Chapter 1: Rebirth of Reborn in Strength

The day the hospital issued my critical condition notice was the same day my ex-wife and her prince charming held their grand wedding.

When we got married, she insisted on keeping our relationship a secret, as if she were ashamed of me. But now, as she married her so-called true love, she wanted the entire world to witness her happiness.

Clinging to the last shred of strength I had left, I called her several times, hoping she would at least come to claim my body. Yet, she ignored every call and even went as far as to block my number.

Pain, sharp as knives, tore through my body. I let out a bitter laugh.

"So this is all our marriage ever meant to you..."

By noon, her lavish wedding proceeded as planned, a celebration fit for royalty. Meanwhile, I lay dying alone in the sterile silence of an emergency room.

As everything faded into nothingness, a familiar voice suddenly broke through the void.

"Owen! Owen, wake up!"

My eyes snapped open, and the suffocating pain still lingered in my body. I turned my head to see my cousin, Jackson Lambert, standing beside the bed, looking impatient.

"Owen, if you're feeling even a little better, you should head home. It's your wedding anniversary with Yvette! I even bought all the ingredients for you. Hurry back and bake her a cake—you know how much she loves sweets. It'll make her day!"

As I watched Jackson eagerly plan the perfect celebration, I hesitated, then picked up my phone.

The year was 2024.

I had been reborn.

No wonder everything felt so familiar. On this day in my past life, Jackson and I had been out shopping for supplies to celebrate my first wedding anniversary with my wife, Yvette Jennings. But instead of celebrating, I collapsed in the middle of the mall from a severe stomachache and was rushed to the hospital.

The doctors called Yvette, but she never showed up.

Back then, I brushed it off, convincing myself she was simply busy. Her company had just gone public, after all. When I was discharged, I went home, made a cake, and waited with a hopeful smile. But she never came—not even after midnight.

I took a deep breath, my gaze turning cold and resolute.

This time, I wouldn't beg for her love. I would leave her behind and wish her and her prince charming a lifetime of happiness.

Still, I decided to head home—not for Yvette, but because I despised hospitals.

In my past life, I died of stomach cancer. The endless cycles of chemotherapy and radiation had drained every ounce of life from me, leaving me to rot in a hospital bed. Now, just the sterile smell of the place made me sick.

Jackson, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me, continued listing Yvette's favorite cake flavors. He spoke as if he knew her better than I did. I listened quietly, saying nothing.

Just then, a strikingly handsome doctor walked past us, speaking to a patient in a hospital gown. His face was calm and composed, but his presence carried an undeniable authority.

I froze, my eyes widening in disbelief.

It was him—Yvette's so-called prince charming.

Randall Goldwell.

In my past life, I had only seen him in photos. But in person, he was even more extraordinary. He carried an air of effortless elegance, like an unattainable treasure.

No wonder Yvette had been obsessed with him for years, willing to do anything to make him hers.

As her husband, I was merely a placeholder. Randall was the one she truly desired, the one she would shower with love, devotion, and unwavering loyalty.

I had once believed that if I just stayed by Yvette's side long enough, she would eventually see my worth.

I was a fool.

I had loved her deeply, sacrificing everything for her. I gave up my career, became a househusband, supported her in every way possible. There was even a time when I held a knife to my throat, desperate to stop her from leaving. I had hoped that my pain would make her stay.

Her response? A look of utter contempt.

"Owen Yates, if you really die, I promise I'll give you the grandest funeral."

She sneered, slipped on her designer heels, and walked out of our home without a second glance.

I collapsed to the floor, broken and sobbing. In my despair, I picked up the knife again.

But this time, I didn't go for my throat. I slit my wrists instead.

A slower death.

A death that might give her enough time to come back and save me.

Maybe if she saw me like this, she'd feel guilty. Maybe she'd finally realize how much I loved her.

If she came back, I would forgive everything. I would dedicate the rest of my life to making her happy.

But she never returned.

I passed out from blood loss, only to wake up in the hospital. When I groggily asked the nurse if my wife had brought me here, she shook her head.

It was the housekeeper who had called for help.

Yvette never even came home.

That same day, the doctors diagnosed me with late-stage stomach cancer. Not long after, I died a miserable, lonely death in a hospital bed.

"Owen! Why are you spacing out? Hurry up! Yvette's getting off work soon!"

Jackson's voice snapped me back to reality.

I blinked, realizing Randall had already walked away. Only Jackson remained, staring at me in frustration.

"Jackson," I said, my voice unnervingly calm. "Are you really trying to help me?"

He froze for a moment before puffing out his chest. "Of course!"

I let out a bitter laugh.

Help me?

If he truly cared about me, he wouldn't be pushing me to bake a cake when I was clearly unwell. And he certainly wouldn't be so invested in making Yvette happy.

Jackson had feelings for Yvette too.

No matter how terribly she treated me, she was still the CEO of a major company, a successful entrepreneur, and an undeniably beautiful woman.

Why wouldn't he want to take my place?

In my past life, I had turned a blind eye to his motives for the sake of family. But this time, I wasn't going to tolerate anyone's betrayal.

I pulled my arm free from Jackson's grip, my gaze cold and indifferent.

"She's not coming home tonight, and I'm not baking any cake. Don't bother pretending to help me—just go do whatever you want."

Jackson stared at me, shocked. "What's gotten into you, Owen? Why are you suddenly so angry?"

My father always told me that the older sibling should be patient with the younger. Because of that, I had spent years cleaning up Jackson's messes, tolerating his selfishness.

But now?

I smirked.

"Angry? My stomach hurts, and yet here you are nagging me about a cake. Anyone listening might think *you're* the one desperate to celebrate my anniversary."

Jackson's face went pale, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes. He hesitated, then scoffed, "I just wanted a slice of cake, that's all. But if you're not feeling well, I'll leave. No need to overthink it."

With that, he turned and stormed off.

I didn't bother responding. To me, he was nothing more than a petty clown—annoying, but harmless.

Dragging my weak body home, I was once again met with the crushing silence of my empty villa.

In our first year of marriage, I hadn't hired housekeepers because I wanted to enjoy our time together. But Yvette was rarely home, leaving me alone in this massive house.

I forced myself to prepare a simple bowl of chicken soup. As I took a sip, warmth spread through my body, easing the ache in my stomach.

In my past life, I could barely eat after my illness took hold. Now, even something as simple as soup felt like a luxury.

I sighed.

"Just being healthy is a blessing."

Women had only held me back. Now that fate had given me a second chance, I wouldn't waste it.

As I stood up to clean my dishes, the sharp click of high heels echoed through the villa.

Then came the unmistakable scent of Yvette's bold perfume.

I turned, startled.

There she was—Yvette Jennings, staring at me with her cold, elegant gaze.

In my past life, she never came home that night.

So why was she here now?