Sea Rebirth: They Don’t Deserve It

1
When the story ended, I, the designated villainess, lost everything.
My own brother had me committed to a psychiatric hospital.
My fate was to be tormented until I died.
But I refused to let them control even the way I died. At the fairytale wedding of the story's beloved heroine, in front of all the glittering guests, I threw myself into the sea.
And just like that, Port Sterling lost its most outrageously wicked heiress.
In her place, a small-time food vendor appeared on the streets of Riverbend, hawking braised meats from a cart.
Until three years later, when a man stopped in front of my stall.
He asked me if I wanted to go back and burn it all to the ground.
...
I kept my head down, my knife moving deftly as I sliced beef on the cutting board.
An old regular, one of my best customers, kept shooting glances at the man standing silently before my cart. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him and he leaned in.
"Bea," he whispered, "who's this guy? You know friends this rich, why are you out here selling braised pork knuckles?"
My knife came down with a final, clean chop. I lifted my head, my gaze skipping over the old man and landing on Caleb Thorne, my voice even.
"Oh, him?"
"He used to be one of our house staff."
The old man let out a short, barking laugh, as if Id told the funniest joke hed ever heard.
"Get outta here! The way you pinch every penny, you? A high-society lady?"
"A real heiress wouldn't last a day out here," he said, picking up his bag with a grin. "She'd be crying for her daddy by lunchtime."
He walked away, still chuckling.
I pulled off my disposable gloves and smiled too.
He was right. I was Bea, the woman who'd been selling braised meats on this street for two years.
Not Beatrice Parish, the arrogant, couture-clad heiress of Port Sterling.
My smile faded. I put my hands on my hips and called out to the lingering customers. "Alright, show's over, folks! Come and get it! Last three pork knuckles for the day! When they're gone, I'm gone!"
I sold the last one, packed it up, and watched the crowd disperse.
Only then did a voice, tight with emotion, break the silence.
"Beatrice."
"Are you going to hide in this place and sling food for the rest of your life?"
I didn't turn around. I just kept scrubbing the heavy pot under the faucet, the scouring pad scraping against the metal.
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was trembling.
"Bea, your brother Larry is looking for you, too. If you want to go back, I'll help you this time. I swear it."
I shut off the water. The sudden silence was deafening.
"Help me?"
I turned, hoisting the clean pot onto the cart with a loud clang.
"Caleb, is there anything left on me that you could possibly want?"
Hed said he would help me once before.
The result was him helping my brother drive the final, most vicious knife into my back.

2
Three years ago, after the heroine, Clara, got into a minor car accident, my brother and my childhood sweetheart jointly cornered me, leaving me with no way out.
My father, on his deathbed, secretly pressed a card and a small USB drive into my hand.
"Beatrice, go," hed rasped. "Go now! To Switzerland. There's enough money there for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life... Don't ever come back!"
It was my only escape route in a world that had turned against me.
I told no one. I only called Caleb.
The one person I thought would leave a window open for me, even if the rest of the world wanted me dead.
When I handed him the plane ticket, I didn't notice the conflict warring in his eyes. It wasn't until my limbs grew weak and my vision blurred that a cold dread washed over me.
In the last second before I lost consciousness, I saw him pull the USB drive from my pocket.
"Bea," he'd said, his voice devoid of all warmth. "People have to pay for their mistakes."
When I woke up, I was in a psychiatric hospital.
Later, on a newspaper I was allowed to read once a week, I saw the engagement announcement for Clara and Victor.
The article gushed about the bride's staggering dowry, a fortune that would secure her place in high society.
The amount they quoted was, to the dollar, the exact sum my father had left for me.
How absurdly tragic.
My father's last act of love for me had become the glittering centerpiece of her wedding.
And now, the architect of my ruin was standing before me, his voice choked with emotion.
"Bea, why do you have to be so stubborn!"
"Three years ago, you threw yourself into the sea right in front of us! Have you ever thought about how the people you left behind have been living?!"
"Or are you so unafraid of death that you're somehow afraid to go back with me?"
I gave him a long, cool look.
His eyes were red with frustration.
I thought for a moment. "I'll apologize to Clara," I said.
Caleb, his eyes still fixed on me, flinched. "What?"
I smiled. "For ruining her wedding three years ago. I sincerely regret it. But please, assure her that her brilliant, happy life will no longer be troubled by my existence."
"And you can rest easy, too. I swear on my father's grave, I will never, ever interfere with your perfect little happy ending."
So please, just leave me alone.
Don't stand here with your false sincerity, talking about taking me back to reclaim what's mine.
He was just mad that Id ruined the wedding of his precious goddess, Clara, and this was his new, twisted way of messing with me.
Caleb stood frozen, staring at me, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.
I took the opportunity to hop on my tricycle cart and pedal away as fast as I could.
In the small rearview mirror, I saw him clutch his chest and slowly sink to his knees, his face as white as a sheet.
I pushed harder on the pedals.
After all, I didn't have any money for him to scam out of me this time.

3
I had no idea what had gone wrong with Clara and her little fan club.
But I, the villainess, had survived. And Caleb, the original arch-villain, had somehow switched sides to join the heroes.
The entire plot must have become a complete mess.
Sure enough, the day after Caleb showed up, my brother, Larry, appeared downstairs from my apartment.
When I came down, he was holding the tarp covering my tricycle between two fingers, as if touching something foul. The sight of my shabby little cart seemed to physically revolt him; his knuckles were white.
He heard my footsteps and stiffened before slowly turning around.
The moment he saw me, his eyes widened in shock. He scanned me from head to toe, over and over again.
I stood there, letting him take in my worn clothes, my cheap shoes, my entire pathetic existence.
After a long moment, he looked away, unable to meet my eyes. His voice was hoarse.
"You really are alive"
"Thanks to you," I replied calmly. "Sorry to disappoint you by not dying in that asylum."
My words hit their mark. His chest heaved.
"Do you have to talk to me like this?"
"I'm I'm your brother, Bea"
Brother.
I hadn't used that word in a long, long time.
When we were kids, I followed Larry around like a little shadow, constantly chirping his name. He loved it, always swinging me up onto his shoulders and taking me out to play.
Back then, he was the brother I loved and trusted most in the world.
That's why, when I "awakened" at eighteen and realized he was the story's devoted second male lead, destined to lock me away, I ran to him in a panic.
Hed just laughed and tapped my forehead, telling me I'd been reading too many stupid novels.
He said he would abandon himself before he ever abandoned me.
I believed him.
But then Clara appeared.
And Larry forgot his promise.
Suddenly, I was spoiled. I was unreasonable.
A dress I loved? Hed say it would look purer on Clara.
A concert I wanted to go to? Clara was afraid of loud noises.
I told him again and again that I had never, ever done anything to hurt Clara, but he never once believed me.
He would just hold her close and look at me with an expression so foreign it made me tremble. "Beatrice, all the disgusting things you do don't you feel any shame?"
"I don't have a sister like you. Get out!"
In that moment, I knew. The brother who had loved me was gone forever.
All that was left was the character from the story, the man who only had eyes for the heroine.
And now this man was standing here, telling me he was my brother.
What kind of brother was he?
The thought slipped out. I actually asked him.
I can't describe the way his composure shattered. He looked at me, his face a mask of pain.
"Bea, three years ago, I never thought you would actually try to die. I was too"
"Is something wrong with Clara again?" I cut him off.
Larry stared at me blankly for a few seconds. "What?"
For both of them to show up out of the blue, acting like this the only reason I could think of was Clara.
I chose my words carefully, my guard up. "Was she kidnapped again? Or hit by another car?"
"You don't have to come all this way to lecture me. Whatever happened to her has nothing to do with me."
"I'm at the East Gate Market every afternoon and evening. I haven't missed a single day. Go ask the other vendors if you don't believe me."
"Besides," I added, gesturing to myself, "look at me. I obviously don't have the money to hire a hitman. So whatever happened to Clara, it wasn't me."
I said it all in one calm, even breath.
Larry just stood there, completely still.
I frowned. "Is there anything else?"
He snapped out of his trance, shaking his head. "No, it's not because of Clara."
"I just I just heard you were alive"
"Oh, so this is a preemptive strike? Worried I'll come back for revenge?"
"Yes, Caleb came to see me yesterday. Said he'd help me 'burn it all down.' But I know he was just messing with me. I turned him down."
"You can ask the market vendors"
"No!" Larry's voice cracked. "Bea, I just came to see my sister!"
"I really I just wanted to see my sister"
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
Then, I let out a snort of laughter.
The look on Larry's face became even more frantic, more pathetic.
"Sorry," I said, waving a hand. "It was just a really funny joke."
I met his bloodshot eyes again.
"Looking at you now, anyone who didn't know better would think you were the one who got locked in an asylum three years ago."
Larry tried to smile, to mirror my casual posture.
But the expression he managed was uglier than crying. His lips twitched, and he finally bowed his head, unable to look at me any longer.
"Bea, come home."
"Just for Dad's sake."
I froze, my hand on the cart.
Larry's voice was thick with emotion.
"When Dad was dying he was holding my hand, and the only name he said was yours."
"He wouldn't close his eyes. He begged me to protect you he just kept begging me"
"I"
"Shut up!"
"Just shut your mouth!"
I lost control. I grabbed whatever was on my cart and started hurling it at him.
He didn't move, didn't even try to dodge as a jar of spices struck his forehead, leaving a dark red welt.
"You have no right to talk about my father!"
"Larry, you're a monster! An animal!"
"I begged you! I got on my knees and begged you!"
"I said I was wrong, that you could kill me, just let me out to see him one last time!"
"I bashed my head on the floor until it was covered in blood! But you still said no! You said if Dad knew what I'd done, the shock would kill him!"
But all along, when I thought the entire world had abandoned me, my father was thinking of me in his final moments.
I clawed at my own hair, a wave of agony washing over me.
The tears I never shednot when they gave me electroshock, not when they strapped me down and forced pills down my throatcame pouring out now.
Larry remained crouched on the ground, his shoulders shaking violently, his voice shattered.
"I was possessed Clara said if you got out, you'd try to take her down with you that you'd ruin Dad's reputation I believed her God, I actually believed her"
"So you let me miss his last moments?"
I rushed at him, grabbing the collar of his shirt, forcing him to look into my tear-filled eyes.
"You let me hear the news of his death in a psychiatric ward! You wouldn't even let me go to his funeral!"
"Larry, what kind of brother are you!"
"I'm begging you, all of you! Just have some mercy! I don't have a father, I don't have a brother! I have nothing left! I can't hurt Clara anymore!"
"So why are you showing up in my life again?!"
"I was lucky not to die three years ago! Do I have to actually die in front of you before you'll finally be satisfied?!"
Larry let me shake him, tears streaming down his face.
"I know I know you hate me"
"Bea, come back to the family. I'll give everything back to you"
"I'll atone for what I did. I'll listen to Dad. I'll protect you"
I slapped him. A vicious, resounding crack that echoed in the quiet alley.
His head snapped to the side, a red handprint already blooming on his cheek.
"My brother," I said, my voice dead, "died a long time ago."
My quiet life was shattered.
Caleb and Larry were like a curse, bringing nothing but trouble.
I was taken from my own apartment.
When I came to, I was tied to a pillar on a beach.
Tied to another pillar not far from me was Clara.
Seeing I was awake, she gave me a brilliant smile.
"Beatrice. I can't believe you're still alive."
"But that's okay. Since you didn't die then, we can play a little game now."
"Right about now, your brother, your childhood sweetheart, and your little lapdog should all be getting a text message saying we've been kidnapped together."
"But very soon, they'll also receive 'proof' that you were the one who orchestrated my kidnapping."
"So, let's guess. This time, who do you think will win?"
"The loser," she said, her smile widening, "gets to die. How does that sound?"
The icy seawater washed over my ankles, sending a violent shiver through my body.
I knew I would lose.
In any contest against Clara, I was always the loser.
But I couldn't die!
Dad's last wish was for me to live. I couldn't die.
As I struggled against the ropes, three cars screeched to a halt on the beach.
The doors flew open almost simultaneously.
Larry was the first one out. His face was chalk-white, and he was so frantic he'd lost a shoe. His panicked gaze darted between me and Clara.
Right behind him were Caleb and the story's male lead, Victor.
They all looked equally terrified.
Clara immediately began to sob. "Save Bea first," she cried weakly. "Don't worry about me"
I said nothing, twisting my wrists against the coarse rope. The tide was coming in fast, the saltwater already up to our chests. The raw, chafed skin on my wrists screamed in agony.
But I couldn't stop.
I wasn't the heroine. No one was coming to save me.
But in the next second: "Save Bea!"
"Get Bea first!"

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