Rebirth: A Life for a Life

Holding a jar of royal jelly, my housekeeper, Mirabelle Cruz, seemed surprised. "Mrs. Pembroke, this is supposed to keep you young and beautiful. I'm too old to benefit from it. You should have it instead."

Then, she offered me the jar again. Her hopeful look sent a chill through me.

In my previous life, the moment I ate that royal jelly, I started to feel weak. No matter how much care I put into myself after that, all the benefits seemed to go to Mirabelle instead. I couldn't help but wonder if she'd slipped something bad into it.

This time around, I didn't dare touch it. I slid the jar back to her. "You can have it."

After watching her finish it, I went back to my bedroom and dabbed some moisturizer on my face to test my suspicion. In no time, dark spots bloomed across my skin, in the exact same places as the ones on Mirabelle's face.

As I expected, things hadn't changed even though I was given a second chance at life. I recalled how, in my previous life, the more skincare I used, the more spots and wrinkles I developed, as if I had aged 20 years overnight.

Shaken, I dumped all of my skincare products.

Mirabelle appeared stricken as she witnessed this scene. "Why are you throwing away such good products, Mrs. Pembroke? These must've cost a fortune! If you don't want them, could I take them? I can't afford things like this and hardly ever use anything on myself."

She fished the skincare products out of the trash and hugged them to her chest.

All of a sudden, a thought occurred to me. I hastily took out a bottle of moisturizer and applied it to her face, curious to see if my new blemishes would fade. Unfortunately, the spots on my skin darkened.

Mirabelle patted her own cheeks, beaming. "Oh wow, you really do get what you pay for. My skin already feels tighter and brighter!"

Through the mirror, I caught a flash of malice in her eyes.

Just then, Marcus, my husband, stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

His cold gaze swept over Mirabelle before asking me sharply, "What are you doing? Didn't I tell you not to let the housekeeper into the bedroom when I'm home?"

Looking at his impatient expression, it struck me that, in my previous life, he was the one who had brought Mirabelle into our home.

He'd claimed she was a first-rate housekeeper who had served the Larkspur family for many years. The Larkspurs were moving abroad, so they recommended Mirabelle to him.

Mirabelle was efficient, and her cooking was exactly to our taste. As soon as she arrived, she had the villa in perfect order, and I was initially very pleased with her.

However, three days later, I began to sense that something was off. Whenever I applied skincare products, dark spots broke out and fine lines formed around my eyes and cheeks. Meanwhile, Mirabelle's once-blotchy face became fair and smooth, and her wrinkles disappeared.

I went jogging every morning, yet after a week, I found myself putting on weight, my waist thickening with fat, whereas Mirabelle became slimmer and full of life.

I suppressed my anxiety and went to a beauty salon to get the spots removed. Yet, when the beautician lifted the instrument from my face, she let out a shrill scream. Not only had large blotches appeared, but my entire face sagged and wrinkled even more.

I went to a spa for body treatments, but I came home with stretch marks and scars like those from childbirth around my waist. Mirabelle's skin, on the other hand, only became silkier, her stomach faintly showing abs.

That night, after noticing how I had changed in appearance, Marcus kicked me off the bed.

I told him that I believed Mirabelle was behind what was happening to me, but he merely sneered, "People say women hit a wall and age overnight once they reach a certain age. You're not even 30, and you already look like an old person. Why are you putting the blame on a housekeeper?"

However, the following morning, his eyes never left Mirabelle's body. Furious, I fired her on the spot, only to stop menstruating soon after.

I went to the hospital for a checkup and found out I wasn't just showing signs of early menopause; I also had diabetes and high blood pressure.

Marcus not only mocked my appearance but also openly brought other women to the villa for the night. I was so furious that I had a stroke and collapsed, begging him to take me to the hospital.

Without sparing me a glance, he walked straight into our bedroom with the woman he'd brought home. By the time someone found me the next day, it was too late. I died on the way to the hospital.

Now that I'd been given a second chance at life, I was determined to uncover the cause and never let history repeat itself.