บททั้งหมดของ Rebirth: What’s Left Of Me: บทที่ 101 - บทที่ 110

"You're seriously going to cook?" Damien asked, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in doubt. I shot him a look. "Yeah, that's part of hosting." In my last life, cooking for others had been a thankless task. People just expected me to do it, and if there was praise to be handed out, it usually went to Emily. She was the one people saw, the one they assumed did the work. No one ever realized I was the one behind most of the meals. But this time, it was different. [New Mission: Impress Your Guests Reward: Good Karma Penalty: Burnt Meal] Well, this should be easy. "Anything I can help with?" Damien offered. "The chicken," I said, nodding toward the fridge. "Shouldn't it be turkey?" he asked, frowning. I scoffed. "I hate turkey. It's too dry. Just help with the chicken." The sound of footsteps thundering into the kitchen made me sigh. "Ooh! This I gotta see!" Jason exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. Jared followed right behind

Jared was lounging in my office chair, still in his pajamas, while Damien looked ready to blow a fuse as soon as he saw him there, comfortably sitting. The implications were clear. "What's he doing here?" Damien asked, gesturing toward Jared with visible irritation. "Did he sleep here last night?" "No, he came like that," I replied, already used to Jared's antics. He most likely came here deliberately dressed like that because he knew I called Damien and Jason over, and he wanted them to get the wrong idea. No wonder he showed up so early, eager to get to work. Well, I was stupid enough to believe it was work ethic and not pettiness. "Yeah, and Jack's not petty enough to not want to see me like some people are," Jared said, sticking out his tongue like a child at Damien. "Besides, I'm the best gambler he knows. He said it himself." "You did?" Damien looked genuinely hurt, his pout bordering on comical. "To be fair, it's more likely Jared knows more about gambling than you ever w

The guest house in my parents' yard stood quiet and still, its once-pristine exterior now dulled from years of neglect. The structure was charming yet unassuming, a modest white-bricked cottage with a wraparound porch, half-covered in leaves that had gathered over time. The windows, though elegant, were coated in a thin layer of dust, and the porch light flickered intermittently, as if struggling to stay alive. It was clear the place hadn't been used in a while. The only real sound in the night was the muffled curses from the hot trunk of the car. Jason and I hauled Ivan out, his lean frame squirming violently in our grip. "You motherfuckers!" he screamed, thrashing as much as the handcuffs would allow. Jason didn't even flinch. I smirked. "Isn't it you that fucked up first?" Ivan kicked out, struggling, but we dragged him up the creaky wooden porch and into the dimly lit house, the door slamming shut behind us. Jason flicked on the lights, revealing a simple but elegant inter

"Let's get fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. "We are fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. As the football players took the field, the cheerleaders worked to get the crowd energized, their hands clapping in perfect rhythm. "Really fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. The crowd erupted into cheers, and I scanned the field, telling myself I wasn't looking for Damien and Jason—I was just looking. But when I spotted them sitting with a few other players, my stomach did a little flip. "Let's go, Tigers!" Beatrix yelled through her bullhorn. Off to the side, Jared stood in his full mascot outfit—a giant fuzzy orange-and-black-striped jumpsuit topped with an oversized tiger head. When the cheerleaders hit their final pose, he rushed in, slid to a stop on one knee, and threw out his arms like he'd just pulled off the greatest trick in the world. Idiot. The crowd clapped listlessly. A few half-hearted whistles floated through the air. The coach wasted no time, yelling for the cheerleaders to

"Jack!" Damien's voice rang out, sharp with alarm. Before I could react, Emmett's hands were around my throat, tightening like a vice. My air was cut off instantly, my vision tunneling. He was trying to choke me out. Not happening. I gritted my teeth and kicked his shin with all the force I could muster. A pained grunt escaped him as his leg buckled, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free. Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward. Then I closed my eyes and bit down on his neck. Hard. Pain shot through my jaw as my teeth sank into flesh. Warm, metallic-tasting blood rushed into my mouth, the coppery tang coating my tongue. Emmett screamed—a raw, agonized sound—as he shoved me off him, stumbling to the ground, his hands clamping over the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Spitting out the blood, I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and spotted a large rock nearby. Perfect. I picked it up, weighing it in my hands