Reborn in Cold Blood

The man with the scar pulled the burner phone back to my face, staring down at the glowing screen. A short, sharp laugh burst from his chest—a sound filled with pure, cruel mockery that made me flinch.

"You hear that, little miss?" he sneered, leaning down until his eyes were inches from mine. "Your old man’s made up his mind. You’re a disgrace."

I didn’t even know how to defend myself anymore. My tongue felt heavy, coating my mouth with the copper taste of my own blood. I just stared blindly at the phone. The glowing screen felt less like a device and more like a death sentence.

The scarred man flicked his gaze toward Jax, who was standing under the flickering light, silently waiting for instructions. "Boss said we finish this tonight. No more games."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a heavy black handgun. He held it up, inspecting the metal casually before thrusting the cold steel barrel right against my cheek. I shivered violently, pulling my head back as far as the coarse ropes would allow, but it was useless. I was trapped.

He leaned in, his foul breath hot against my ear. "You know... since you're going to be a total waste of beauty..." His dirty fingers slid down my neckline, tracing the curve of my throat down to my collarbone.

I nearly gagged in sheer repulsion, my stomach churning.

He chuckled at my disgust and turned back to Jax. "How about we take turns on her before we wrap up business?"

Tucking the gun into his waistband, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt. "Let’s get started then, Jax. We shouldn’t let a pretty thing like her waste away without having some fun."

"No... please... don't do this... don't touch me!" I screamed, begging with every shred of strength left in my broken body.

But my tears meant nothing to them. No matter how wildly I thrashed, my soiled, blood-stained dress was violently ripped apart. That night, my spirit broke completely. I prayed for death. It would have been a mercy if they had just put a bullet through my heart from the very beginning.

They tormented me endlessly, using me until I couldn't even draw air into my lungs. I sobbed through sealed lips, my chest heaving against the cold floor. In the dark silence of my mind, I swore a solemn vow: In my next life, I will make sure I never cross paths with the Sinclairs again. And if fate forces me to be their daughter once more, I will make every single one of them burn.

"Argh!" I gasped as a rough hand seized my neck, pinning me mercilessly against the freezing concrete.

Before I could draw another agonizing breath, Jax raised the gun and fired a bullet straight into my skull.

"Ugh!"

I gasped violently, my lungs expanding as if I had been dragged from the depths of an ocean. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I snapped my eyes open—and froze.

I wasn't in a dark, filthy warehouse. I wasn't covered in blood. I was standing in the middle of a bright, sunlit living room. Sunlight streamed through tall crystal windows, casting warm light across polished hardwood floors. Standing right beside me was a young girl with doe eyes and soft features, and when I looked down at my own body, I was wearing a neatly ironed high school uniform.

What...? What happened to me? Was I... reborn?

My head spun as I looked around the room, my eyes widening in utter disbelief. Pink and white balloons floated near the ceiling—my favorite colors. A giant banner stretched across the main wall, bearing crisp gold lettering:

HAPPY SWEET SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY, STELLA!

I swallowed hard, the dry lump in my throat feeling impossibly real.

I had really come back. I was sixteen again—back to the exact date where my life took its most tragic turn. In my past life, this was the day my father officially brought Claire home from the orphanage. All of my parents' attention had shifted to her instantly, leaving me to cut my birthday cake alone in an empty room, foolishly wishing for Claire to feel loved in our home.

Well... never again.

The deadly mistake of loving them—of craving my parents' approval, trusting Karl, and allowing Claire to frame me for things I never did—would never happen in this lifetime.

I refused to love a single one of them ever again.

I took a slow, deep breath, anchoring my soul in cold resolve.

Beside me, my mother was clinging tightly to Claire's hand. "Stella, don't be like that," Mom scolded softly, though her eyes were shining as she looked down at the girl. "I know it's your birthday, but show your sister some pity. We found her in the orphanage, and all she wants is our affection."

Mom smiled down at Claire, who was pouting sweetly in her arms. Claire’s face was exactly as I remembered: delicate, innocent, the picture-perfect victim that my parents—and Karl—always fell for without question. She leaned further into my mother’s side, her bottom lip trembling just enough to draw everyone's sympathy.

"I didn’t mean to steal her spotlight, Mommy," Claire whispered, her voice cracking softly. "I just wanted to say thank you for bringing me home. I don’t want Stella to be mad at me..."

I glared at her feigned innocence, her wide, sparkling eyes swimming with tears that were meant to melt hearts.

Snake.

My mother let out a dramatic sigh, stroking Claire’s hair with a gentle, tender affection she had never once offered me in my entire life. "She’s just being dramatic, Claire. You know how Stella is—she always makes everything about herself."

A heavy silence descended upon the room. I could feel my mother's gaze burning into the side of my face, her lips pressed into a thin line of severe disapproval.

"Stella! What are you doing?!" she suddenly barked, her voice sharp enough to shatter glass. "That's Claire's cake! Why must you be so incredibly selfish?!"

I didn't answer her. I didn't even look up.

I just kept dragging the metal cake knife slowly across the frosted surface.

Scrape.

I watched the delicate pink icing peel away, falling onto the white tablecloth like discarded skin.

Let them yell, I thought coldly. Let them scream until their throats bleed.

My heart felt heavy, but not with grief. It was cold. Solid as granite. Every insult they threw at me felt like hollow background noise. I could still feel the phantom sensation of Jax's bullet tearing through my brain. I could still smell the reek of stale tobacco on those monsters.

I raised my eyes to look at my father. For the first time in my life, I didn't see a parent. I saw a total stranger. A man who would sit at a dinner table and watch me die without blinking an eye.

"You heard me," I said. My voice was eerily steady—far too calm for a sixteen-year-old girl. "Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Because that's exactly what you are to me now. You're not my parents."

The metal knife clattered loudly onto the table. I wiped my hands on my plaid school skirt, completely unbothered by the smear of pink frosting left behind.

"Mommy, she's scaring me..." Claire whimpered, burying her face into Mom's shoulder. Her delivery was flawless—just shaky enough to trigger my mother's protective instincts.

"Stella, apologize to Claire right now!" Mom commanded, her voice shaking with rage. "This is your birthday, but you are acting like an absolute monster!"

Monster.

A dark laugh nearly escaped my throat. If only they knew what a real monster looked like.

Mom's expression instantly shifted into exaggerated comfort as she wrapped her arms around Claire. "Don't you dare say that, Claire! You are a part of this family now," she declared, her voice cracking with emotion. "We won't let you go anywhere!"

Dad stepped forward, his face flushed dark red with fury. "Stella, look at what you're doing! You're breaking her heart on the very day we brought her home! Have you no conscience at all?!"

I watched them hover over her like she was made of fragile porcelain, while I stood there like an unwelcome stain on their perfect family portrait.

Heartbroken, I thought bitterly. She really is a master actress.

"If she's so fragile, then maybe she shouldn't be living here," I stated, my voice flat and devoid of any human warmth.

I turned my gaze directly onto Claire. Through her thick eyelashes, I caught the split-second glimpse of a tiny, cruel smirk lurking at the corner of her lips before she quickly hid it away.

Everyone in the room went dead quiet. The suffocating silence was broken only by the soft, hesitant footsteps of a maid walking in, carrying a box of unlit birthday candles.

I offered the maid a small, polite smile and whispered, "Thank you."

The maid nodded nervously, set the candles down beside the ruined cake, and quickly retreated.

My father glared at me, his face a twisted mixture of anger and confusion. "Stella, what in the world has gotten into you?! She is your sister—your younger sister!"

I scoffed silently. I never had a sister. And if I were ever to have one, she certainly wouldn't come from this vile household. I glanced back at Claire, watching tears spill dramatically down her cheeks—while beneath them, her lips twitched with a hidden victory.

The rage in my blood began to simmer.

"I said—"

Before I could finish my sentence, the heavy front door suddenly swung open.