Rebirth Into My Second Chance

Gabrielle arrived.

The moment she saw me, her eyes widened in surprise before she gestured for her maid to stash the groceries in the kitchen and then grabbed my hand. "Claire, why didn't you join Claude at the golf course?"

I remembered how, after my death, Gabrielle was perhaps the only one in the Hart family who truly cared for me. I couldn't help but feel a soft spot for her as I linked my arm with hers. "Mrs. Hart, what delicious goodies did you bring? Let me help you with them." She patted my hand affectionately. "You love apple pie, don't you? I specially asked the Hiltons' chef to come over and bake some. His apple pie is second to none; it's Mr. Hilton's favorite."

At the mention of the Hiltons, my thoughts inadvertently drifted to Max, and I blurted out without thinking, "The Hiltons' chef must be the best in Crestview Metropolis, right? Mr. Hilton is really kind to you, Mrs. Hart."

"Yes, my brother has always been good to me, even though my parents were unhappy when I impulsively married your Uncle Hart. They wanted to cut ties with me back then. Now that they've passed, I've been able to reconnect with the Hiltons."

I saw a flicker of sorrow in her eyes that she quickly masked. From her words, it seemed Mr. Hilton wasn't the tyrant I feared. And that shirt probably wasn't his either.

Still, in the whole of Crestview Metropolis, only a few could afford to dine at the Golden Gateway Hotel. It seemed I needed to find a way to check the surveillance footage.

"Mrs. Hart, let me give you a hand."

She shook her head. "Claire, your hands are meant for surgery, not kitchen work." As she spoke, she handed me a freshly squeezed glass of juice: "This orange juice is from the Hiltons' orchard. They specially grow them because Mr. Hilton loves orange juice. It tastes different from the ones you find elsewhere. Give it a try."

In all my years with the Hart family, I'd hardly heard of the Hiltons until my rebirth, now twice in one conversation.

But wary of the juice, I pretended to sip it before setting it aside.

Mrs. Hart didn't insist when she saw I wasn't keen. Maybe the orange juice wasn't tampered with in my previous life.

When the apple pie was ready, its aroma filling the air, Mrs. Hart urged, "You might not like the juice,

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I remained on guard, but not wanting to raise suspicion, I replied, "I'll wait for Claudy to return."

Gabrielle seemed pleased with my behavior today. Looking at the feast laid out before us, I realized it was futile to keep up my defenses when there appeared to be no one outside I could turn to for help. In my past life, Claude's

possessiveness meant that any male I spoke to would mysteriously start avoiding me the next day. It turned out he had used his status as my guardian to intimidate them. At the time, I thought he was just being protective, wanting me to focus on my studies.

Thinking back, it was nothing but his irrational possessiveness. Terrifying.

And then, Ronald came to mind as a possible ally.

After I died, I had seen Ronald's phone number. My memory, honed from memorizing medical textbooks, was excellent.

When I dialed Ronald, he asked in confusion, "Who is this?"

"I'm Claire Floyd. We met last night near the pharmacy close to Elysian Hotel."

He was silent for a moment before replying, "How did you get my private number?"

"Mr. Collins, my friend is in danger. Could you please help me?"

I changed my tone, whimpering softly, hoping to evoke his sympathy.