All Chapters of Reborn: Make Them Pay: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

It’s been a week since Vance crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. A week of apologies that don’t land, gifts that feel transactional, and a man who now watches every word he says like he’s navigating a minefield. He’s tried obsessively to make up for it; flowers, soft tones, careful distance. Too careful. Like if he performs well enough, I’ll forget. I haven’t been home since. Hawkins Manor hasn’t changed. It still feels safe in a way my own home no longer does. My father didn’t ask questions at first, and neither did Carter. The twins watched me too closely, and Callum hovered like he always does when something feels off. They gave me space for a day, maybe two, but it didn’t last. “What happened?” I remember standing in the study, arms folded, staring out the window like I could avoid it. “Nothing,” I said. Carter didn’t believe me. None of them did. “You don’t leave your own home for nothing, Lottie

A few hours later, Hawkins Manor feels nothing like a house of mourning. The silence isn’t peaceful; it’s restrained, stretched thin over everything left unsaid. Conversations don’t flow here; they hover, waiting for the wrong word to snap them.I shouldn’t be here.The thought crosses my mind again as I stand at the far end of the dining room, removed just enough to observe without intruding. And yet I made sure I would be. Cleared my schedule. Moved meetings that mattered. Cancelled things that would’ve cost anyone else leverage.In my last life, I didn’t attend. Didn’t know. Didn’t care.This time, I rearranged everything.Because today already feels different.Because she’s different.Charlotte sits among them, composed in a way that would convince anyone who isn’t paying attention. Her auburn hair falls neatly over her shoulders, her posture straight, her hazel eyes quieter than they should be. Not fragile. Not brok

Twenty-three days.That’s how long it’s been since Vance signed the papers. Long enough for them to be processed, stamped, finalised. Long enough that nothing he says now can undo it. Long enough for me to decide exactly when everything begins to fall apart.And today—I start.Anya is already in the conference room when I arrive, tablet in hand, posture straight, expression carefully neutral. To anyone else, she looks composed.To me—she looks like someone barely holding it together.“Good morning, Char,” she says, offering a small smile.I don’t return it. “Sit.”She hesitates, then does.I take the seat across from her, placing the folder on the table between us, but I don’t open it yet. Instead, I study her; the tension in her shoulders, the faint exhaustion she hasn’t managed to conceal.“You look… different,” I say lightly.She exhales, attempting a small laugh. “It’s b

The crash cuts through the estate like something alive.Glass. Sharp. Violent.I hear it from inside the main house and move immediately, crossing the hall and pushing through the side exit without hesitation. The night air hits cold against my skin as the sound echoes across the courtyard, too loud, too deliberate to be anything accidental. The guest house lights are on, the courtyard lit, and then I hear him—Vance, shouting, his voice stripped of control.I round the corner, gravel shifting underfoot, the scene snapping into place all at once; shattered glass scattered across the stone near the guest house entrance, the panel beside the door completely destroyed, Vance pacing like something uncontained, his movements erratic, his composure gone. Anya stands back, watching, not intervening. Of course she isn’t.“You think you can just strip everything from me?” Vance’s voice cracks, sharp and unstable.I stop a few paces away, forcing stillness into my body despite the tension coilin

The address is exactly where he said it would be. Industrial. Isolated. Wrong. I kill the engine but don’t get out immediately, my gaze fixed on the building ahead. From the outside, it looks abandoned; concrete walls, broken windows, no visible lighting beyond a faint flicker somewhere deep inside. Nothing about it suggests activity. Nothing about it suggests Callum. My grip tightens slightly on the folder resting in my lap; the deed, the transfer papers, everything Vance asked for. Clean. Signed. Ready. A transaction. That’s all this is supposed to be. My phone lights up again. I don’t need to check it. Azriel. I ignore it. The argument replays anyway.“You’re not going alone.”“I don’t have a choice.”“That’s not a negotiation.”“He said to come alone.”A pause.“This is a trap.”“I’m aware.”Silence. Unresolved. Because he knows I’m right, and because there’s no one else left to argue with me. Not my father.