I'm Reborn! Back To The Living!

CHAPTER THREE

The knocking was hard and relentless on her door with an impatience that bordered on rage, as though the person on the other side believed that sheer force alone could tear Elara out of whatever pit she had fallen into.

Bang! Bang!! Bang!!!

Elara frowned in her sleep.

The sound cut through the darkness in a way that felt wrong, too sharp, too demanding, and too alive.

She turned her face deeper into the pillow, her body instinctively seeking escape, seeking the numb stillness she remembered so clearly.

She had died. She was certain of it.

There had been rain, cold and merciless, soaking her thin clothes until they clung to her skin like a second layer of misery.

There had been pain, searing, blinding, stealing the air from her lungs. And then there had been light, headlights piercing through the storm, followed by darkness swallowing everything whole.

Death had been quiet. But this... this was not.

Bang! Bang!!

“Elara!”

Her eyes shot open instantly. And the first thing she saw was the ceiling.

Pure white.... except for the familiar thin line running near the corner, a crack she had stared at countless nights while lying awake, wondering how a house so grand could feel so suffocating.

Light streamed in through half-drawn curtains, which made her more conflicted.

Her heart began to pound violently against her ribs.

Where am I? Is this heaven?

Her gaze darted wildly around the room, every detail carving itself into her consciousness. The faded dresser. The small bedside table with a chipped corner. The thin blanket was pulled up to her waist.

This was her room. Her old room.

No! Their house.

Elara’s chest tightened painfully. "Wasn’t I supposed to be dead?"

She pushed herself upright too fast, the room spinning as dizziness crashed over her.

Panic clawed its way up her throat as she pressed trembling hands to her body, checking herself desperately, her head, her arms, her legs, her ribs.

There were... No pain! No broken bones!! No bruises blooming beneath her skin!!!

Her breath came in shallow gasps as disbelief slammed into her. She swung her legs off the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. The mirror reflected her instantly.

Elara froze.

The girl staring back at her was pale, eyes wide and haunted, but alive. Her skin was smooth, unmarred by scars.

Her face bore no swelling, no blood, no signs of the violence that had ended her last life.

“I’m…” Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “Alive?”

Her fingers shook violently as she pressed them against the mirror, as though the glass might dissolve, as though this reflection might vanish if she dared to blink.

Memories surged without mercy.

Rain is pounding against the asphalt. The screech of tires. Her body was thrown forward.

The warmth of arms wrapped around her before everything faded.

Lucien!

Her breath hitched painfully as tears filled her eyes. She remembered dying. Which meant...

Her knees nearly gave out beneath her as the reality crushed her.

She had been reborn. She's alive!

Bang! Bang!! Bang!!!

“Elara! What is taking you so long?”

The sound of that voice sliced through her like a blade.

Her blood ran ice-cold just hearing it.

Slowly but painfully, Elara turned toward the door.

She knew that voice. She had heard it in her nightmares. In her waking hours. In the moments where she wished she would simply stop breathing so she wouldn’t have to hear it anymore.

She reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

Standing there, arms crossed and lips drawn into a thin, impatient line, was her adoptive mother.

Marjorie Vaughn.

Her sharp eyes swept over Elara from head to toe, not with concern, but with blatant irritation, as though Elara’s presence alone was an inconvenience.

“What took you so long?” Marjorie snapped. “Are you deaf now too?”

Elara stared at her without responding.

This woman...

The woman who had once smiled gently when Elara was small, back when her grandfather had been alive and watching.

The woman had slowly stripped away every kindness once the old man was gone.

The woman who had turned her eyes away while Elara was slapped, locked in rooms, and starved of affection and dignity alike.

For one terrifying second, rage burned so fiercely behind Elara’s eyes that she almost forgot to breathe.

She wanted to scream.

To grab Marjorie by the collar and demand answers.

To ask how a human heart could be so cruel.

But then... She remembered. This was her second life. She mustn't ruin it.

And anger, unrestrained, had only ever led her to ruin.

So she swallowed it. Buried it deep beneath layers of ice. And smiled.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Elara said softly, lowering her gaze just enough to appear submissive. “I was in the bathroom.”

Marjorie scoffed and shoved past her as though Elara were nothing more than a piece of discarded furniture.

She marched into the room, hands on her hips, scanning everything with critical disdain.

“Why aren’t you ready yet?” she snapped. “You’re supposed to go to the mall today and pick up your dress. Tomorrow is your wedding. Do I really have to remind you of that?”

Tomorrow! Yeah, tomorrow!

The word echoed in Elara’s mind like a death sentence.

Her fingers curled slowly at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

Tomorrow was the day her life changed for the worse in her last lifetime.

Tomorrow was the day she had been handed over like property to a man who makes she shared the same surname with her.

Her adoptive brother... Aaron Vaughn... Her worse nightmare!