Reborn: Make Them Pay

I never imagined I’d spend my birthday hunched over a toilet, gagging as blood splattered into the bowl. The pain came suddenly and violently, stealing the air from my lungs.

My stomach twisted again.

Another wave of nausea hit me, sending a violent cough tearing through my chest. Dark red droplets stained the porcelain as panic clawed its way up my throat.

My husband rushed into the bathroom.

I took the deepest breath I could manage, though it felt like knives scraping against my lungs.

“Vance… I can’t breathe,” I managed to mumble between coughing fits and wet, bloody gurgles.

Vance crouched down until he was eye level with me, his movements smooth and controlled, almost eerily calm.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” he asked.

I gave him a look — the kind you give your husband when he asks the stupidest possible question.

“Yes! This is not normal! I feel like I’m dying,” I groaned, clutching the edge of the toilet for support.

The bathroom spun slightly around me.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been sick.

For the past three years my health had been slowly declining. It started with dizziness and migraines, then nausea, weakness, strange bouts of fatigue that no doctor could explain. I had visited countless specialists, endured endless blood tests and scans, yet every time the results came back the same.

Nothing was wrong.

Stress, they said.

Overwork.

But this…

This was different.

Blood trickled down my chin as another cough tore through my chest.

“Hurry, Vance,” I rasped. “I don’t think I’ll make it through the night.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for his phone.

The hesitation irritated me.

“Vance?” I snapped weakly.

The look of concern on my husband’s face slowly melted away.

Something darker replaced it.

Something predatory.

His pupils dilated, swallowing the icy blue colour of his eyes until they seemed almost black. The warmth I had once adored in his gaze was gone — completely gone.

I froze as he reached out and brushed his knuckles against my cheek.

The touch was gentle.

Too gentle.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to move.

To run.

“Charlotte…” he murmured softly.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me the way a scientist might observe an experiment.

“You’re not supposed to still be conscious.”

For a moment I thought I had misheard him.

“What?” I whispered hoarsely.

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips.

Cold dread flooded my veins.

My mind raced back through the past few years — the unexplained sickness, the endless fatigue, the way Vance had always insisted on preparing my meals himself because he “worried about my health.”

How sweet I had thought he was.

How stupid I had been.

“You…” I gasped.

Realisation crashed into me like a freight train.

“You did this.”

Vance didn’t deny it.

Instead, his smile widened slightly.

Panic surged through me.

Adrenaline forced strength into my trembling limbs.

I shoved myself off the bathroom floor and stumbled toward the door before breaking into a sprint down the hallway.

Behind me, Vance didn’t chase.

Instead, his laughter echoed through the house.

Deep.

Amused.

Like he was watching a particularly entertaining show.

The sound sent chills racing down my spine.

I flung the front door open.

Fresh air rushed into my lungs.

And there, standing on the porch with her hand raised to knock, was my best friend.

Anya.

Relief flooded through me.

“Anya! Run!” I gasped. “Something’s wrong with Vance!”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“Charlotte, what the hell is going on?” she asked, rushing toward me.

I didn’t answer.

Instead I grabbed her arm and pointed frantically toward her car parked in the driveway.

“Keys!”

Anya quickly unlocked the car and we both scrambled inside. I slid into the driver’s seat before she could protest, yanking the keys from her hand.

The engine roared to life.

I slammed my foot on the accelerator, speeding down the road like I was competing in Formula One.

The houses blurred past us.

My heart pounded wildly in my chest.

I glanced over at Anya.

She had gone pale as a ghost.

“Charlotte! Slow down! You’re really freaking me out right now, girl! What the hell is going on?” she demanded.

I took a shaky breath.

“I think… Vance wants to kill me.”

The moment the words left my mouth, another violent coughing fit overtook me.

Blood splattered across my hand.

Anya stared at it in horror.

“Jesus, Charlotte—”

“The sickness…” I whispered weakly. “It all makes sense now.”

The dizziness.

The nausea.

The unexplained weakness.

All those years of wondering what was wrong with me.

My husband had been poisoning me.

The thought made bile rise in my throat.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and focused on the road.

The hospital appeared ahead of us.

Relief washed over me.

I pulled into the car park and slammed the brakes.

Before the car had even fully stopped I shoved the door open and tried to climb out.

But Anya grabbed my arm and pulled me back inside.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to go out there without protection, Char,” she said.

“What?” I frowned.

Anya leaned over the back seat and began rummaging through something behind her. After a moment she pulled out a crowbar.

Then she smiled.

“We need protection.”

I stared at her.

“We need protection? Anya, we’re at the hospital for goodness’ sake. What could possibly happen here?”

I reached for the door again.

She yanked me back.

I sighed, rolling my eyes before turning to glare at her.

But the moment our eyes met, something inside me turned cold.

There was no worry in her expression.

No concern.

Only malice.

The same chilling darkness I had seen in Vance’s eyes.

Before I could react, Anya lifted the crowbar.

“No,” she said quietly.

“We need protection from you talking.”

The world seemed to slow.

My mind struggled to comprehend what was happening.

“Anya…?” I whispered.

She smiled.

The crowbar came crashing down toward my head.

The last thing I saw was my best friend’s face.

Then everything went black.