After Rebirth, I Refused to Be Their Scapegoat

I died the day I caught my fiancé cheating.

I had walked in on my cousin and my fiancé, completely naked in the backseat of a brand-new Porsche. It was a car bought with stolen money—embezzled from the estate of my recently deceased grandmother, Margaret.

Panic had set in the moment I discovered them. To stop me from calling the cops, he slammed his foot on the gas.

As a pool of warm blood spread beneath my head, I heard him lying to the first responders: "She’s mentally unstable. She threw herself right in front of the car."

I died exactly like that—labeled a hysterical, suicidal woman.

But just when I thought it was all over, my eyes snapped open.

The hot blood that had just blurred my vision, the shattering agony in my bones—it was all gone.

——

"You were ten years old when your parents died in that crash! We took you in, raised you! And this is how you repay us?"

I was kneeling on the floor of the living room. Aunt Vivian’s shrill voice pierced my eardrums, spittle flying across my face.

"We paid for your high school! Put clothes on your back when you had nothing! And you steal from your grandmother’s trust fund to buy a luxury car?"

"My Chloe is such a good girl—she’s too scared to even drive! And you try to pin this on her? You rotten little bitch!" Uncle Greg grabbed my collar and delivered a stinging slap across my face.

Meanwhile, my cousin, Chloe was curled up on the sofa, dabbing her eyes with a tissue and sobbing.

My cheek burned from the blow.

In my past life, I would have apologized for things I never did, terrified of being thrown out onto the street to starve.

But this time was different. I had been reborn.

I looked up at them. These relatives who treated me like a maid while secretly squandering my parents' inheritance. And this cousin, who stole the money to go on a road trip with my fiancé.

"I didn't steal the money," I said, rising to my feet and wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth. "And I sure as hell didn't buy a Porsche."

Vivian raised her hand again. "Don't you lie to me! Chloe saw the receipt in your bag! You ungrateful little—"

"Mrs. Brenda, please. Wait."

Nathan,my fiancé, stepped forward, catching Vivian’s wrist. He turned to look at me.

"Audrey, honey," his voice dripped with fake sympathy. "There's no need to make this worse. We know you've been under a lot of stress, working two jobs to pay off debts. Maybe you just... acted on impulse."

He reached out and grabbed my hand. "I'll pay the money back. We can explain that we were just borrowing it temporarily. But you have to admit you did it, Audrey. You need to apologize to Chloe. You scared her."

Rage flared in my chest.

He was doing it again—covering for Chloe with money he didn't even have, expecting me to work myself to the bone later to repay his "generosity," all while he screwed my cousin behind my back.

"You'll pay it back?" I yanked my hand away from his. "Nathan? You haven’t held a job in six months. Or were you planning to dip into my savings again?"

Nathan's face stiffened. "I'll borrow it from my parents. But this can't happen again, Audrey. It's wrong."

"Borrow it from your parents using what excuse?" I took a step back, my gaze darting between him and Chloe. "I'm done playing the villain in your little soap opera. We’re done, Nathan. The engagement is off."

"Audrey!" he barked, genuinely shocked by my resistance.

"Stay out of my business! We are over!"

I spun around, shoved him hard out of my way, and stormed toward the front door.

"You get back here!" Vivian shrieked. "I’m calling the cops on you!"

"Chloe's the one who stole the money! She’s the one the cops should be arresting!" I yelled without looking back.

Just as I reached the threshold, Nathan grabbed me.

He pinned me hard against the porch pillar, his face so close it made me nauseous.

"Audrey, are you done acting crazy? Do you even know what you're saying?" he growled, keeping his voice low. "All this just because I wouldn’t blindly take your side? You’re acting so unhinged right now. You're really disappointing me."

I stared coldly at the fingers digging into my wrist. "Let go."

Instead of letting go, his grip tightened. His tone softened, shifting effortlessly into the gaslighting he was so good at. "Baby, stop being so stubborn. You know how much I love you. I already said I’d cover the money for you. What do you have to be aggrieved about?"

"Cover for me? So you still insist I stole it." I glared right into his eyes. "And whenever that bitch Chloe sheds a few pathetic tears, you believe her unconditionally. I'm your fiancée. When have you ever believed me? Who are you actually trying to marry—me, or her?"

Nathan’s face froze, his eyes darting away in guilt. "Just because we're getting married doesn't mean I can ignore my conscience and watch you bully your cousin. She’s fragile..."

Fragile? Right. Fragile enough to plunder a dead woman’s inheritance to buy a luxury sports car.

Just as I was about to knee him in the groin, Chloe’s delicate, whiny voice drifted from inside the house.

"Nathan... my head is spinning... where are you?"

Nathan reacted like he'd touched a live wire. He dropped my hand instantly, turning to rush back inside without a second glance.

That was his choice. It was always Chloe.

I rubbed my reddened wrist, whatever lingering shred of affection I had for him scattering into nothingness on the evening breeze.

I headed straight for the abandoned, detached garage in the backyard.

Chloe had hidden the car back there under a tarp in the corner, waiting for the heat to die down so she and Nathan could take their little "road trip."

I yanked the tarp back. The brand-new Porsche gleamed under the dim, flickering bulb of the garage.

The driver's side window was actually left cracked open.

I pulled out my phone and flicked on the flashlight. I needed proof. I needed to find something tying them to this car before they could wipe it clean.

I scanned the leather seats, the dashboard. It all looked spotless.

But I refused to give up. This time, I shoved my arm through the gap in the window, pushing my phone in as close as I could, zooming in on the camera screen.

And then I saw it. Caught in the texture of the steering wheel cover, catching the glare of the flashlight—a short, curly hair.

A wave of nausea hit me. There was no doubt in my mind it was left over from them screwing in this very car.

Swallowing my disgust, I snapped a photo.

Then, I dialed a number I hadn’t called since high school graduation.

"Ethan?" I said as soon as the line connected. "I need a favor."