All Chapters of Reborn to Destroy Him: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Four years passed in what felt like a blink.Emma graduated from Parsons at the top of her class. Her senior thesis collection won every major student award. She had offers from Paris, Milan, New York—every major house wanted her.She turned them all down."I'm starting my own brand," she announced at her graduation dinner. "Emma Chen Designs. Sustainable, ethical, created by young designers for young people. I'm building what you built, Mom, but for my generation."I was terrified and proud in equal measure. "Are you sure? Starting your own brand is incredibly difficult. The failure rate—""Is high. I know. You've told me a hundred times." Emma smiled. "But I learned from the best. I know how to build something sustainable. How to avoid the mistakes you made and the ones you didn't. I'm ready."She was right. She was ready.Sophia joined her as business partner. Together they launched Emma Chen Designs with a small collection focused on Gen Z values—sustainable materials, transparent

The drive home from Sing Sing should have felt victorious. Emma had faced her father and emerged strong. She'd said what she needed to say. She'd closed a chapter that had been open for fourteen years.But something felt unfinished."I need to go back," Emma said suddenly as we drove through Westchester."What? Why?""I didn't say everything. I was so focused on being strong and composed that I didn't actually tell him what I really feel. I need to do it again. Properly this time."Marcus and I exchanged glances."Emma, you were perfect in there," I said. "You said everything that mattered.""No, I said everything that was safe to say. Everything that made me look strong. But I didn't tell him the truth about how much he hurt me. How scared I was. How many years I spent in therapy because of him." She looked at me with tears in her eyes. "I need to go back and be vulnerable. Not just strong."We turned the car around.This time, when we arrived at the prison medical facility, Emma did

Two years passed in relative peace. Emma Chen Designs continued to thrive. Sophia became a partner, not just an employee. Together they were revolutionizing sustainable fashion for their generation.I spent my time consulting for Emma's brand when she asked, mentoring young designers through the foundation, and actually enjoying my semi-retirement.Marcus was supposedly retired too. But "retired" for Marcus meant traveling constantly for photography projects, teaching workshops, documenting social movements, never slowing down."You're doing too much," I told him one morning as he packed for yet another trip."I'm fifty-five, not dead. I'm fine.""You're exhausted. When was the last time you took an actual vacation? Not a work trip. A vacation.""I don't know. Italy? That was seven years ago.""Exactly my point. You need to slow down.""I will. After this project. It's important. Documenting climate refugees. The story needs to be told."He kissed me and left for JFK. Three days later

The cottage became home faster than I expected.We fell into rhythms that had nothing to do with deadlines or obligations. Marcus woke at dawn to photograph the light on the stream. I made coffee and sketched whatever caught my eye—birds at the feeder, frost patterns on windows, the way leaves accumulated in the garden.We cooked together. Real cooking, not grabbing takeout between meetings. We'd drive to the farmer's market on Saturdays, buy whatever looked good, figure out recipes together."I didn't know you could cook," Marcus said one evening as we made risotto from scratch."I couldn't. I'm learning. That's the point of this, right? Learning who we are when we're not in survival mode."The town nearby was small. Population 3,000. Everyone knew everyone. The woman at the coffee shop learned our orders. The man at the hardware store gave Marcus gardening advice. The librarian recommended books.No one cared that I'd built a fashion empire. No one asked about my past. I was just Be

The Metropolitan Museum of Art planned the exhibition opening for October. Six months to design the space, create educational materials, prepare the public programming.I stayed mostly uninvolved. Answered questions when asked. Approved the layout. But otherwise let the museum professionals do what they did best."You're surprisingly hands-off about this," Emma commented one day when the museum called with questions I deferred to their judgment."It's not mine anymore. I created it. I told my story. Now it belongs to everyone who needs it. The museum understands that better than I do."The marketing campaign was massive. "Before, During, After: The Bethany Nott Retrospective." Posters on subways. Articles in every fashion magazine. Social media campaigns. The museum was positioning it as more than fashion—as art about survival and transformation."This could be one of our most visited exhibitions," the director told me. "People respond to the honesty. To seeing someone's journey from