Chapter 3

Olivia

My fingers curl into fists against the mattress, nails biting into my palms as my mind scrambles for an answer. What do I say? I can’t just blurt out that I’ve been reborn—he’d probably think I’ve lost my damn mind.

Sebastian cocks an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. The weight of his stare makes my head spin, my throat dry. I’m losing control of this moment, and I can’t afford that.

So, I resort to the only thing I know will soften him.

Pouting slightly, I press into his arms again, my voice dipping into something breathy and pleading. "Because I know now that you’re the only one meant for me. I’ve been blind all these years. Won’t you give your wife one more chance to show you how much she’s changed?"

For a second—a flicker of hesitation flashes in his eyes. He’s thinking about it. But then, his jaw tightens, his muscles coiling beneath my touch. His hands push at my arms, his scowl deepening.

"The Olivia I know isn’t really one to change after three nights in the hospital," he mutters, his voice dripping with doubt.

I’m losing him. Think, Olivia. Think!

Blinking rapidly, I rub my head against his chest. I remember—this used to work. Back when I was reckless, selfish. Whenever I acted pitiful, he let me get away with anything—even if it endangered him.

Maybe it seems manipulative now, but it’s all I’ve got.

"Please, Seb," I whimper, my voice trembling with carefully placed need.

He sighs, rubbing his temples. I have him, just a little more.

"What about Philip?" His voice turns sharp. "I’m sure your heartthrob won’t be too happy to see you in my arms, rubbing your head on my chest, would he?"

This is a trap. He wants to see if I’ll falter.

I scoff, tilting my chin up.

"I no longer have feelings for that man. Don’t mention his name to me," I say, my voice laced with disgust. "All men are scum—except you, my darling husband."

Shock flickers across his face. He doesn’t even bother to hide it.

His full, tempting lips part slightly, and before I can second-guess myself, I grab the nape of his neck, tug him down, and slam my lips against his.

His body tenses. He hesitates—but only for a moment. Then, his hands grip my waist, rough and possessive, pulling me flush against his chest.

The kiss deepens. His breath is hot, his lips skilled, and the hunger in his movements sends a rush of heat straight through me.

"Seb," I moan softly as his mouth moves to my neck, grazing the sensitive skin before tracing smooth, reverent kisses along my collarbone.

Pain flares through my wrists—sharp, burning. I know my wounds are reopening, that blood is probably staining the pristine white sheets beneath us. But I don’t care.

I tug at his shirt, desperate, needy.

He halts, his movements freezing. His eyes darken, concern replacing heat. "Olivia, your wounds."

Shaking my head, I loop my arms around his neck. "I don’t care about that, Seb. Please."

I don’t even know what I’m begging for anymore. More of his touch? More of his trust? More of him?

His gaze softens, fingers tracing a delicate path along my cheek. Then, with a slow, deliberate kiss, he lowers me back onto the bed.

"I’ll be gentle," he whispers.

-----

"Yes, I’ll be right there. Hold the meeting off for fifteen more minutes."

Sebastian’s deep voice pulls me out of my satiated state, the rich timbre washing over me just like his touch.

My eyes peel open, heavy-lidded and hazy, to find him standing near the bed, straightening his tie with practiced ease.

Heat creeps up my cheeks when his gaze finds mine. Smirking, he sits back down, effortlessly composed as if he hadn’t just…

He takes my hand, his grip firm yet gentle, and presses a kiss to the back of it—slow, deliberate, possessive.

"I have work right now, but I’ll be back later, okay?"

"Okay," I reply softly, voice barely above a whisper.

The soft click of the door closing behind him leaves behind an emptiness in the room—a void where his presence had been just moments ago.

A giddy squeal bursts past my lips, my hands flying up to cover my face. Excitement hums beneath my skin, my heart thundering against my ribs. Have I really been reborn? This isn’t some sick, twisted dream where I wake up back in hell, right?

My eyes dart around the room, searching for anything that might confirm this reality. The pristine hospital walls. The scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. The crisp white sheets still rumpled from where Sebastian had just been. And then—I spot it.

A phone.

It’s perched on the headrest, probably mine. My fingers tremble as I reach for it, heart pounding as I glance at the screen.

The date…

Shock slams into me like a freight train.

One year.

I’ve been reborn approximately one year before my downfall.

My breath catches, the realization sinking in. I have one year to change everything.

Before I can fully process it, the door slams open, startling me.

"Liv!"

An unfortunately familiar voice cuts through the air before a body rushes toward me, strong arms wrapping around me in a crushing embrace.

The scent of his expensive cologne—once comforting, now suffocating—fills my nose, making it scrunch in disgust. My body stiffens, my stomach twisting into knots. This man. This liar.

"Liv, I’m so glad you’re okay! Liv, I—I thought you’d… you’d…" Philip's voice shakes, breath uneven as he pulls back slightly, his blond hair gleaming in the morning haze. "Are you alright?"

The sight of his concerned expression would have once made my heart ache. Now, it makes my skin crawl.

Hatred rolls through me, so deep my fingers twitch with the urge to shove him away—to slap him, hard. But instead, I force myself to stay still, locking every muscle into place.

Stay in control Olivia.

Philip’s blue eyes search mine, desperate for my attention. His face is tense, like he’s genuinely shaken. God, this man deserves an Oscar. How does he do this? How does he spin lies so effortlessly with that innocent, heartbroken look?

I steel myself. If I want to win, I have to play along.

So, I pull a trembling smile onto my lips, my hand curling around him as he pulls me into another hug.

"I’m fine, Philip. I missed you so much," I whisper, forcing tears to well up in my eyes, my voice thick with emotion.

He pulls back, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that would have once made my heart race. Now, it only fuels my hatred.

"I missed you too, babe." His voice is warm, familiar—deceptive.

Then, his expression shifts, fingers ghost over my bandaged wrists, and his lips press into a thin line.

"I told you to cut only one wrist. Why did you cut both?"

A sneer nearly rips from my lips. Oh, you manipulative bastard.

Philip had been playing me from the very beginning—twisting me, using me. And I had let him. I had destroyed my family, my friends, my entire life for this man.

I swallow down my fury, forcing a pout instead.

"I didn’t want to live if I couldn’t go with you. That’s why I cut both," I murmur, voice trembling just enough to sound believable.

Philip’s eyes soften, and a slow, satisfied smile tugs at his lips. He reaches out, wiping away the tears trickling down my cheeks.

"Don’t worry. We’ll be together soon," he murmurs.

A dangerous idea sparks in my mind.

I let out another shaky sob, tilting my chin up just enough to make my expression more vulnerable. Now for the real test.

"Thank goodness Sebastian has agreed to divorce me. I can’t wait anymore. Finally, we can be together!"

Philip’s entire face darkens.

His body goes rigid. His sky-blue eyes, usually so bright, dim instantly.

Then, his voice drops, sharp and immediate. "No! You can’t get divorced!"