The CEO's Reborn Lover

Kara

I was dying!!!

The bomb countdown read: 00:00:30.

The flames cast an orange glow across my face, smoke choking me until I could barely breathe. I was tied tight to the chair, watching the timer tick down second by second, my heart hammering against my ribs like it might burst.

"Alfred! Don't come in! You'll die!" I screamed with everything I had.

But he charged into the inferno anyway.

His tall frame cut through the thick smoke, soot streaking his face, his suit torn in several places, but those deep eyes remained as determined as ever. He ran to me, fingers working frantically at the ropes.

"Fifteen seconds left—there's no time!" I sobbed. "Just go! Please, just go!"

Alfred's hands stilled for a moment, then he pulled me into his arms.

"Kara, I'm staying with you." His voice was low and tender against my ear.

In that moment, my heart shattered.

Ten years of marriage, and I'd always believed he didn't love me. I thought all he wanted was the Sanders family tech empire, that he'd married me purely for the business alliance.

But in the final ten seconds of our lives, he chose to hold me as we died together.

00:00:05.

00:00:04.

00:00:03.

"Alfred, I love you..." I shouted the truth I'd been too afraid to admit for ten years as the explosion roared around us.

BOOM!!!

Then everything went black.

"Ahhhhh!!!"

I shot upright, gasping for air. My chest heaved violently, as if those flames were still searing my lungs.

This wasn't the rubble of Manhattan.

The room was filled with the scent of roses, moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows onto silk sheets. I looked down to see myself in a white lace wedding dress, the skirt spread across the bed like a blooming flower.

The woman in the mirror looked impossibly young. No crow's feet, no exhausted expression. This was me from ten years ago—22-year-old Kara Sanders.

I'd been reborn.

Sent back to 2015, to my wedding night with Alfred.

"Kara, are you okay? I heard you screaming." Alfred's voice came from outside the door, filled with concern and careful hesitation.

Tears spilled down my cheeks instantly.

That voice—the same voice I'd responded to so coldly countless times. Just moments ago in the explosion, it was this voice whispering "Kara, I'm staying with you" in my ear.

"I'm... I'm fine, Alfred." I answered hoarsely, my voice shaking.

Silence from the other side of the door.

I knew he was still standing there. Just like that night ten years ago, waiting for my response, waiting for me to give him a reason to come in.

In my past life that night, I'd told him: "Don't touch me. This is just a business arrangement."

I'd heard the disappointment in his voice: "Alright, I'll sleep in the guest room."

From that moment on, our marriage became like two parallel lines that would never intersect.

I thought he didn't care, thought he was relieved to sleep separately. Until today—until he held me in those flames and spoke those words—I realized how wrong I'd been.

I was such an idiot.

For ten years, I never considered that maybe he was waiting too—waiting for me to give him a sign that this was more than just business.

This time, I was going to fight for our happiness.

I walked barefoot to the door, my hand on the handle.

"Alfred." I called softly.

"Yeah?"

"Stay." I took a deep breath and opened the door. "We're married."

Alfred stood in the hallway wearing a white dress shirt, his tie loosely knotted, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked ten years younger than before the explosion, his eyes free of the weariness that later years would bring.

But those eyes were still deep as the ocean.

He stared at me in stunned silence, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. "I don't want to pressure you."

I smiled through my tears.

"Alfred, you would never pressure me into anything." I took his hand in mine. "This is what I want."

His hand was warm, with calluses on his palm. I remembered those were from tennis—he'd once told me he wanted to teach me to play. In my past life, I'd refused, claiming I didn't have time.

Now I had all the time in the world.

I had ten whole years to love him right.

That night, I barely slept a wink.

Alfred lay beside me, but we had separate blankets between us like an invisible chasm. His breathing was shallow—I knew he wasn't sleeping either.

Ten years of marriage, and we'd never truly shared a bed.

I turned on my side to study his profile, moonlight tracing the sharp line of his nose. I'd been such a fool in my past life, never even noticing how gorgeous he was.

Now I knew, but he didn't trust me anymore.

Alfred was up early the next morning. I pretended to sleep while he got dressed, watching him through my lashes. He moved quietly, careful not to wake me.

"I'm heading to the office," he paused at the door, his voice barely audible.

I wanted to respond but didn't know what to say. Only after I heard the door close did I open my eyes.

I had to do something.