The Billionaire's Reborn Protector

The searing pain slammed into me, horrifyingly familiar, as I gasped awake in the birthing suite of my sprawling Texas estate.

This was it: the day my first child was due, the very day my entire world spiraled into a nightmare in my last life.

I remembered every agonizing detail: my mother, Eleanor, abandoning me in labor, leaving for my stepsister Brittany's lavish birthday party, then her monstrous rage, blaming me for Brittany's death.

I remembered the poisoned christening, my husband Ethan collapsing, our baby lifeless, then Eleanor dragging me to Brittany's grave, her hands tightening around my throat, murdering me.

Now, reborn, I realized the chilling truth: Eleanor was reborn too, and already, her creature, Nurse Gretchen, stood over me, determined to repeat history, actively trying to force my crowning baby back inside me.

The pain was unbearable, the betrayal absolute, as I screamed, knowing she meant to murder my child before its first breath, just like before, all for a twisted obsession with her adopted daughter.

How could my own mother be so utterly, undeniably evil, to repeat such a heinous act against her own flesh and blood, attempting to erase my family once more?

Just as despair threatened to consume me, a familiar, powerful presence erupted into the room: Ethan, my husband, his eyes blazing with a fierce, knowing protectiveness that mirrored my own reborn memories.

He remembered too.

With him by my side, we would no longer be victims; we would confront the depths of Eleanor's cruelty, unravel her darkest secrets, and wage a battle not just for our baby's life, but for the justice denied in a past life.

The pain hit me, sharp and familiar.

I gasped, my eyes flying open.

This room. This bed. The sterile smell.

It was the birthing suite on our Texas estate, the one Ethan had insisted on.

But it shouldn' t be. I should be dead.

My hand flew to my stomach, round and tight. The baby was still there.

This was the day. The day my first child was due. The day everything went to hell in my last life.

A cold dread washed over me.

I remembered. Every horrifying detail.

Ethan, away on business. My mother, Eleanor, abandoning me in labor.

She left for Brittany' s eighteenth birthday party. Her precious adopted daughter.

Brittany, drunk, crashing her car, dying.

Eleanor' s face, twisted with hate, blaming me.

The christening. The poisoned food. Ethan, just returned, collapsing. My baby, lifeless. All our guests.

Then Eleanor, dragging me, dying, to Brittany' s grave.

Her screams. "You and your family will pay!"

Her hands around my throat. Darkness.

I was back. Reborn.

The clock on the wall showed it was early morning.

"Rosa!" I croaked, my voice raw.

My loyal housekeeper, Rosa, rushed in, her face etched with concern.

"Mrs. Sarah, are you alright? Is it time?"

"Yes," I said, my mind racing. "Call Dr. Peterson. Ethan' s specialist. Get him here now. And Rosa, do not call my mother. Do not let Eleanor know."

Rosa looked surprised but nodded. "Right away, Mrs. Sarah."

She hurried out.

A few minutes later, a different woman entered. Older, with a severe face I knew too well.

Nurse Gretchen.

Eleanor' s creature. Brittany' s biological mother, though I hadn' t known that last time until it was too late.

"Good morning, Sarah," Nurse Gretchen said, her voice falsely sweet. "Your mother, Eleanor, has made all the arrangements. I'll be taking care of you."

My blood ran cold.

Eleanor knew. She had to be reborn too.

This was her pre-emptive strike.

"Where is Dr. Peterson?" I demanded, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.

"Dr. Peterson is unavailable," Gretchen said smoothly. "Mrs. Thompson felt it best you were in a quieter wing of the estate, with dedicated care. Just you and me."

Isolated. Just like before.

"Your mother is very keen to get to Brittany' s birthday party on time, you know," Gretchen added, a small, cruel smile playing on her lips. "She said not to dally."

The same words. The same chilling indifference.

Another contraction seized me, stronger this time. I gritted my teeth.

Eleanor was already setting her stage, determined to repeat her twisted play.

The memory of her poisoning everyone, her murderous rage at Brittany's grave, flashed through my mind.

She blamed me for Brittany' s death. A death caused by Brittany' s own recklessness.

Eleanor' s logic was a black hole of malice.

She had killed my husband, my child, our friends, and then me.

All because her spoiled, adopted daughter died in an accident.

The depth of her cruelty was bottomless.

This time, I wouldn't be her victim.

"I want Dr. Peterson," I insisted, pushing through the pain. "Ethan arranged for him."

Nurse Gretchen just smiled, that cold, knowing smile.

"Eleanor' s instructions are very clear, dear. She wants me to handle this. She said you can be... difficult."

Difficult. Because I didn' t want to die? Because I didn' t want my baby to die?

Another wave of pain crashed over me. I cried out.

"Now, now," Gretchen cooed, approaching the bed. "Let' s just see how things are progressing."

Her examination was rough, unfeeling.

"Things are moving along," she announced. "But perhaps a little too quickly for Eleanor' s schedule."

My heart hammered. I knew what was coming.

As the next contraction peaked, and I felt the baby start to crown, Gretchen did the unthinkable.

She pushed.

Against the baby. Trying to force him back in.

An inhuman scream tore from my throat. The pain was beyond anything I' d ever imagined, a blinding, tearing agony.

"Stop!" I shrieked. "You' ll kill him! You' ll kill us both!"

Gretchen' s face was a mask of grim determination. "Just a little delay, dear. For Eleanor. For Brittany' s party."

Her strength was surprising. My body arched, fighting her, fighting the pain.

My baby. My innocent child. She was trying to murder him before he even took his first breath.

The memory of my last baby, so small, so cold at the poisoned christening, fueled a desperate rage.

"Rosa!" I screamed, hoping she was nearby. "Help me!"

The door opened, but it wasn' t Rosa. It was my brother, David.

His face was pale. "Sarah? What' s going on? Rosa said you were in labor, but this woman wouldn't let me in."

"David! Help me!" I sobbed. "She' s hurting the baby!"

Gretchen straightened up, her composure momentarily rattled.

"Mr. Thompson, your sister is just overwrought," she said quickly. "Eleanor left strict instructions. No visitors. It' s for Sarah' s own good."

"My mother wouldn't want this," David said, looking from Gretchen' s hard face to my tear-streaked one. He looked uncertain. He always had a hard time standing up to Eleanor.

"She' s trying to stop the birth!" I cried. "For Brittany' s party!"

Gretchen moved towards a medical tray. I saw a syringe.

"You just need to calm down, dear," she said, her voice like ice. "A little something to help you relax."

Sedate me. Make me unconscious while she did her work, or let the baby die from the trauma.

No. Not again.

As Gretchen reached for my arm with the syringe, I lunged, my teeth sinking deep into the flesh of her hand.

She screamed, a real scream this time, dropping the syringe.

Blood welled from the wound.

"You little bitch!" she snarled, her mask of professionalism gone.

David looked horrified but was still frozen.

Rosa burst in then, alerted by Gretchen' s shriek.

"Mrs. Sarah! What is happening?"

"Call Ethan!" I gasped, clutching my bitten hand, tasting Gretchen' s blood. "Tell him... now!"

Rosa, seeing the syringe on the floor, Gretchen' s bleeding hand, my terror, finally understood the extremity.

She fumbled for her phone, her hands shaking.

"There' s no need to bother Mr. Sterling," Gretchen spat, cradling her injured hand. "He' s overseas. Eleanor is in charge here."

But Rosa was already dialing, her eyes fixed on me with dawning horror and resolve.

I prayed Ethan would understand. I prayed he would come.