Rebirth: A Second chance at life
Chapter 98: He will save me..

Chapter 98: He will save me..

The engine hummed quietly as she drove into the moonlit night, winding through the narrow turns of the mountain road.

The silver reflection of the sea shimmered beside her, casting a calm glow, almost ironic after the storm she had just caused.

For a moment, it felt peaceful. Her foot pressed lightly on the pedal, and the wind played with her loose strands of hair.

But her mind wasn’t at ease. There were still too many unanswered questions. Too many shadows tied to her past. The further she looked, the deeper the web grew.

Somewhere far across the city, another storm was brewing.

Veronica paced in her room like a caged beast. Her phone remained still on the table, the screen blank. No updates. No news from Tom, the leader of the Shark Gang.

Her nerves were fraying.

She had made a promise. One she couldn’t afford to break. The faceless benefactor who had promised her a place in the Queen Group had one condition—kill Aurora within two days. Simple.

Her lips trembled with frustration. "Why is this girl so damn hard to get rid of?"

She hadn’t slept properly in days. Her usually composed demeanor was cracking. Every second that passed without an update from Tom drove her deeper into anxiety.

She stared at the clock. 3:27 a.m.

Pacing again.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed.

Her breath caught.

She lunged for it, expecting an update—hoping for it.

One message.

She opened it.

Her eyes scanned the screen once. Then again.

And again.

The phone slipped from her hands and clattered to the ground.

She stood frozen, face pale.

Then, without warning—

She collapsed to her knees.

The last thing she heard before her world blurred was her own voice, whispering, "No... It can’t be..."

She was devastated.

Her hands trembled as she stared at the message on her screen. Her lips parted in disbelief.

How could this be? Tom—one of the finest assassins she had ever known, a man whose very name made enemies quiver—had been captured.

Captured.

The words echoed in her head like a death knell. It wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be. Tom wasn’t just a killer—he was a ghost, a phantom in the shadows, one of the few who could match her expertise in infiltration and combat.

But the message said otherwise.

It had come from one of her most trusted subordinates—coded, verified, and unmistakably real.

The short, sharp message read:

"Tom has been captured. The Sharks are under attack. Some members blame you. They are coming."

Her chest clenched.

"The whole gang... targeted?" she muttered, a look of panic dawning in her sharp eyes. She couldn’t believe it.

The Sharks were no ordinary street gang—they were trained, ruthless, and loyal to no one but themselves.

For someone to capture Tom and dare to challenge the Sharks as a whole?

Whoever it was... was beyond powerful.

Veronica’s legs gave way, and she sank onto the floor for a moment, shaking.

"They’ll kill me," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Some of the Shark members... they were already blaming her.

Tom had vouched for her. Tom had agreed to help her with her secret mission. And now he’s gone...

They would see her as the root of their downfall, the snake that lured their leader to ruin.

Fear struck her like a dagger to the gut.

No one could protect her now... except for one person.

She stumbled to her feet, grabbed her keys with trembling hands, and rushed out. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers fumbling with the ignition.

But as soon as the engine roared to life, her purpose returned.

"Alexander... he’ll save me," she whispered to herself.

She sped through the dark streets like a banshee fleeing death. Her voice shook as she murmured to herself, desperate for reassurance.

"He loves me... doesn’t he? I’m the one who saved him. He owes me. He said he would never forget it."

Her nails dug into the steering wheel.

He will save me.

She pressed harder on the accelerator, heading straight for Alexander’s mansion.

—

Meanwhile, at the Brown estate, Alexander was seated alone in his darkened study, a glass of aged scotch in hand.

The sharp burn in his throat did nothing to dull the unrest in his heart. He had been drinking, but not enough to forget.

In his mind, the scene kept replaying—like a broken film stuck on loop.

Aurora.

She was no longer the timid, weak girl who trailed after him like a lost puppy. Today... she had appeared like a storm.

Earlier that day, he had gone to Summer High to confront her. He had questions—too many questions that had begun to haunt him.

But when he got there, he didn’t get the chance to ask anything.

Instead, he saw her—with another man.

The same man he’d seen before, outside the restaurant. Sharp features, dark eyes, the kind of presence that commanded attention without trying.

And the way that man looked at her... even in passing... it made Alexander’s blood boil.

He wasn’t just protective. He was admiring her.

It was a look Alexander hadn’t seen before. A gaze filled with reverence. Possessiveness. Desire.

And then she drove off—so fast, so confidently. He had followed her without thinking, something tugging at his instincts. Something primal.

And then came the shock.

Black SUVs. Multiple.

Following her at high speed along a deserted mountain road.

Who the hell was trying to kill her?

He had followed, heart pounding, his gut screaming that she was in danger. But by the time he reached the location, what he saw knocked the breath out of him.

Aurora—his once timid, quiet wife—was fighting.

No, she wasn’t just fighting. She was dominating.

The assassins came at her in coordinated attacks, but she moved like a phantom, each motion precise, deadly, and fluid.

And that man—he was there too, moving in sync with her, like they had trained together for years.

Alexander had hidden himself instinctively, his breath caught in his throat.

He hadn’t seen anything like it before. That wasn’t desperation. That was mastery.

Who the hell are you? he had thought.

Now, sitting alone in the silence of the mansion, he downed another shot of scotch.

She had changed.

The Aurora he knew clung to him, sought his approval, cried when he so much as ignored her. She had once begged him not to leave.

But now?

She had asked for a divorce with such calm finality, like she had already moved on. No tears. No tantrums. No pleading.

It unsettled him.

He mocked himself, chuckling bitterly.

"She probably found someone else to cling to," he muttered aloud, his words tasting sour.

But even as he said it, the unease in his heart didn’t subside. Something had slipped through his fingers, something he didn’t know he cared about until it was too late.

And it irritated the hell out of him.

He tossed the empty glass aside with a frustrated grunt. It clattered on the marble floor and shattered.