Rebirth Vs Reincarnation

After being reborn, I'm taken back to the day I confessed my love for my childhood friend. In my past life, I had to plead and beg before he begrudgingly agreed to marry me. "You look pathetic when you beg me for anything, Annabelle." That was what Hayden Gulman always said to me. He was so cold to me that he even canceled the part where we read our vows to each other during the wedding. When I was eight months pregnant, he took a photo of my belly covered in stretch marks. Then, he complained to his true love about the unhappiness he faced after marrying me. When I went into a difficult labor due to my agitation, he and his true love were on vacation. At that moment, my heart finally died. It turned out my one-woman show couldn't be considered love at all. Now that I've been reborn, I smile when I see the disdainful look in his eyes. I say, "We have nothing to do with each other from this moment on. I only wish to be happy."

After being reborn, I decide to return my fiancé to his true love. When he holds a singles party for her and doesn't want me to disturb him, I go to Faldora alone. He says I'm an annoyance, so I quit my job without hesitation. He doesn't feel good being in the same country as me, so I immediately migrate abroad. In the end, he tells me he wants to make his true love feel secure. I nod and accept someone else's proposal. Why am I so obedient and compliant? It's because of my past life. In my past life, his true love ended her life after I married him. He blamed me for separating them and subjected me to inhumane torture. This time, I just want to live my life. Later, when I'm taking a stroll with my family, he kneels before me and sobs in earnest. "I promise I'll be with you as long as you leave them, Audrey."

I accompany my husband, Michael Yates, to a stationed assignment on a remote island. Out at sea, a sudden storm hits. The ship capsizes and begins to sink. As the commanding officer, my husband gives the last life vest to his so-called godsister, Naomi Hollister. I don't cry or scream. I just watch silently as he carefully fastens the straps around her body. In my past life, I had clutched my pregnant belly and begged him for help. After a brief hesitation, he finally put the vest on me. But Naomi was swept away by the waves, and her body later washed up on shore. Only half of it remained. Michael insisted it wasn't my fault. He also said that saving me was his duty, both morally and professionally. He even took leave to stay by my side before I gave birth. But when my water broke in the dead of night, he pushed me into the sea. His eyes were bloodshot and burning with hatred. "Leah, if it weren't for you, Mimi would still be alive! Did you really have to force me to give you the vest when you were just pregnant? Couldn't you have waited a little longer? Why do you get to live? Go down there and die with her!" I drown, and fish tear my body apart. I die without even a full corpse left behind. And then, I open my eyes. I'm back on the day of the storm.

In my past life, I supported the bankrupt Clark brothers. However, after I became pregnant, they allowed a poor student, Kimberly Scott, to push me down the stairs, where I bled profusely and died while carrying my child. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn on the day I had brought them into my house. This time, I kicked them out without hesitation. To my surprise, Kimberly had teamed up with my grandmother to pretend to be the real heiress, painting me as the fake heiress who had taken over the family. The butler, Mr. Williams, who had watched me grow up, came forward and accused me of causing my parents’ death. Under the public backlash they had orchestrated, I remained calm and presented my evidence. Not only did I expose Kimberly’s fake identity as the heiress, but I also revealed the true faces of my grandmother and Mr. Williams. I avenged my parents and gave the wrongdoers the punishment they deserved.

I'm eight months pregnant when I suddenly faint on the train. My husband panics and cries for help as he kneels beside me. An interning doctor hurries to me. She doesn't bother checking my condition before saying, "The patient needs to undergo a C-section! We have to get the baby out now, or it might die of suffocation!" Then, she slices me open with a fruit knife—she doesn't take any precautionary measures before doing so. She takes my child out. I'm in so much pain that I don't even have the strength to scream. My blood flows everywhere. Yet, a photo of her holding my baby while standing in a pool of blood goes viral. People call her the prettiest doctor alive. My husband and his family are eternally grateful to her. They don't go after her for causing my death; they even make her my child's godmother! Meanwhile, I'm given a simple cremation. No one cares about me. After my death, all my assets go to my husband and his family. Only then do I hear my husband and the doctor talking to each other, sounding smug. "This plan killed two birds with one stone. We got rid of that woman and made ourselves out to be heroes!" That's when I learn the interning doctor is my husband's junior from high school. They got together when he accompanied me to my prenatal checkups! She failed her internship, so my husband came up with this idea—he wanted to use my death to boost her reputation and help her! Even my child eventually died under their "care". When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day we get on the train.

After being condemned across the internet for plagiarism, I stood before everyone and announced my retirement from writing. My boyfriend, Carter Xavier, who had been furiously accusing me just moments ago, froze in shock. “What are you doing? Don’t you still have debts to pay?” Ruby Quinn—his precious and the so-called victim of this scandal—immediately panicked. “Vera, you don’t have to punish yourself like this. I’m willing to give you a chance to start over.” I remained firm, my expression cold and unmoving as camera flashes exploded around me. In my past life, these two had humiliated me, plotting together behind my back to steal my work. My painstaking efforts had built Ruby’s reputation as a so-called genius author. But not this time. Without hesitation, I deleted the pen name I had used for the past six years. I had spent enough time struggling in a cramped rental apartment. It was time to return home and claim my family inheritance. As for Ruby Quinn— Let’s see how you finish the rest of that stolen manuscript without me.

After graduating from a socialite training course, my sister swears to marry into a wealthy family. To create encounters with Pierce Holden, the prince of the upper crust, she drives my car, wanting to tailgate him and run into his car. I slam the brakes and tell her the Holdens aren't fools. We can't afford to pay for Pierce's car, even if we were to give up everything we have. Later, Pierce throws a lavish wedding that stuns the country. My sister goes crazy with jealousy, saying that she would've been the bride if not for me stopping her back then. Out of resentment, she rams her car into me and kills me. When I open my eyes again, I find myself in the front passenger seat. My sister smirks confidently, her gaze fixed on the expensive car ahead of us. "I'm sure Pierce will be enchanted by me once he sees me. I won't need to drive a dump like this once I get together with him." This time, I don't stop her. She puts the pedal to the metal, making the car crash against the sports car worth a fortune.

I burned my painting right in front of the students and university staff. Thunderous applause filled the hall. Everyone thought it was some kind of performance. But my senior in the graduate program panicked. He rushed forward and grabbed my wrist, his voice tight. “Connor, have you gone mad? This is your only shot to prove yourself!” I shook him off, cold. A chance? That was his chance, right? During my past life, he stole the painting I poured my heart and soul into and entered it in the competition ahead of me. The composition, the colors, even my original technique… He copied all of it. He won the Gold Award for the National Youth Art Competition, signed with a top gallery, and basked in glory. Meanwhile, I was branded a shameless plagiarist. The insults and curses overwhelmed me completely. "Get out of the art scene already!" “A plagiarist like you should just die!” His fans stormed my studio, smashed my tools, and broke my right hand. With my world in ruins, I jumped off the studio roof. Opening my eyes again, I realized I had returned to the day my senior accused me of plagiarism.

During a family dinner, I, Ingrid Sutherland, bring up divorce. My husband, Samuel Ziegler, lets out a cold laugh in exasperation. "Are you mad just because I peeled a banana for Whitney two days ago? I can't believe you're still throwing a tantrum over that now! She's my sister-in-law. What's wrong if I show her a little bit more care?" He did the same thing in my past life. Ever since his older brother, Charles Ziegler, got seriously hurt, Samuel always put me last and prioritized taking care of the supposedly weaker Whitney Lovette. Whenever I voiced my dissatisfaction, he would criticize me while standing on an irrefutable moral high ground. He would say, "Why can't you be more understanding and cut Whitney some slack?" When it was Whitney's birthday, she proposed going on a skiing trip. But then, an avalanche hit us. Samuel protected her the whole time and led her down the mountain. However, he left me to die in the avalanche. It was then I realized that Whitney was not just his sister-in-law, but also the one he loved. When I remain silent, Samuel chuckles derisively. "You'd better not regret it." It's like he's sure I'm just throwing a tantrum. In one fluid movement, he glides a pen across the bottom of the page, confident and composed. But this time, I'm really giving up on him for good.

"It hurts…" Joanna Horton clutched her swollen belly in agony, a deep, wrenching pain twisting through her that words couldn't describe. Terror filled her voice as she cried out, "It hurts so bad… Theo… please, save our baby…" But outside, there was only silence—except for the soft, steady sounds of prayers and chanting from the next room. That was where her monk husband, Theo Brook, was, praying for the soul of his long-dead first love. Ever since Sharon Cooper jumped off that building, Theo had been grief-stricken. He left everything behind and became a monk, never missing a single night of chanting for her. People said he had the heart of a saint, that he was devoted and had never stopped loving her. But they didn't know that just on the other side of that wall was Joanna—his lawfully wedded wife, the one he had once married in a grand ceremony. Joanna was burning up with fever, her eyes barely open, her face pale and tired. A few days ago, she had made Theo angry. Since then, no matter how much she cried out in pain, he ignored her. Another sharp wave of pain hit, and suddenly, a rush of blood spilled from between her legs. The baby inside her stopped moving. She knew then—her child was gone.