All Chapters of Rebirth: What’s Left Of Me: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

{TW: Family violence} The balcony overlooked the sprawling woods, now blanketed in a thick layer of pristine snow. The winter scene was breathtakingly beautiful, with the snow-covered treetops stretching out as far as the eye could see. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of a bird or the distant creak of a tree swaying gently in the wind. The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft, golden glow over the landscape. The shadows of the trees stretched long across the snow, creating a beautiful interplay of light and dark. It was a moment of tranquility, a brief pause in the whirlwind of events that had brought me here. I heard footsteps behind me and turned. "Are you not enjoying the gathering?" Sandy asked. Right, she was still here. "It's not my scene," I admitted. I was pretty sure I'd figured out what kind of club this was. "I've been curious about what kind of man you are," Sandy said, stepping up beside me at the railing. "Why?" Here we go.

{TW: Illegal fights, violence} "Where is he?!" A disheveled older man burst into the room, his maid still in the process of pulling his shirt up his arm. "I'm here, Viscount," Damien said calmly, sipping his tea. After stepping off the plane following an eight-hour flight to the Netherlands, we had been driven straight to a castle—by what Damien casually mentioned were Royal guards. Apparently, we'd come unannounced. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that we were even in a castle. Who the fuck owned this place? "Your Highness, what brings you to such a humble place?" the Viscount asked, adjusting his glasses as he tried to smooth out his frazzled appearance. "My apologies for summoning you at such an early hour," Damien said smoothly. "This is just the area I know my friends and I will have the best time without any interference. But the accommodations aren't quite up to standard around here. And I'd hate for them to spend the night in such a lowly place. So, I

{TW: Illegal street racing} The sound of the megaphone shrieking an alarm set everyone off. I screamed at the top of my lungs as Jason's foot slammed on the gas pedal, and just like everyone else beside and ahead of us, we took off. The screeching of tires on pavement and the cheers from the crowd echoed in my ears as racers flew down the lot and up the ramp that led to a tunnel. Being set in the back gave us a bit of space between our ride and the other drivers, who steered clear of the car with flames painted along the sides. Jason flipped a switch on his steering wheel, and I felt the car jump slightly as it surged forward, speeding past four drivers in the same row. I flinched, my bottom falling back onto the seat as I snapped my head toward him with wide, alarmed eyes. "The hell was that?" I demanded, hugging myself and trying to shrink into the seat, suddenly wishing I had the safety of the backseat away from all of this chaos. "It's just a little extra kick to get started,"

{TW: Illegal Gambling} "Remind me how you guys convinced me to come again?" I asked as we neared the imposing double-door entrance of the underground casino. Jared, striding ahead, casually tossed a small white pouch in his hand, the weight of it making a soft thudding sound against his palm. The pungent smell of expensive cologne and cigar smoke hit me like a wall, making me scrunch my nose in distaste. Things had been going so well at the festival, but we were interrupted by Jared and Jason, who had other plans. Damien was pissed about it, of course. "I heard this is the best underground gambling den in the village. Prize pools up to three hundred million," Jared replied nonchalantly, his voice filled with excitement. "Ah, yes," I muttered, eyes scanning the chandelier overhead as if I could escape the situation by glaring at the opulent surroundings. "But we've never gambled in this high-profile of a setting. I don't understand why we aren't just pickpocketing." "First time f

The room was thick with tension. The arbitrator cleared his throat and began, "If there's no objection and no more proof to be shown, we will take a short—" "No! I have more proof!" Debbie suddenly shrieked, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. She dug into her pocket and yanked out a ring, holding it high for everyone to see. "Jack's ring! I found it on the stairs, right at the spot where he pushed Dad down! How do you explain this?!" "Yes, that ring!" One of Debbie's witnesses, Wendy, rolled her eyes dramatically. "That was definitely the one he was wearing that day! It's that tacky one!" So she was the one who called my ring tacky in the hallway. I studied the ring in Debbie's hand, and at first glance, it did look like mine. But there were subtle differences, ones that made it obvious it was a fake. "I don't think that's my ring," I said plainly, raising my hand to reveal my actual ring, still in perfect condition. "I'd never lose Dad's class ring." "LIAR!!" Debb