Rinne Rebirth Hand Signs

My best friend, Scarlett Throne, is diagnosed with cancer. After running away from home, she takes her own life. She leaves behind only a testament and a pair of eight-year-old twins, a boy and a girl. "You're the only person I can rely on in this world. I'm not asking you to adopt them, but just make sure they have enough to eat." Out of compassion, I take the siblings in. For the next 20 years, my husband and I have been working hard together to raise them, buying them cars and houses. But one day, my adopted daughter reports my husband for being abusive toward her. Even my supposedly dead best friend suddenly appears and testifies against him. I demand to know why she does such a thing. My best friend, filled with righteous indignation, says, "I see you as my best friend! I've never thought you adopted my children just to serve your husband's perversions!" My husband's reputation is ruined, and he's been thrown in jail. I desperately try to prove his innocence, only to be forcibly sent to a mental hospital by my adopted son. There, I wither away and die. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the very day my best friend was diagnosed with cancer.

My father bought twin brothers from the black market to serve as bodyguards for me and my sister. My sister chose the tall, strong older brother, leaving me with the frail, mute younger one. Feeling sorry for him, I kept him close, seeking doctors for his silence and maintaining distance to respect his apparent OCD. I thought trauma had shaped him that way. But when our father's enemies kidnapped us, he abandoned me without hesitation, choosing to die shielding my sister. In his final moments, he spoke for the first time. "You finally see me." To me, he said, "In the next life, please don't choose me." I realized then that he was neither mute nor afflicted with OCD. His silence and aversion were directed solely at me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day we chose the bodyguards. This time, I'd grant his wish.

My sister had always despised school. So when she suddenly declared she wanted to go to college—and even urged our parents to marry me off to a high-ranking officer's son to fund her studies—I knew at once: she had been reborn too. In our previous life, my sister believed studying was pointless. She barely graduated high school before marrying Anthony Brown, the officer's son who had come to propose with a pretty penny. However, when Anthony was later transferred to a remote outpost, she found the harsh conditions unbearable and refused to follow him. Meanwhile, I worked part-time jobs to put myself through college, landed a secure job after graduation, and became a full-fledged city resident. My sister, still living in the military compound, started using her father-in-law's name to take bribes. Her actions dragged him into a scandal and got him dismissed from his position. Eventually, my mother-in-law kicked her out. After the divorce, she was tricked into investing in stocks in Eastbridge City. The market crashed, and she lost all of our parents' retirement savings. Desperate and with nowhere to go, she turned to me. Cornering me with a knife, she demanded I hand over my savings and apartment so she could "start over." In the chaos, she stabbed me twelve times. I died from massive blood loss. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment she asked our parents to marry me off to Anthony. This time, I smiled, said yes—and dropped out of school that very day.

That winter, the Silver Moon Pack holds its annual ski hunt. An avalanche strikes without warning, and the three of us are trapped in a lift pod. There's only one thermal suit left. My mate, Ryan Mercer, gives the thermal suit to me. I survive, but his childhood sweetheart, Eve Hurst, is buried forever beneath the endless white of the mountain. No body is ever found. However, he gazes at me with devotion and says, "Celine Bartlett, you are the love of my life." I soak in those words, believing them. But I have no idea this is the beginning of my nightmare. For the next five years, he speaks to me only with cruelty. "You killed Eve. You're a murderer!" He locks me in the basement and whips me with lashes soaked in wolfsbane. Then, he pretends to show pity and feeds me with a silver fork. When I refuse, he stabs me with silver nails across my legs, carving deep red lines into my skin. "This is what you owe her, and you will repay it!" When I ask for a reject, he stabs a silver dagger into my chest, dragging me into death with him. When I open my eyes, I find myself back on the day of the avalanche. This time, I hand the survival gear to Eve without hesitation. This time, I owe her nothing. And now, I want to see whether they will get their happy ending without me around.

On the day of our tenth wedding anniversary, my wife, Cara Dempsey, jumped from ten thousand feet in the air after hearing that her first love's plane had crashed. It was only then that I finally understood the only man she ever truly loved all these years was Luthen Waltz. When we were both sent back in time to relive our teenage years, she wasted no time making a grand, public confession to Luthen, completely cutting ties with me. I just stood there, watching the two of them kiss like they couldn’t bear to be apart, and in that moment, my heart felt nothing. From that day on, we were over, and we lived our separate lives. Ten years later, we crossed paths again at a five-star hotel in Harbor City. She, who had become a celebrity adored by the world, was wearing a gown, laughing in Luthen’s arms. When she saw me wandering through the hotel, searching for someone, she thought I had come looking for her. “George, stop wasting your time! Even in ten years, I will never choose you!” I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked toward the little girl running toward me, calling me Dad, and gave her the warmest smile. Cara’s expression froze. Tears welled in her eyes as she choked out, “You lied to me, didn’t you? You said you hated kids and that you’d only ever love me.”

Adrian Quirrel, the heir to the Quirrel family, had been in poor health since childhood. Guided by the old superstition that marriage could restore his health, his family had taken in four young women, with only one to be chosen as his bride. On the selection day, they invited a renowned astrologer to read our birth charts. As soon as he said I carried a healing energy and could bear healthy heirs, the Quirrels decided on the spot that I would be Adrian's bride. Three months later, his health miraculously improved, and I soon found myself pregnant with twins—a boy and a girl. The family elders were ecstatic and even promised that my son would become the Quirrels' future heir. But on the night of the christening, Adrian locked me and the babies in the basement. I broke down and demanded an explanation. He sneered and replied, "If it weren't for your so-called 'healing energy,' Emily would've been my wife. "She wouldn't have jumped to her death at such a young age if she hadn't been pushed to that point. Tonight, I want you and your children to accompany her in death." He grabbed a nearby iron rod and savagely brought it down onto our babies. I threw myself over the babies, but Adrian kicked me aside. Blood splattered across the walls and floor, and my babies' breathing gradually weakened until it stopped. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Adrian chose his bride.

When Alexander Smith stands in front of me and says he's going to marry someone else, that's when I realize he's been reborn too. I remember our 20 years of love in our past life. A plane crash. And then, rebirth. "This is to save Sophia," he says. "In our past life, she was sold to a Vostmark oligarch after her father's political scandal. Not long after, she took her own life due to abuse. I can't let that tragedy happen again, so I need to get engaged to her." As he speaks, he hands me an orange prescription bottle. "If you take this, you'll forget me for a little while. You won't feel the pain. It's just seven days. Once her father's scandal blows over, you'll stop the medication and your memory will return. Then I'll end the engagement and officially propose to you." I stare at the bottle, knowing it's a lie. Not the part about Sophia's suicide. The lie is about the drug. He thinks it only causes temporary memory loss. But I know better. The suppressant causes permanent damage to emotional memory. The seven-day countdown isn't the time it takes for my memories to return. It's the time it takes for my love for him to die.

The day I went into labor with the twins, I bribed the family doctor to shoot me up with every heavy-duty suppressant he could get his hands on. Anything to stall the birth. Why? Because in my last life, Vincent—my husband, the Don—claimed to have a low sperm count. To guarantee an heir, he lined up ten mistresses and told the whole house: whoever popped out a son first, her kid would be the next Corleone Don. He promised if I delivered first, he'd ditch the others. Said our baby would inherit the throne. I bought every word. When I found out I was carrying twins, I couldn't stop shaking—I thought I'd won. But after I gave birth, he tossed me and the babies into the freezing wine cellar and locked the place down. "Lucy came from nothing. I just wanted to give her kid a name. You started rumors, pushed her into despair, and now she's dead—her and the baby. You're vile. Not fit to be the Don's wife. Think about what you've done. I'll open the door in three days." Then he had the butler seal it shut. What he didn't know? That night, the cellar caught fire. Me and my babies? Burned alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back—right before labor. This time, I'm not staying. Soon as I deliver and get back on my feet, I'm taking my kids and disappearing for good.

My mother-in-law got kidnapped, but my powerful husband, who ran both sides of the law, was too busy throwing a birthday bash for his old flame's dog. The kidnappers warned them they'd kill her if he didn't show up. I didn't beg him to act because, in my past life, I dragged him away from that party despite being eight months pregnant to save his mom. His old flame, who tagged along, got spotted by the kidnappers' lookout. They assaulted her and brutally killed her. Her body parts were left to be eaten by dogs. Furious, he gunned down the culprits and vanished for a month. When he returned, he never mentioned it. Then I gave birth to our son and was full of joy. But he threw me into the woods, weak and defenseless. Wild animals tore me apart, leaving nothing behind. "You were jealous of Alicia and had the kidnappers kill her?" he accused. "You don't deserve her happiness." When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day his mom got kidnapped.

In the Sinclair pack, I had always been different. Years ago, my grandfather saved the Elder’s life. To repay that debt, the Elder promised that one of his grandsons would become my mate. In my first life, on the night of the Blood Moon, he asked me, “Evelyn, who will you choose?” Blushing, I pointed to the brightest star of the tribe, Andrew Sinclair. But after our wedding, he kept me at a distance. I was confused—until one night, I opened the wrong door. Andrew was on one knee, clutching my cousin Clara’s portrait as if it were his lifeline. His body moved in a way that made my heart twist. My world collapsed. He had never loved me. His heart—his desire—had always belonged to her. Darkness swallowed me, body and soul. My husband lied to me and betrayed the oath we had sworn to the Moon Goddess. The cruel truth broke me, and sickness followed. I died with his child inside me—alone. But the moon gave me another chance. I woke again on that same night. The Elder smiled down at me. Four portraits lay before him. “Evelyn, tonight is your twenty-first rite. Who will you choose?” “You’ve always chased Andrew,” he said kindly. “It must be him—” “No!” The hall fell silent. “Grandfather… I don’t want Andrew.” In panic, I snatched a portrait. “I want him!” The boy on the page wore black. His skin was pale, his lips curved in a mad, crooked smile. William Sinclair. The sick wolf. The one everyone mocked. But I remembered how he had tried to help me find a good doctor. He was the only one who had cared about me when I was dying. And yes—this time, I chose him.