Reborn: I Married My Husband’s Arch-Rival

The screech of brakes nearly shattered my eardrums.

Someone dragged me roughly from a burlap sack, and I stumbled before the force behind me shoved me onto the freezing concrete floor.

The light was blindingly harsh. I squinted and shook my head hard until the scene before me finally came into focus.

Monica Wilson and I were now tied on opposite sides of a thick, rough pillar.

The kidnappers who'd hauled me from the van were menacing thugs, guns pressed against our heads.

The leader, his face marred by a vicious scar, shoved a phone in front of me. On the screen was my husband Beauchamp Jennings' cold, chiseled face.

"Mr. Jennings, we've received the money," he said, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "But you know the rules. Two choices, but we can only release one."

The phone camera panned back and forth between Monica and me as he gestured for Beauchamp to make his selection.

"On the left is your fiancée, and on the right... Well, that's your precious first love."

"Choose already!"

The exact same scenario as my past life.

My gaze faltered slightly as I watched Beauchamp's eyes glued to Monica through the phone screen. A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

I never expected I'd be reborn.

In my previous life, Beauchamp and I were only married for five years, but I'd loved him for far longer than that.

For him, I gave up a full scholarship offer from Zenith University, abandoned my passion for AI, and retreated into domesticity to become the envied 'Mrs. Jennings' everyone talked about.

But five years of secret longing, five years of devoted love, ten years of wholehearted devotion—all of it earned me nothing but his cold-blooded indifference.

After our marriage, I tried everything to conceive his child.

I knew perfectly well that Beauchamp was nothing more than a reflection on water to me—beyond that marriage certificate, I had nothing else that could make him spare me a second glance.

So I desperately wanted a child to bind him to me.

But during those seven years, every time after we had sex, the housekeeper would bring me a bowl of soup.

"Mrs. Jennings, Mr. Jennings specifically instructed you to drink this for conception. It's good for your health and the future baby."

I never suspected a thing. I drank it every single time, even felt secretly happy about it, wondering if Beauchamp's efforts meant he had feelings for me too.

But it wasn't until I was dying that I learned the truth—that bowl of soup I drank with shy sweetness was nothing but Beauchamp's way of preventing me from getting pregnant. It was contraceptive soup.

I drank contraceptive medicine for seven years. Of course, I could never conceive.

Beauchamp had been playing me this whole time, yet I still believed he had some feelings for me.

But now that I've died once before, I know damn well he's only ever loved Monica.

Five years ago, when the kidnappers struck, he chose to save me over Monica for the sake of his family's business interests. Monica was killed by the kidnappers; her body was never recovered intact.

That became Beauchamp's lifelong torment.

Of course, I knew better than anyone what choice he'd make. Yet I still clung to that sliver of hope.

"Release Monica."

Beauchamp spoke without hesitation.

Not a moment's pause. Even the kidnappers seemed surprised.

Beauchamp's expression remained calm. "I said, release Monica."

The scarred leader's eyes widened as he muttered, "Damn, this guy's colder than me. Choosing his first love over his fiancée without even blinking!"

Under the kidnapper's pitying gaze, I lowered my eyes and forced back the tears threatening to spill. A bitter, icy ache surged through me like a tide.

Beauchamp, this time, I won't love you anymore.

The kidnappers untied Monica.

She rushed toward the phone screen, sobbing. "Beau, I was so scared..."

"Don't be afraid. I'll be there soon." Beauchamp's voice held a tenderness I'd never heard before.

He hung up the call.

The scarred man walked toward me. "Sorry about this."

Then he signaled with his eyes. The cold barrel of a gun pressed against my forehead. My whole body trembled, yet I kept my eyes open, waiting for what would come next.

Beauchamp was true to his word. When he appeared backlit like some savior, it was a pity his world only had room for Monica.

He grabbed Monica's hand tightly, swept her into his arms, and strode away with long steps, never once deigning to spare me a single glance.

As he left, he dropped a cold parting shot: "Don't worry. Once you're dead, I'll propose breaking off the engagement to the Neville family."

Wait.

How did he know with such certainty that I'd die?

My pupils contracted sharply.

Of course. If I could be reborn, naturally Beauchamp could be too!

In my past life, he chose me out of necessity, for the future development of his corporation.

But in this lifetime, reborn with memories of his previous life, he knew all the future business opportunities. Naturally, he didn't need the Neville family's support anymore, and he certainly didn't need me as a marriage alliance partner.

The scarred leader ultimately couldn't bear it. "Forget it, you seem pitiful enough..."

The gun barrel moved from my head down to my lower abdomen. The instant the bullet fired, I was engulfed in agony and lost consciousness.

Before everything went dark, I thought with overwhelming resentment: Why?

Why did Beauchamp get to be reborn and choose the person he wanted, live the life he wanted, while I still had to repeat the same tragedy?

Why should he get that?

But no matter how hysterically I wanted to scream in my mind, my eyelids still fell heavily shut.

...

I never imagined that when I woke again, I'd see my familiar room.

Some kind soul had saved me and rushed me to the hospital in time. After they removed the bullet and I was out of danger, I was sent back home.

The air was filled with my signature calming aromatherapy scent—the year I was born, my father had traveled across the ocean to commission an ancient perfumer to create it specifically for me. It cleared the mind and soothed the spirit.

My father had personally overseen making this fragrance for me every year, but after he died, I never used it again.

Breathing in this scent once more felt like a lifetime ago.

In my past life, I thought I'd met someone I could trust with everything, so I handed all my family's assets over to Beauchamp.

But while Beauchamp appeared respectful on the surface, behind the scenes, he'd orchestrated a trap that made my parents' deaths look like accidents. He deceived me for so long before I discovered I'd been in love with my parents' murderer all along.

Fortunately, none of that had happened yet, and our family business hadn't fallen into his hands.

I threw back the covers and walked barefoot to the massive floor-to-ceiling window.

The glass reflected my young, fresh face, those eyes still clear and bright. This year, I was still called the most beautiful woman in Sovereign City.

I stared at my youthful reflection and took a deep breath.

I'd been reborn.

But Beauchamp had been reborn, too.

He'd already made his choice between the two of us.

Whatever feelings we once had had long since been consumed the moment he moved against my parents. In this lifetime, only hatred remained between us.

Beauchamp, in this life, I'll make you and the Jennings family experience everything I went through, repay every debt you owe!

I picked up my phone and dialed Frederick Clifford, the young head of the Clifford family—the Jennings family's sworn enemies.

"I can give the Clifford family that abandoned industrial land on the western outskirts. But you have to arrange a meeting with your uncle for me."

I'd inherited my father's business acumen. Back then, I'd seen this plot's development potential and went through hell to acquire it as a gift for Beauchamp, but he didn't even glance at it before casually giving it away.

But six months later, when the municipal development plan was announced, that area would become the core zone of a national-level AI industrial park. The land value would skyrocket three hundred times overnight.

The voice on the other end hesitated for a long moment.

"I can agree to that, but I can't control my uncle. I'll try my best to set something up."

The call had barely ended when my phone vibrated again. Beauchamp calling.

I frowned and reluctantly answered.

"Come downstairs."

That same commanding tone. Beauchamp never learned how to respect people.

"I'm outside your building right now. Since you're not dead, let's have a proper talk about our engagement."