Double Rebirth: Never Forgive

My billionaire husband—the man I had served like a slave for seven long years—was dead.

And the blackandwhite trust documents the lawyer read to me made one thing crystal clear: And he had left every single one of his Beverly Hills mansions, his private yachts, and his massive trust funds to my best friend.

Meanwhile, I, his lawful wife, was thrown out into the streets like trash, only to be crushed to death under the heavy tires of a speeding car. My eyes snapped open.

The phantom screech of tires vanished, replaced by the soft hum of an upscale restaurant I knew all too well. Across the table, my socalled best friend Blair sat with a smug smirk.

She was right in the middle of pitching her boyfriend's uncle to me as a potential husband.

I let out a cold laugh and dropped the heavy silver cutlery onto the fine bone china plate. The sharp clatter sliced through the quiet room.

I stared dead at the hypocrite sitting in front of me—the man who had used me as a cheap standin for seven years. God had given me a second chance at life.

And this time, I was going to tear those two pieces of trash apart.

Chapter 1 "Sorry, but I already have someone I like." The moment the words left my mouth, a dead silence dropped over the table.

Alistair was slowly cutting a ridiculously expensive, flownin Tomahawk steak for Blair. At my words, his sharp steak knife screeched violently across the porcelain plate.

Blair’s Botoxfilled face twisted in absolute shock. "Morgan, since when do you have someone you like?

How did I not know about this?" I set my silverware down and forced a small, polite smile. "I don't like broadcasting things that aren't set in stone yet." "Bullshit.

You're just making excuses to get out of this," Blair shot back. "Come on, Morgan. You're twenty years old and still clinging to your pathetic virginity.

While dressing like a repressed nun kills any mood, once the lights are off, guys really don't care what you look like in bed." "But you're still single.

Do you know why?" she murmured, pretending to be the helpful, concerned best friend. In my past life, I was too stupid to read between the lines.

I couldn't see that her "helpful advice" was just a thinly veiled way to belittle and mock me.

Still, I played along. "Why?" "Because your standards are way too high for what you bring to the table! Look at my uncle. Ivy League grad, CEO of Alistair Corp.

Who wouldn't kill to be his wife? If you weren't my best friend, do you really think I'd be setting you up with him?" She wore a sickly smug expression.

Beside her, Alistair let out a low chuckle, his eyes flashing with a sickeningly indulgent fondness. "Are you really that desperate to find me a wife?" he asked her.

Blair scoffed. "Don't think I don't know the board members are pushing you into a corporate marriage.

I figured, rather than dealing with some stranger as my aunt, I'd rather have my best friend. Why give the perks to an outsider?" she said, totally entitled.

Alistair arched a haughty eyebrow, his arrogant posture silently indulging Blair's ridiculous proposal.

Only then did he finally lower his gaze to me, sizing me up like a piece of cheap merchandise. To be honest. Alistair wore a ridiculously expensive, customtailored black shirt.

The collar was unbuttoned just enough to show off his sharp collarbones, and the limitededition Rolex Submariner on his wrist flashed with the arrogant gleam of old money.

I recognized that watch. Blair had bought it for her boyfriend. When her boyfriend turned his nose up at it, she pawned it off on Alistair.

It was another man's trash, yet Alistair had clutched it like a lifeline right up until his dying breath in my past life.

Sometimes, the sheer pathetic depth of his devotion amazed me. "So, Morgan, what do you think?" he asked. I took one last sip of my wine and set the glass down. "Like I said.

I already have someone I'm interested in." Alistair didn't even flinch.

His long fingers picked up his silverware again, sliced a piece of steak, and effortlessly fed it right into Blair's mouth.

Only then did he casually continue, "But I highly doubt I'm out of the running. Like Blair said, there's a long line of women begging to marry me.

Choosing me brings you zero downsides and nothing but absolute privilege." "And as for this 'like' of yours—" He paused. "Tell me, Morgan.

How much do you think 'like' is actually worth in the real world?" The classic carrotandstick routine. Alistair’s favorite corporate boardroom tactic.

Too bad I wasn't the naive little Morgan from my past life anymore. And back then, I was the idiot who had desperately chased after him.

After a long beat, I curled my lips into a sharp smile. "You're right. 'Like' doesn't pay the bills." "But there's one more thing.

It's a real shame, Alistair, but your selfrighteous arrogance does nothing for me." I splashed the rest of my red wine directly onto the white roses in front of him.

I didn't even bother to give him a second glance as I grabbed my purse and pushed straight through the restaurant doors.

Chapter 2 My phone blew up with a rapidfire string of messages from Blair. [Morgan, what the hell is wrong with you?] [Alistair is willing to marry you!

You should be on your knees thanking God.

Have you even looked in a mirror lately?] [I treat you like my absolute best friend, and this is how you repay me?!] I didn't even bother typing out a reply.

I just permanently blocked her number. But surprisingly, another notification popped up. Alistair had sent me a friend request. [I'm only agreeing to marry you for Blair's sake.

Don't flatter yourself into thinking I'm actually interested.] [Once we're married, I won't interfere with your private life.] Staring at the screen, a mocking smile curled my lips.

Alistair really would stoop to anything to keep his precious niece happy. I had spent an entire lifetime playing the convenient human shield for their twisted dynamic.

This time, they could play their sick little games by themselves. Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I hailed a cab back to campus.

Inside the cramped office, my academic advisor handed me the residency application for the highrisk border clinic.

His expression was heavy with concern. "Morgan, are you absolutely sure about this? The border zone isn't exactly L.A. You know the danger levels down there.

Your parents…" He caught himself, cutting the sentence short. I took the paperwork from him and nodded. "I know. But my mind is made up.

I'm not backing out." My advisor studied me for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "If you're certain, I won't stand in your way. You're just as brilliant as your parents, Morgan." I offered him a small, tight smile.

My parents died five years ago. When a massive earthquake hit the border region, they were two of the most soughtafter trauma surgeons in L.A.

The moment the emergency call came in, they packed their bags.

I had stood on the porch, waving them off just like I always did, fully expecting them to walk back through that front door a few weeks later.

Instead, I received two wooden urns holding their ashes. I was fifteen. They died in an aftershock, branded as heroes on the evening news, leaving me alone in the world.

Nobody actually knew this, but I met Alistair long before I ever met Blair.

When I was eighteen, desperately trying to scrape together my exorbitant premed tuition, I had to juggle three different minimumwage jobs.

One of them involved pedaling a beatup bicycle through the dead of night, delivering pizzas in the pouring rain.

The night I ran into Alistair, the first major storm of the season was hammering the city.

Visibility was practically zero, the streets were slick, and I slammed my rusted bike straight into the back bumper of a luxury sedan. The impact threw me over the handlebars.

I hit the asphalt hard. My arms were shredded with road rash, multiple bones cracked, and the sheer agonizing pain pinned me to the wet pavement.

A crowd of bystanders started to gather, their phones out. Not a single person stepped forward to help. The driver of the luxury car didn't even bother to roll down a window.

Only Alistair stepped out into the freezing rain. He reached a hand down to me and simply asked, "Does it hurt?" My throat seized up. I broke down, sobbing into the storm.

Because ever since I was fifteen, nobody had bothered to ask if I was hurting or if I was tired. Alistair was the first. And in my past life, he was the last.

The last lingering shred of my pathetic heroworship for Alistair had been utterly crushed under the tires of that speeding car right before I died.

Now, the mere thought of him made my stomach turn. Back in my dorm room, I pulled out my duffel bag and started packing for my deployment to the border clinic in three days.

I wasn't heading into the warzone alone. I was paired with another intern named Theo. When his friend request popped up on my screen, I let out a heavy sigh.

Whether I was stuck in L.A. or running off to a dangerous border town, I just couldn't shake off the people orbiting Blair's toxic universe.

Because Blair's current boyfriend—and future husband—was Theo's older brother, Mason. Chapter 3 Mason was a notorious playboy.

His fleet of supercars was parked outside a different nightclub every night, and the tabloids were constantly plastered with headlines of his wild parties with Dlist Hollywood models.

When he finally accepted Blair's confession and married her, most people in our circle didn't buy it for a second. A playboy like him settling down? Not a chance.

Everyone guessed it was purely because of Blair's powerful family background. Their families had deep ties going back a century.

Even if Mason was just doing it to appease Alistair, he had to give Blair a certain level of respect.

Besides, to guarantee Blair's status, Alistair had handed over a staggering dowry—corporate shares, prime real estate, and luxury assets worth over a billion dollars.

But Mason still cheated. It was a foregone conclusion. Blair refused to divorce him, so she ran to Alistair every single day to cry her eyes out.

Alistair actually lost his temper once and beat Mason so badly he put him in the hospital. Blair's response? She gave Alistair the cold shoulder for three days.

The truly hilarious part was that Alistair ended up coming to me for help. He begged me to put in a good word for him with Blair. That was how twisted his obsession with her was.

How low was he willing to stoop?

He stooped so low that he actually looked at me like he was tossing scraps to a beggar and said, "Morgan, as long as you go and beg Blair to forgive me, I can lower myself to sleep with you tonight, and even allow you to carry my heir." At the time, I desperately wanted to scream that I didn't want his damn child.

But the words died in my throat. It was our third year of marriage, and we still hadn't slept together. Because Blair showed up again.

The second the doorbell rang, the usually unflappable Alistair scrambled to open it like a frantic servant.

Blair threw herself straight into his arms, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her shoulders violently shook as she sobbed. "Alistair, Mason says he wants a divorce!

He's a bastard!" The muscles in Alistair's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing red with barely contained protective fury.

Back then, I actually considered asking Blair outright: Do you know Alistair is obsessed with you? But I couldn't force the words out.

I was terrified of ruining our "best friend" bond. Because deep down, I guessed she already knew. She was just playing dumb.

Even when she pushed me to marry Alistair, she knew exactly what she was doing. I came from nothing. I was a hell of a lot easier to control than some wealthy socialite.

Otherwise, how else could she keep getting away with crossing boundaries while hiding behind the innocent "niece" title? She bounced between Mason and Alistair like it was a game.

One man she wanted, and one man who wanted her. The ultimate winner in life. And I was just the convenient smokescreen. A willing human shield.

When I first met Theo years ago, that was exactly how he described me. His tone was razorsharp, merciless.

After I accepted Theo's friend request, he immediately forwarded our travel itinerary for three days from now. He ended it with a blunt warning: [Three days. 10 AM. Campus gate.

Do not be late.] I simply texted back: [OK.] He didn't reply. The next day, I didn't expect Alistair to actually hunt me down. A sleek RollsRoyce idled outside the campus gates.

He stood leaning against it, wrapped in a black designer trench coat.

His face was carved from ice, his dark eyes unreadable, radiating that suffocating, untouchable aura he always carried. Every student walking by couldn't help but stare.

I tried to act like I didn't see him. But just as I was about to walk right past him, Alistair finally spoke up. "I don't understand why you're being so stubborn about marrying me.

You're an adult now, Morgan. You should be smart enough to know what's in your best interest." I let out a dry, humorless laugh and stopped in my tracks.

I shot him a sideways glance. "And I don't understand why it has to be me.

Is it just because it's what Blair wants?" So he would just disregard my feelings and manipulate everything to give her what she desired.

Who gave him the right? "Alistair, I have absolutely zero interest in the sick, twisted little dynamic you two have going on.

I just want both of you toxic pieces of trash out of my life for good." Chapter 4 As soon as the words fell, I turned to leave. Alistair violently grabbed my arm.

He pulled a checkbook from his custom designer trench coat, aggressively scrawled a string of numbers, and threw it hard against my chest. "Stop playing hard to get.

Marry me, and this fiftymilliondollar check is yours." I looked down at the paper and let out a silent, mocking laugh. Fifty million dollars.

In my past life, Alistair had bought my hand in marriage for a measly twelve thousand bucks. Why such a pathetic number?

Because Blair had whispered in his ear: "Uncle Alistair, Morgan is my best friend. Just give her a token amount. She’ll be living in your house and eating your food anyway.

It’s not safe for a girl like her to hold onto too much cash." I never cared much about material things, and I was used to busting my ass to earn my own keep.

If I hadn't met Alistair, that twelve grand would have been a standard dowry for a girl from my background. I hadn't questioned it back then.

But now, it was nothing but a sick, bitter joke. People never cherish what they can get cheaply. They only obsess over what they can't have. Just look at Alistair and Blair.

He threw his entire life and fortune at her feet. When he was dying of terminal stomach cancer, his final, pathetic wish was to see Blair one last time. And where was she?

She was busy kissing Mason's ass, ruthlessly leaking every single one of Alistair Corp's confidential projects to her husband.

I ripped that fiftymilliondollar check into tiny shreds right in front of him and slammed the confetti back into his arrogant, insufferable face. "Keep your filthy money and go get your megalomaniac brain checked, Mr.

Alistair." I spun on my heel and walked away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him freeze. He stood rigid, staring at the torn pieces of paper fluttering to the ground.

A man like him—who fully believed his wealth could buy anyone's obedience—was clearly shortcircuiting over the fact that a broke college student had just rejected a fiftymilliondollar class upgrade.

His jaw clenched hard.

He took a sudden, aggressive step forward, his dark eyes burning into my back as if some primal instinct was screaming at him to grab me—whether for Blair's sake, or his own bruised ego, I didn't care.

I didn't know it then, but at that exact moment, his phone buzzed with a text from Blair: [Uncle Alistair, why don't you just force yourself on Morgan and get it over with?] [I can secretly record a video and blackmail her!

She'll have to say yes then!] Whatever twisted, suffocating reaction he had to reading those words, it pushed his volatile mind right over the edge.

The night before my deployment, I was doublechecking my ID and travel documents. Crash! My dorm room door was kicked open, the wood splintering against the frame.

I snapped my head up, my breath catching in my throat as I met Alistair's dark, predatory glare.

He closed the distance in two massive strides and clamped his hand around my wrist like a steel vice. Before I could even scream, he practically dragged me out of the building.

He ripped open the passenger door of his car and shoved me brutally into the leather seat. "Are you out of your damn mind?!" I yelled. Alistair didn't say a single word.

He just slammed the door shut, gunned the engine, and tore out into the night.

Minutes later, he slammed the brakes in front of a highend underground nightclub. "Get out," he ordered, his voice like cracking ice.

I instinctively pressed myself back against the door panel. "What the hell are you trying to do?!" "Isn't it obvious what I'm trying to do?" Alistair snapped back, his jaw tight with unhinged rage.

Chapter 5 I furrowed my brows. Alistair dragged me out of the car. He didn't hold back. As my feet hit the pavement, my left ankle twisted sharply.

A blinding, bonedeep pain shot up my leg, and I couldn't stop myself from gasping.

Alistair frowned, a flicker of something complicated flashing in his dark eyes, but his rigid jaw quickly clamped down on it, replacing it with pure, cold fury. "Drop the act.

You're overplaying it." I bit my tongue, tasting copper. It wasn't until Alistair kicked open the heavy doors of a VIP private room that his words made any twisted sense.

The crystal chandelier cast a sleazy, dim glow, neon lights bleeding through a thick haze of expensive cigar smoke.

In the center of the plush leather sofa sat an impossibly arrogant man, casually biting down on an unlit cigarette.

Blair was huddled next to him, her designer dress halftorn, sobbing until her eyes were bloodshot. And then there were the three men kneeling on the shattered glass floor.

They were bleeding from their heads, frantically begging for mercy. I didn't need to be a genius to figure out what had supposedly happened here.

But what the hell did any of this have to do with me? I locked eyes with Blair.

She shot me a guilty, fleeting glance before sniffing and choking out a sob. "Morgan… I know you hate it when I meddle in your love life, but…" She trailed off, her voice cracking. "We've been best friends for years!

Did you really have to hire these scumbags to humiliate me?!" The sheer audacity of her lie felt like a physical slap.

My pupils dilated in disbelief. "I hired someone to humiliate you?" "Didn't you text me and tell me to come here?!" Blair shot up from the couch, practically hysterical, and slammed her phone onto the glass table.

Right there on the screen, glaring back at me, were text messages sent from my number. Alistair's deadly gaze shifted to me, heavy and cold.

But instead of panicking, a freezing calm washed over me. My messaging app was still logged in on Blair's iPad from weeks ago.

It would be insanely easy for her to text herself from my account. On my phone? There was no trace of those messages. Try to prove my innocence?

Alistair would just accuse me of deleting the evidence. But the truth was, evidence didn't matter.

Alistair was only ever going to believe the version of reality he wanted to believe. "A part of me hoped it wasn't you.

But Morgan… you've disappointed me," Alistair finally broke the silence, his voice dripping with condescension. I didn't argue. I just gave him a dead, mocking smile.

Without another word, he walked over to Blair, scooped her up into his arms, and looked down at the man who had been silently watching the whole show. "Mason.

I'm leaving this to you. I'm taking Blair home." The man named Mason simply arched an eyebrow and gave a lazy nod. As Alistair walked past me, his face twisted in disgust.

He spat out his final verdict: "You brought this on yourself." He didn't look back as he walked out the door.

The moment the heavy VIP door clicked shut, the three drunk, heavily tattooed thugs on the floor instantly locked their eyes on me like starving wolves.

A sickening, filthy lust flashed in their gaze. "Sorry, sweetie. We just do what we're paid to do." Mason’s voice remained nonchalant as he watched from the sofa.

I let out a cold laugh. Without a drop of panic, I pulled my phone from my pocket and slammed the screen down hard on the glass coffee table. Mason lazily lifted his eyelids.

When he saw the active 911 call, already connected and recording on speaker, a genuine flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. "Underestimated you," he murmured.

I walked out of the underground club. It was past midnight.

The biting night wind whipped against my skin, and I heard Mason's footsteps trailing closely behind me. "That whole setup in there wasn't exactly a masterclass in manipulation, Morgan," he said. "When Blair came crying to me for help, I just wanted a frontrow seat to the drama.

I never planned on actually getting my hands dirty.

I just wanted to test you in there, see how far you'd let them push you." A cynical, mocking smirk curled my lips, but I didn't waste a single breath replying to him.

I hailed a passing cab.

Just as my hand hit the door handle, Mason called out in his usual, insufferable drawl. "Oh, and Theo told me to remind you—don't be late tomorrow." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Safe travels to you both." My hand froze on the door.

I quickly spun around, but all I saw was Mason's broad back as he strolled away into the neonlit shadows. Chapter 6 I didn't know much about Mason.

All I knew was his reputation as a ruthless playboy who burned through women like cheap cigarettes. As for his actual relationship with his brother, Theo? I had no idea.

But based on his warning tonight, they seemed close enough. Not that it mattered to me anymore.

From this moment on, I was severing ties with Blair, Alistair, and their entire toxic world