Reborn Again

My mother brought me into the Hayes family when she married Mr. Hayes. That's when I first laid eyes on my stepbrother, Jackson Hayes, and fell completely, hopelessly in love.

To be his wife, I clung to him relentlessly, alienating friends and family alike. Eventually, I got what I wanted.

But after we married, Jackson remained as distant as ever. Even in our most intimate moments, there was no warmth, just a cold, empty physical release.

One night, at a dimly lit bar, I overheard his friends asking him, "Why did you give up on Leslie Olson, the elegant heiress, to marry Astrid Sheen, your willful, naive stepsister?"

Jackson had simply chuckled, a weary, almost resigned sound. "Just responsibility," he'd said. "She wouldn't survive without me."

He didn't love me. He was merely paying for our foolish drunken mistake.

I stumbled out of the bar, my mind a blur, only to be struck by a speeding sports car and flung back to my seventeenth year.

Given a second chance, I vowed to mend the regrets of my past, with one crucial exception: I would no longer chase Jackson Hayes.

Yet, that very night, Jackson cornered me against the door, his eyes glistening with unshed tears for the first time in either of our lives.

"Astrid Sheen," he pleaded, his voice raw, "Look at me. I love you too"

The exact moment I realized I'd been reborn, I was standing by the dining table, holding a steaming Dutch oven.

"Astrid? Why are you just standing there? Put that pot down, it's scalding hot!" My mom's anxious voice snapped me back to the present.

I quickly lowered the heavy pot, but my fingertips were already flushed scarlet.

Everyone at the table was looking at me: Mom, my stepfather Mr. Hayes, and Jackson.

This was the day I'd insisted on cooking a special breakfast stew for Jackson, knowing he suffered from stomach issues.

I'd nearly set the kitchen on fire, terrifying poor Mrs. Miller, our housekeeper, half to death.

My gaze instinctively found Jackson. My stepbrother. His sharp eyebrows were subtly furrowed, his thin lips pressed into a tight line. His eyes, fixed on me, held a hint of impatience.

I gave a self-deprecating smile. No matter how much I'd poured out my heart, it had always been a futile, one-sided affair.

In my previous life, at this very moment, I'd declared with a heart full of hope, "Jackson, this is a special stew I made just for you! Please try it and tell me if it's good. If you like it, I'll make it for you every day!"

All the boundless affection of a young girl had been slow-cooked into those tender, savory grains.

But Jackson had simply frowned, his gaze flicking to my reddened hand. "The Hayes household has a housekeeper, Astrid. There's no need for you to do such unnecessary things."

I'd frozen on the spot. Later, I'd cried myself to sleep, only to wipe away my tears the next morning and resume being Jackson's devoted shadow.

Thinking of that, I took the first bowl and served it to my stepfather, Mr. Hayes, who sat at the head of the table. I gave him a sweet, playful smile.

"Dad, Mom said you've been working so hard lately, so I made this special stew to help you feel better."

Mr. Hayes's face registered a flicker of surprise, then he burst into hearty laughter. "Ah, a daughter's thoughtfulness is truly unmatched! I won't enjoy this stew for free, young lady. Your allowance will go up by a thousand next month!"

I thanked him with feigned delight, then served a bowl to Mom. "It's my first time cooking, Mom," I said, putting on a pout. "You simply have to praise me."

I placed the third bowl in front of myself, then sat down and began to eat. A subtle awkwardness settled over the table.

Mrs. Miller, sensing the shift, started to clear her throat, moving to serve Jackson. "Mrs. Miller," I said, my voice deliberately casual, "Jackson doesn't care for stew. Don't trouble yourself."

Jackson's fork paused mid-air. He said nothing, a silent acceptance. Mrs. Miller halted her movements.

I slowly ate my stew, a silent vow forming in my mind. Jackson Hayes, I, Astrid Sheen, will never again do a single thing for you, nor shed another tear.

Soon after dinner, there was a knock at my door. It was Mom.

She was dressed in a pearl-white silk nightgown, her face bare of makeup yet still stunningly beautiful. A stark contrast to the previous life, where worry had etched fine lines across her face because of me.

I couldn't help but throw myself into her arms. In my last life, the person I'd wronged most wasn't myself, but her.

After she divorced my birth father, she'd married Mr. Hayes. Back then, I hadn't understood her, believing she was superficial and greedy, betraying my own father.

All the while, Mom endured my unreasonable tantrums, struggling to maintain her delicate position within their affluent circle.

When my infatuation with Jacksonand the drunken night we'd spent togethercame to light, the Hayes family was furious. Jackson faced their severe reprimand, and I was thrown out of the house.

Mom begged me to go back and apologize, but I'd screamed at her, "I haven't done anything wrong! I'm pursuing true love! I'm not like you, driven by greed and vanity, fickle and untrustworthy!"

I'd stood there, chin defiantly raised, but her hand never struck. She left in tears, yet every month, she'd still transferred thousands of dollars to me, terrified I'd suffer out in the world.

Later, when I finally married Jackson, Mom's life within the Hayes household became even more difficult, and she grew increasingly melancholic.

It was only then I learned my birth father owed a substantial amount of money. Mom, fearing the creditors would harm me, had rushed to marry Mr. Hayes, seeking their protection.

And I had brutally broken her heart.

Now, smelling her familiar scent, tears welled up uncontrollably.

Mom gently patted my back, soothing me. "What's wrong, my little princess? Are your fingers still hurting? Let Mom put some cream on them."

She took out a tube of burn cream and gently massaged it in. "My sweet girl is growing up. Thank you for calling him 'Dad' today. I promise you, darling, I'll never let you suffer any injustice again."

With tears still clinging to my eyelashes, I grinned. "As long as you're happy, Mom, I'd call him anything he wants!"

"What nonsense are you talking, you silly girl! Look at your hand, so burned. Please, darling, never step foot in the kitchen again."

Her movements softened even more. "Jackson said this burn cream is the most effective. Your hand will definitely feel better by morning."

I paused. "Jackson, you mean?"

"Yes. The house ran out of burn cream, and I was just about to go buy some when Jackson came back from outside and handed me a tube."

"He said he bought it by mistake, that he'd grabbed the wrong one. He's such a private boy, always a bit awkward. But he's truly a good brother, cold on the outside, warm on the inside"

The burn cream in front of me was the exact same brand Mom had given me in my previous life. Had Jackson bought it then too?

I pursed my lips. What a performative gesture. Disgusting.

The next morning, when I came down for breakfast, Jackson had already finished. His empty bowl still sat on the dining table.

The air held a faint, savory aroma. "Mrs. Miller, did you make that breakfast stew?"

Mrs. Miller glanced at Jackson, then stammered a little. "No, Miss Astrid, no stew. I prepared some mini quiches. Would you like a few?"

Strange. Too tired to ponder it, I replied, "I'll have eight, please. And a generous drizzle of good olive oil, thank you, Mrs. Miller."

Before the quiches were ready, Mr. Hayes and Mom came downstairs. There was a pleasant atmosphere between them, and I felt genuinely happy for her.

If their relationship was strong, Mom would have unwavering support within the Hayes household.

After finishing my mini quiches and the usual boiled egg, I stood up, ready to head to school. "Mom, Dad, could I have the driver take me to and from school from now on?"

Jackson's hand, which had been reaching out towards my backpack, froze awkwardly above it, then slowly lowered.

Mr. Hayes and Mom exchanged puzzled glances. "Astrid, you've been a little odd since yesterday. Weren't you the one who always insisted Jackson drive you, even if it meant taking the long way?"

I lowered my gaze. "I was thoughtless before. Jackson just took over the company; he's incredibly busy. He really shouldn't have to drive me."

Mr. Hayes nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Astrid's grown up. Alright, then Old Man Robert will drive you from now on."

At the word "brother," Jackson's body gave a subtle tremor.

In my past life, I had always refused to truly acknowledge Jackson as my brother, stubbornly calling him "Jackson" instead of "brother Jackson." Even after we married, in moments of passion, I'd sometimes slip and call out "brother." He would always tremble, then fiercely tell me to shut up.

Sleepless last night, I'd come to a realization. I didn't truly hate Jackson. Even if he hadn't loved me, he had never mistreated me.

What I hated more was the foolish moth-like devotion within myself

Jackson's deep voice interrupted my thoughts. "Dad, Mom," he said, using the casual address for his stepmother, "since Astrid doesn't need a ride, I'll head to the office now."

His expression was unreadable as he turned and walked away, his long legs carrying him swiftly. I let out a breath of relief. This life, we would simply be step-siblings.

Standing at the classroom door, I felt a wave of disorientation. It had been years since graduation; who could possibly remember their senior year seating arrangement?

Thankfully, I still had my best friend, Chloe. Round-faced, with a messy bun and black-rimmed glasses, Chloe Thorne suddenly tackled me from behind. "Wifey! Were you waiting for me?"

I turned and playfully pinched her cheek. "Of course I was."

I followed Chloe to our shared desk. Glancing at the day's schedule on the whiteboard, I pulled out my math textbook.

I asked, feigning casualness, "Where did we leave off in math yesterday?"

Chloe stared at me, her face a mask of horror. "Whoever you are, get off my wifey! Astrid Sheen would never, EVER utter the word 'math' during morning homeroom, a sacred time for gossip!"

I rolled my eyes, wanting to tease her. "Alright, I'll tell you the truth: I'm reborn. In my last life, I just missed out on my dream university. This time, I swear I'm going to study hard and reclaim everything that should have been mine"

Chloe's eyes widened. "Really? Then can you tell me next week's lottery numbers?"

I spread my hands. "Sadly, no. But I can tell you this year's English Literature essay topic."

I scribbled a line on a piece of paper: "A single bloom does not make a spring."

Chloe giggled, tucking the paper into her English notebook. "My wifey's never wrong! I'm going home tonight to memorize sample essays!"

Watching Chloe's radiant smile, my nose prickled. In my past life, she'd worked so hard, only to miss her dream university by a single point.

The pressure of retaking the entrance exams had been too much; her personality had completely changed, and we'd gradually lost touch.

And me? My head was always full of romance and foolish crushes; my scores hadn't even come close to a respectable university. After becoming Mrs. Hayes, I'd often heard people comment on me.

"Pretty, yes," they'd say, "but willful, ignorant, just a pretty face with no substance."

With this second chance, I would right every one of those regrets. I squeezed Chloe's hand. "Let's work hard together and get into a great university!"

Picking up senior year knowledge again was anything but easy. After a full day of studying, my brain felt like it had been cracked into eight pieces.

As dismissal neared, I got a text from Mom. "Darling, traffic's a nightmare over here. The driver won't make it in time to pick you up. Jackson will take you home today; I've already told him."

The dismissal bell rang, and I slowly packed my backpack. Chloe looked at me, utterly astonished. "Usually, the moment that bell rings, you're the first one out the door! What's wrong? Not in a rush to see your crush today?"

Then I remembered. I'd confided all my secret teenage crushes to Chloe. She just didn't know that the object of my affection was my own stepbrother.

I nodded. "No, I don't like him anymore."

Chloe clapped me on the shoulder. "That's the spirit! There are plenty of fish in the sea; a strong woman like us shouldn't waste her time on just one guy!"

Despite her words, I wasn't ready to be alone in a car with Jackson. After all our past intimacy, it would be far too awkward.

I texted him: "Teacher kept us late. You go on home. I'll just grab a ride later."

With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I wandered aimlessly around campus, killing time.

Suddenly, a slightly nervous voice spoke from behind me. "Astrid Sheen, even though the man-made lake isn't waist-deep, it's pretty cold if you fall in."

Huh? I realized then that I'd unconsciously wandered to the edge of the man-made lake behind the school.

I stopped and turned. The boy who'd called out to me wore his school uniform jacket over jeans. He was handsome, with sharp, defined brows.

A gust of wind ruffled his dark hair, revealing a flash of crimson tucked beneath. It waved like a mischievous antenna, greeting me.

"Ethan?" I asked. He froze. "You know me?"

Our school had a pretty strict dress code. Only one person dared to defy it by wearing jeans instead of uniform trousers and dyeing his hair. Ethan Blackwood, the school's notorious troublemaker.

I'd heard that whenever teachers complained to Ethan's dad, his dad would donate funds for a new school building or equipment. Even this small man-made lake had been built by him.

"Who in this school doesn't know you?" I retorted. "But how do you know my name?"

A suspicious blush spread across Ethan's face. "Oh, you know from the campus's Top Ten Singers competition last semester. You sang really well. I just remembered."

I tilted my head. This school troublemaker was nothing like the rumors. He was actually kind of cute?

Was it because my mental age was several years older than his, making me see him like a little kid?

Ethan walked up to me. "I saw your back just now, you looked really down. Is something bothering you?"

I thought for a moment, then replied, "I'm alright. Just had a bad dream last night."

"Must be all that senior year stress," he said.

Ethan reached into his uniform pocket, then opened his hand in front of me. A red-wrapped caramel sat in his palm. His eyes crinkled into a smile. "Have a piece of candy. Sweet lips, sweet heart, and maybe you'll have a good dream tonight."

That vibrant, youthful face somehow soothed my agitation.

I took the candy from his palm, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. "Thanks."

My fingertips brushed his palm. It felt cool and a little damp, as if he'd broken out in a light sweat. He quickly shoved his hand back into his pocket.

"It's getting dark," he said. "Let's head home together."

We chatted idly as we walked towards the school gates. Ethan was surprisingly good at conversation; I don't think I stopped smiling the entire way.

We even exchanged numbers. By the time we reached the main gate, my ride-share car had just pulled up.

I waved to Ethan. "I'm off! See you at school tomorrow."

Ethan seemed reluctant to end our conversation. "How about I give you a ride home? It's late, and it's not safe for you to be alone."

On the roadside, a matte black Porsche Cayenne was parked. Jackson Hayes leaned against it, smoking. The collar of his white shirt was slightly unbuttoned, the cigarette glowing intermittently between his fingers.

His dark gaze swept over Ethan from head to toe, then settled on me. "Astrid Sheen," he commanded, "come here."

"You why didn't you leave?" I stared at Jackson, surprised.

He extinguished his cigarette butt on a nearby trash can. "I replied, telling you I'd wait. Didn't you see it?"

I pulled out my phone to check. "It was on silent. My apologies."

There was no way around it; refusing again would be too obvious. I paid the waiting fee, canceled my ride-share, and prepared to go home with Jackson.

Just as I was about to step forward, I felt a gentle tug from behind. Ethan had taken hold of my sleeve. "Is he family?"

I nodded. "He's my stepbrother, yes."

Ethan stiffened, like a small, bristling wolf cub, his eyes filled with wary concern. "Does your brother have a bad temper? I feel like he's a little angry right now. He wouldn't hit you when you get home, would he?"

I couldn't help but laugh, albeit without humor. "No, he wouldn't. It's just an extra half-hour wait."

In my previous life, I'd once smashed an antique vase he'd bought for half a million dollars, and Jackson hadn't laid a finger on me.

Ethan frowned. "I wasn't talking about that How about I still take you home?"

Jackson opened his car door, his gaze fixed steadily on me. "Get in. We're going home."

Why did it feel like the atmosphere was all wrong? Were these two squaring off against each other?

Ethan's voice, however, held a hint of mischievous invitation. "Astrid, fancy a ride on a motorcycle?"

My eyes lit up. "You ride a motorcycle to school?"

Ethan's lips curved into a smug smile. "Got my motorcycle license the day I turned eighteen. Don't worry, it's perfectly legal."

Unable to hide my excitement, I waved at Jackson. "You go on ahead. My friend will take me home."

With that, I grabbed Ethan's hand and pulled him away, completely missing Jackson's face, which had turned as dark as a storm cloud.