Reborn Seven Times, Bound to My Stockholm Lover

"Ha... ha..."

I gulped down fresh air in great, ragged breaths, the lingering sensation of suffocation still clinging to every inhale.

As I looked around the familiar room, realization struck me.

I had been reborn again.

This was the eighth time.

But what shocked me even more was the identity of the masked killer who had murdered me seven times in a row.

It was my loving husband, Jayden Dean.

The memory of the face I saw just before losing consciousness made my entire body tremble.

My eyes couldn't have deceived me.

Beneath the killer's mask was a face identical to Jayden's, down to the tiny mole at the corner of his eye.

Jayden and I knew each other for more than ten years and had been married for five. Our life together had always been sweet and happy.

Everyone said I was lucky to have married such a gentle, devoted family man, and I always believed it myself.

Jayden loved me, and I loved him just as deeply.

I couldn't accept and even bring myself to believe that the man sleeping beside me would one day want me dead.

I was still reeling in confusion and fear when the sudden ring of the doorbell made me shudder.

Instinctively, I took two steps backward.

I knew the person outside was the killer who murdered me seven times.

In all seven previous lives, it hadn't mattered whether I opened the door or not. He always found a way inside.

And then he killed me.

Since that was the case, I might as well make the first move. Maybe it would buy me a chance to survive.

I fixed my eyes on the door, my resolve hardening with every passing second.

Whether the person trying to kill me was really Jayden or not, I only knew one thing.

This time, I was going to live.

I forced the muscles in my face to cooperate, shaping my expression into something relaxed and natural.

The moment I opened the door, I launched myself at the man standing outside, who had been preparing to strike.

I threw myself into his arms like a koala and exclaimed in delight, "Honey, why are you back early from your business trip? And what's with the outfit? Are you trying out cosplay?"

As I spoke, I deliberately rested a hand against his chest.

"It's only been a few days, and you've suddenly become a lot more adventurous."

The instant I jumped into his arms, he caught me effortlessly.

The familiar ease of the movement made my heart sink.

But I had no time to dwell on it.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was finding a way to stay alive.

The masked man seemed to let out a quiet chuckle.

One arm supported my waist while the other reached back to close the door.

He carried me with him and sat down on the living room sofa.

Then I heard a low, familiar voice.

"You didn't even see my face. How did you know I was your husband?"

"Because I love you. No matter what you look like, I'd recognize you."

My voice grew softer toward the end as I rested my head against his chest.

Even though I had already seen his face with my own eyes before, I still couldn't give up.

I still wanted to see it again.

The hand resting on his chest slowly moved upward, inch by inch, until my fingertips brushed the edge of his mask.

The next second, he grabbed my hand.

"Ah—"

A short scream escaped me.

The memories of dying at his hands flashed vividly through my mind. It was impossible not to be terrified by even the smallest movement from him.

But remembering the role I was supposed to be playing, I bit down on my lower lip and forced myself to stay calm.

"Honey..."

As expected, the man loosened his grip.

I seized the opportunity and slowly peeled away his mask.

The face beneath it was exactly the same as my husband's.

The only difference was the look in his eyes—darker, colder, far more sinister.

I reached up and touched the mole at the corner of his eye.

It had once been my favorite feature.

Now it felt like a drop of deadly poison.

I closed my eyes briefly and forced myself back into character.

Then, I cupped his face with both hands and asked playfully, "Don't tell me you're not my husband?"

His eyes locked onto mine.

The sharpness of his gaze was so piercing that I almost believed he had already seen through my disguise.

Every cell in my body was screaming at me to run.

I could only grit my teeth and suppress the urge to flee.

Yet cold sweat still beaded across my forehead.

After dying seven times, my fear of him became ingrained deep in my bones.

Just as I was preparing to make a final, desperate stand, he raised a hand.

His warm, broad palm brushed across my cheek, as though a predator were surveying its territory.

Then, with surprising gentleness, he wiped away the sweat from my brow.