe, if you've been struggling with prenatal anxiety, why didn't you just tell me? I guess it's my fault. I've been too busy with work to pay attention to you." Then came his sneer. "An anxious patient's statement has no legal standing."

There it was again, his favorite tactic, branding me as mentally unstable.

"Lexi, once you give birth, all this will be over."

With a single command, Julian's assistants swarmed me, pinning me down.

He used his privileges to order a powerful labor‑inducing injection and jabbed it straight into my lower back.

The drug hit fast. Intense contractions tore through me like fire.

I clutched my belly and screamed. The pain drained every ounce of strength from me.

He was using the agony of childbirth to shackle my freedom. His assistants forced me back onto the delivery bed. My mind went blank from the pain.

As they tried to push me into the delivery room, I clutched the doorframe with both hands, refusing to let go.

"Get me full video documentation of this delivery." I gasped, eyes blazing. "Julian, do you dare?"