All Chapters of Rewrite My Fate: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

I turn slowly. Damon is leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, a glass of dark liquid in the other and a look of pure, malicious satisfaction on his face. “We haven't even toasted to your new life yet, Jade. Or should I call you... sister? Now that you're married to my brother.” “Don’t you have guests to entertain?” I ask coldly. “I do,” he says. “But none as interesting as you.” “I’m flattered.” “You should be.” I move to walk out of the room. He steps in front of me, blocking my path. The very sight of him up close sends a cold chill through me and a bubbling anger in my clenched fists. “Excuse me,” I force out the words slowly. If I say them any faster, I might end up driving my fist into his smug face. “It seems to me that you don't like my gifts.” I roll my eyes so hard they nearly disappear into the back of my head. God! I’ve been holding that in since forever. “Move.” He smiles faintly. “Did you like my gift? I want to hear it from you.” My stomach tighten

Six hours on a flight. I didn’t even get enough time to rest after being dragged out of my reception. Zayn and I only had the grace to change into simple outfits and were driven to the airport and shoved into a private jet. Now, we’re staring at a glass house that sits on the edge of Malibu like it was dropped there by mistake. The walls inside look too thin, like transparent boundaries between us and the Pacific Ocean. The waves roll in endlessly, crashing against dark rocks below, but it does nothing to calm the jet lag I’m feeling. This is Amanda’s idea of a honeymoon, apparently. A glass prison with a view. Her voice chooses to invade my thoughts at that moment, aggravating me. “I hope to carry my great-grandchildren soon.” Who says that to newlyweds? I roll my eyes. Zayn doesn’t comment when we arrive. Neither do I. The driver leaves. The gate locks behind us. And suddenly it’s just the sound of the ocean and the weight of everything unsaid between us. Zayn punches the keyco

~Zayn~ “Jade? Are you up?” She doesn't respond. Still, I stand outside the door longer than I should. There’s no sound from inside. But I know she’s awake. Jade has been many things. Defiant, guarded, quick to sharpen her words like knives, but trust me, she isn’t silent when she sleeps. I don't know if she’s aware that she mumbles in her sleep, words she probably won't say when she’s awake. She sometimes snores too. So I know she’s awake. She just chooses not to answer. My hand rests on the door for a while before I let it fall. I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair as I step back into the hallway. I stop outside my bedroom door, my gaze fixed on the closed door across from mine. A faint smile pulls at my lips, imagining her twisting and turning, her mind too restless to let her sleep peacefully. I step inside at last and shut the door behind me. My fingers flex once before I sit down in the reading chair. I open the company’s successor handbook I’ve read more tim

I turn slowly, taking it all in. It’s not exactly a “fair,” but it might as well be. String lights hang lazily overhead even though it’s still daytime. Booths line the street—food, games, random pop-up vendors selling things no one actually needs but everyone somehow wants. There’s a small crowd gathered around a performer doing something impressive with fire. Who could have known there are so many couples? They’re basically everywhere I turn. A guy feeds his girlfriend a bite of something dripping in sauce. She laughs and they kiss. Another pair walks past me, fingers intertwined like they’ll die if they let go. I scoff and keep moving. My traitorous brain starts pulling me back to the kitchen. The stupid high-five. The way Zayn had looked at me like I’d just handed him my heart. I shake my head like I can physically throw the thought away. I stop walking for a second, pressing my lips together. I left. That’s the point. To start over elsewhere. So why does it feel like I’m ca

The sound of sirens cut through the chaos. It sounds very close. The boy with the knife snaps. He lunges—either to prove a point or because fear made him stupid. Zayn catches his wrist mid-air and slams it into the wall. The knife clatters to the ground. “You shouldn't have done that,” Zayn snarls. Another twist. Another sickening snap. The boy crumples, clutching his arm, screaming. Kendall stumbles free, scrambling toward me. I grab and embrace her tightly. The third guy runs. He barely makes it two steps before Zayn grabs him by the collar and hurls him straight into a metal dumpster. The impact echoes through the alley. Red and blue lights flash across the walls. “Police! Don’t move!” Officers rush in, weapons drawn. They take in the scene instantly—three men down, one pinned, two barely conscious, one woman bruised, another shaking, and one man standing tall, totally unharmed and unfazed. Zayn steps back. Not because he has to. But because he’s done. “I called it in,” he pr