Reborn To Take My Son and Leave My Cruel Wife

Even after I drowned saving Vanessa Wells, I wasn't afforded the courtesy of a remorseful widow, the kind you read about in tragic love stories. On the third day following my rushed, minimal funeral, she married her assistant. The wedding was obscenely lavish, but my portrait was tossed into the dustbin before the three-day mourning period was even over. From then on, no one in the Wells family dared speak my name. Neil, my four-year-old boy, rushed to grab his mother’s skirt, only to be roughly shoved aside. “Cameron Riley is gone! You’d better start calling Tristan Lowe ‘Dad’ right now, or you won’t last long in this house!” she snapped. “And you’ll be off to boarding school next month. Don’t think you’re going to interfere with Tristan and me trying for a baby.” My son hugged my urn and ran away, only to be hit by a car and die on the side of the road. Vanessa used the collection of paintings my father left me to stage a spectacular comeback, becoming the wealthiest woman in San Francisco and living to be ninety. It turned out that all those stories about evil meeting its just end were nothing but lies. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Vanessa nearly drowned. I understood then that it was no accident. My death in the first life was a casualty of a sick, twisted bet they made. This time, I would simply stand back and watch. “Dad!” A small, distressed voice snapped me back to the present. I felt a jolt run through my body. Neil, my son, all of four years old, was clinging to me, his small body soft and warm. The image of him running away, clutching my portrait and sobbing to find his father, only to be struck by a car—it seared into my brain. I had thrashed above, a powerless ghost, unable to stop it. My arms tightened around him instinctively. “Dad, I want to come with you on the boat, too,” Neil pleaded, looking up at me. The boat? I froze. Vanessa’s voice, cold and impatient, cut in from behind me, “Hurry up, what’s the hold-up?” I turned slowly. The woman I had loved a lifetime was approaching. She was still breathtakingly beautiful, but the sight of her now sent a chill straight to my bones. “If we’re late for the Bay Area Business Summit, you’ll answer to me!” I remembered. Today was the Summit, and today was the day I died in my first life. “Maybe we shouldn’t go.” Tristan Lowe, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, descended the grand staircase, naturally sliding his arm around Vanessa’s waist. “The little guy is frail, Nessa. The deck wind will only make him sick.” He shot me a look of pure provocation. But unlike before, I didn't lunge at him, didn't tear him away. When Neil shrieked, “Bad man, let go of my Mommy!” I simply shouted. “Neil, come here!” I picked up my son and calmly rose. “Mr. Lowe is right. Neil should stay home with Mrs. Wu.” A flicker of astonishment crossed Vanessa’s face. Three months ago, when I first discovered their affair, I had smashed her office, made a spectacle, and even begged her on my knees not to leave. In her eyes, my current composure was deeply unsettling. “Cameron…” she paused, studying me. “You’re finally being reasonable.” I didn't answer. I turned and walked upstairs. She was right. I shouldn’t go. In the first life, Neil had witnessed my drowning, and the trauma broke him. This time, I only needed him to be safe. I changed clothes and came back down. I didn't take Vanessa’s outstretched hand; I gave the passenger seat to Tristan and settled into the back. The yacht deck was cold. I stared out at the flat expanse of the bay. I couldn't help but think of the hospital morgue in the first life, of Vanessa clutching my body and crying—grief that seemed agonizingly real. Yet why, just three days later, did she trash my photo and let Tristan move in? Even if the love was gone, I was still the man who sacrificed himself for her. Just then, a muffled crash came from the cabin. Tristan poked his head out. Seeing no one nearby, he cautiously withdrew. “The PIs got all the evidence,” he whispered, though I could hear him clearly. “He was meeting that woman frequently… Nessa, he’s cheating on you!” “Enough!” Vanessa’s voice was tired. “I told you, you’ll be compensated. But as long as Cameron is alive, he is my only husband.” “Don’t you want to know if he still loves you?” Tristan hissed. Vanessa stopped dead. “If he jumps in after you, it proves he still does.” “And if he… doesn’t?” “Don’t worry, I have people ready for the rescue,” Tristan grabbed her arm. “It’s just a test, a confidence trick. There’s no real danger.” The silence that followed stretched on. Finally, Vanessa gave in, nodding. I almost burst out laughing. So that’s how I died in the first life—a casualty of their idiotic, half-baked suspicion. That woman was just a collector of rare handbags. Vanessa was obsessed with a limited-edition piece, and I was trying to buy it for her as a surprise. But she hadn't given me a chance to explain. A heavy splash sounded from the far end of the deck. “Honey, help me!” Vanessa was flailing and screaming in the frigid water. Last time, I jumped, and I lost my life. This time, I stood still, casually checking my phone. Tristan was stunned. “Mr. Riley! Aren’t you going to save her? Don’t you care about Ms. Wells’ safety?” “I have a terrible cold. Can’t risk getting wet,” I shrugged helplessly. “You look so concerned, Mr. Lowe. Why don’t you save her?” And with a swift push, I sent him tumbling over the railing. His shriek mixed with Vanessa’s gasping, and the water became a chaotic mess of splashing and yelling. I wiped my hands and pulled out my phone, sending two texts. One to my lawyer, instructing him to finalize the divorce papers. The other to my childhood rival and frenemy in France. [Keep a close eye on the painter Theo Dubois at the Saint Mary Hospital. I’ll make you a fortune.] The rescue team was fast. Neither of them died. Tristan woke up quickly. When I returned to the hospital room with a container of hot soup, he was gone. I walked towards the staff kitchen and overheard a hushed conversation. “The plan is ruined!” It was the deckhand’s voice. “Mr. Riley didn’t jump. We can’t testify that he pushed Ms. Wells’ head under to inherit the estate…” I held my breath. Was that the truth? No wonder, shortly after I died, the only thing Vanessa felt for me was hate. “Don’t panic,” Tristan’s voice was light. “His refusal to jump is all the proof we need that he doesn’t love her anymore.” “I have plenty of ways to break them up!” He leaned in close. “Besides, I still have my ace in the hole.” I couldn't hear the rest. Seeing them about to leave, I quickly slipped back into the hospital room. Vanessa was awake, her face ghostly pale. She yanked the IV out of her arm and seized my wrist. “Why… why didn’t you jump in after me?” I gently pulled free. “I have a cold. Not a good idea to go swimming.” She let go, looking stunned. “You… you weren’t like this before.” That’s right, before. In my first life, I emptied my father’s entire estate to help her rebuild her company. I gave up my career as an art buyer to support her. In the end, I gave my life, and I couldn't even save my only son. Just then, Tristan rushed in. He threw himself into Vanessa’s arms, holding her tightly. “Nessa, you scared me to death!” “Thank God I didn’t think twice and just jumped in…” As he spoke, Tristan glanced at me pointedly. I simply smiled and pulled out my phone, pressing play on the recording. “Mr. Lowe, you didn’t sound all that eager to jump, did you?” The conversation from the deck played clearly. “I have a cold. You save her.” Tristan’s high-pitched voice: “She’s your wife! What does she have to do with me?” “Don't you love her fiercely? Wouldn't it be great to die together if you can’t save her?” Then came the sound of a massive wave, almost submerging Vanessa, and Tristan’s terrified, shaking voice. “I don’t want to die! I have so much left to do!” His voice cracked as he stumbled backward, followed by the sound of him being shoved overboard. The recording cut off. Vanessa’s face was ashen. Tristan flushed, desperate to explain, but she pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Get out!” He whimpered, rising to leave, but his phone rang at the door. He turned back, his panic replaced by a smug, sudden confidence. He handed the phone to Vanessa. “I’ve been wondering why Mr. Riley was so quick to let you drown… until I saw this.” It was a paternity test report. The subjects were Vanessa Wells and Neil Riley. The conclusion on the last page was definitive: No biological relationship. Vanessa’s hand trembled. Her eyes, when she looked up, were bloodshot. She hurled the phone at me, demanding an explanation. I didn't catch it. “First, you swapped the baby Nessa gave birth to, then you planned for her to die in the boat crash, so your bastard could inherit the Wells family fortune, didn’t you?” Tristan expertly twisted the knife. “And then you’d use that money to live happily ever after with your mistress, right?” I remained silent. Vanessa shot up, pulling out her IV and yanking me toward the door. “We’re going for a retest right now! The truth will be obvious.” Tristan’s face went white. His nervousness was palpable. I shook off her hand. “I’m not going.” Vanessa grew frantic. “If you have nothing to hide, why are you scared?” “If the test proves I’ve been framed,” I pointed at her stomach, “will you abort the baby you’re carrying with Tristan? How about that?” Vanessa froze. I hadn’t known she was pregnant until the day I died in the first life. I had clung to the belief that they were just fooling around, that if I was pathetic enough, she would come back to me. “Two months, isn’t it?” I smiled, shifting my gaze to her slightly swollen abdomen. “About the same time you were pregnant with Neil.” Tristan gripped Vanessa’s sleeve tightly. “Cameron, what are you doing? The baby is innocent!” “Nothing at all.” I smirked. “Just reminding you that you need your prenatal vitamins to fight morning sickness. If you need a nutritionist, I can help you find one.” My calmness only made Vanessa frown. “You’re not angry? Not jealous?” I shook my head. “I’m a kept man. You’re carrying a Wells family heir. Why would I be jealous?” “Unless…” she choked up, her breathing accelerating, “your heart is no longer with me at all?” I offered no reply. “Neil is four. So you hooked up with your mistress four years ago, didn’t you? While I was working myself to the bone to make a comeback!” I watched her eyes turn scarlet, but I didn’t say a word. She knew, deep down, that if I’d been having an affair, I would have run off with the money long ago. Why would I have risked my father’s entire legacy to gamble on her? She just didn't want to believe me. My phone vibrated. It was the reply I’d been waiting for. [Theo is critically ill. His final works will double in price, at least.] I closed my eyes, recalling the twelve paintings I had left her as my estate. I pulled a crisp, warm document from my bag and slapped it against her chest. “Let’s get a divorce.” Vanessa stared at the words, Divorce Agreement, her pupils trembling. “What did you say?” “Divorce,” I repeated. “When there’s no trust between a couple, it’s best to go our separate ways.” “Do you really have to do this?” Her voice softened, a hint of a plea in it. “Just take the test. Just give me an answer…” “And what good will that do?” I cut her off. “Even if I prove my innocence, will you punish Tristan for this? Will you dare do an amniocentesis to give me the proof of your affair so I can sue you for divorce?” She immediately fell silent. “Divorce, divorce, that’s all you think about!” She suddenly flew into a rage, grabbing the agreement and throwing it back. “I know what this is! You want more money to support your mistress! I’m telling you, absolutely not! I won't sign this. If you want to leave, you’ll walk away with nothing!” I picked up the pen. With almost no hesitation, I signed my name. Quick and clean. Vanessa tried to stop me, but it was too late. “You…” her hand shook. “You really want to leave me, and you don’t care about anything else?” “I’ll only take what’s left of my things.” “Those few worthless paintings?” She tried to find a flicker of doubt in my eyes. “Cameron, think carefully…” “I have.” “Fine. Very well.” Her eyes were red as she nodded. She immediately called Mrs. Wu to pack my bags. She refused to stay in the hospital, insisting on going home with me. The moment we walked through the door, she grabbed Neil and ordered the staff to move my luggage into the maid’s quarters. “You have to stay here until the cooling-off period is over.” “Why?” “Because you are still my husband, the Wells family’s kept man!” “That’s unlawful confinement!” Tension hung thick between us. She was betting on me staying and seeing her and Tristan’s public displays of affection, hoping jealousy would force me to back down and retract the divorce papers. I didn't waste time arguing. I yanked my suitcase and turned to leave. But she suddenly grabbed Neil and slammed his head against the corner of the table. CRACK. A sickening thud, followed by a spray of blood. Neil screamed, clutching his head. I rushed over and held him, my entire body shaking. Vanessa quickly masked the brief flicker of panic in her eyes. “The child is hurt. You can’t drag him around looking for an apartment in this weather, can you?” I looked up at her, this stranger. I suddenly remembered the night of my car accident in the first life. I had shattered bones and ruptured organs, and Vanessa stood outside the operating room, red-eyed, begging the doctors to save me. Later, she cried, holding me, swearing eternal love. Now, she was deliberately hurting our son just to force me to stay. “Ms. Wells, please call a doctor.” I turned, my voice laced with fury. She gave a dismissive nod and then walked into the master bedroom with Tristan on her arm. Over the next few days, Tristan became the man of the house. I constantly found them intertwined in the living room, the dining room, or on the stairs. He accompanied her to every prenatal appointment, acting as the father. When he craved cake late one night, she ventured out in the snow to buy ingredients and baked until dawn. She ignored Neil and me entirely. My lawyer, however, kept calling to remind me of the cooling-off period countdown. That night, Neil asked, nestled in my arms, “Dad, are you really going to leave Mom?” “Yes.” “When are we going? I don’t want to be here anymore.” I checked my phone. Soon. Just two more days until the painter Theo Dubois dies, and Vanessa’s company welcomes disaster. Last time, she used the paintings my father left me to pull herself out of the wreckage. This time, I was getting there first. I opened my phone and sent a text to my connection. [Remember to come to the auction the day after tomorrow.] [If Theo is still alive, I’ll work in your gallery for life. You literally can’t lose.] After a moment of silence, she replied with one word. [Fine.] I went downstairs in my suit on the day of the auction. Vanessa was on Tristan’s arm and paused when she saw me. “Let’s go. The car’s warm.” I strode over, nudged Tristan out of the way, and offered Vanessa my arm. The corner of her mouth twitched. “Did you change your mind about the divorce?” I just smiled, my gaze sweeping over the trunk. I got into the passenger seat. In the rearview mirror, Tristan looked ready to kill me with his eyes. Vanessa was in good spirits, talking non-stop about the items she was interested in bidding on. I, however, was distracted, either looking at my phone or staring out the window. At the venue, I deliberately chose a seat far away from them. Vanessa stared at me. “Sitting that far away? Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the media?” “We’re getting a divorce,” I chuckled. “Does it matter if we sit together?” Her face darkened. She immediately bought three diamond watch sets for Tristan. “To the most important man in my life,” she announced loudly. Reporters, sniffing gossip, swarmed over. “Ms. Wells, has your marriage to Mr. Riley officially broken down?” She didn't confirm or deny, just looked over at me, waiting for me to jump in and defend her. I said nothing. I remained a quiet spectator throughout the auction. Tristan beamed, showing off the watches, but Vanessa’s face grew darker and darker. Towards the end, I stood up. I glanced at the familiar figure in the corner, then walked onto the stage in my polished shoes. “Ladies and gentlemen, I also have a few paintings to auction today. They were part of my late father’s estate.” Whispers erupted in the audience. “Why is Mr. Riley selling his father’s belongings? Is the divorce with Ms. Wells really happening?” I took the microphone. “Vanessa and I are in the middle of a divorce. She requires me to walk away with nothing, so I need to sell the paintings for cash.” The media instantly erupted. “Is this because of Mr. Lowe?” Vanessa’s face was livid. She clenched her fist and sneered, “How much are a few worthless paintings going to fetch?” She was right. The painter Theo Dubois was virtually unknown at the moment. But after his death—which was today—the twelve paintings in the series would be worth a fortune. “Stop the drama, Cameron,” she said, her voice strained with anger. “I’ll raise your allowance if you’re short on cash, or I’ll buy the paintings at a low price as a charity donation.” “No, thank you.” I waved her off. “Ms. Wells should save her money for Mr. Lowe’s watches. These paintings will go to someone who understands their value.” The auction room fell silent. No one raised a paddle. Vanessa raised an eyebrow, about to speak, when a voice from the corner interrupted. “Three million.” It was her. Susie Kensington. Vanessa clearly recognized her. “Is she the mistress?” She grabbed my wrist. I pulled free forcefully. “Ms. Wells, please maintain your composure. If you’re not interested in the remaining lots, you’re free to leave.” “Nessa,” Tristan tugged at her sleeve. “I don’t feel well. Let’s go home.” Vanessa shot me a venomous look and turned away. As she was about to step into the car, she received an international news alert on her phone. At the same moment, the distinct pinging of phones went off throughout the auction hall. Vanessa froze. [The renowned French painter, Theo Dubois, passed away this morning. The value of his final works is expected to skyrocket.] She whirled around. By the time she returned, the bidding inside had multiplied several times over. “I’m adding another bid! Five million! I want them!” Security guards held her back, breathless. “Anyone who leaves the room may not participate in the bidding.” I smirked, then brought the hammer down. “Sold for thirty million to Ms. Susie Kensington.” Vanessa was rigid. I watched Susie rise from the corner and give me a small, knowing smile. Within the next half hour, the Wells Group would face disaster. And she had missed her only chance to turn the tide.

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