Reborn: I Choose His Brother

The Blackwood brothers—that's where my nightmare started last time.

Kellan seemed like the obvious mate.

However, he didn't just kill me; he made sure I suffered first.

This life? I'm betting on Kai.

The dangerous man who handled "gray business" overseas, the only person who bled for me in my previous life.

Across this ridiculously long table, Kellan's knife glides through his steak. Every movement calculated, precise—like he's rehearsing for an audience.

His head tilts up without warning.

"My bad." The words drip out as his hand sweeps the wine glass sideways—zero chance that was an accident.

Conversation flatlines. Every investor in the room hits pause, attention zeroing in on us.

Kellan's order snaps out: "Get to the kitchen. Grab something to mop this up. Quick. These people didn't come here to watch you stand around."

Past-life me would've sprinted to comply, desperate for even a hint of approval. That version's buried.

"Your spill, your cleanup. I don't do maid service."

The quiet that follows could cut glass. Investors trade glances—clearly nobody expected tonight's entertainment to include me growing a backbone.

"Fascinating." someone stage-whispers, "Last week Sterling's girl was practically stalking young Kellan. Where's this princess act coming from?"

Someone else twists the knife deeper: "She spent years playing groupie to the Blackwoods, clinging to Kellan like a shadow. Wonder if her late father's watching this display from wherever the hell he ended up."

Cue Aria's entrance.

"My sister looks worn out. Let me take care of it."

Watch Kellan's personality flip like a switch.

"Don't waste your energy, love. Staff exists for a reason." His expression melts into concern for Aria before freezing solid when he turns back to me. "Notice the difference? She thinks about others. You? Sitting there like the world owes you something."

I observe their little production with zero emotional investment. Last life, these scenes destroyed me piece by piece. Now they barely register as entertainment.

My non-reaction seems to fuel Kellan's performance. "Fresh from your little phone call with my father, yeah?"

Silence works fine as an answer.

"Recycling that tired story about jumping in front of a knife for dear old Dad? Crawling back to beg for my hand?" His mockery cuts sharp. "Christ, Avery. You traffic in guilt like it's currency. Always scheming. You've deployed every manipulation tactic ever invented trying to corner me."

Déjà vu—heard this exact script before. He's mastered the art of reframing my sacrifices as strategic plays.

My response comes out ice-cold: "Dean reached out personally. He's orchestrating my eighteenth celebration himself."

Information detonates through the room. Investors swarm into excited clusters, speculation running wild.

"Dean taking the reins himself? That's practically a wedding announcement!" One investor practically salivates over Kellan. "Merger of the Sterling-Blackwood empires—absolute power move!"

"When you claim the Blackwood throne, hope you'll remember the folks who supported you!" Another one jumps in, scrambling for position.

Self-satisfaction blooms across Kellan's features. He's interpreting this as surrender, me finally falling in line.

He shifts closer, volume dropping: "Once this engagement becomes official, you stay clear of whatever happens between Aria and me. Learn where you fit in this arrangement."

Pause. His eyes shift into something unreadable. "Or the whole thing's off. Don't delude yourself into thinking an attitude adjustment rewrites history."

Ice floods my veins. What exactly is he implying?

My lungs constrict.

That expression—Jesus, that exact same expression. The one seared into my final moments. Glacial. Sadistic. Touched with unhinged victory.

Kellan rises, making his exit with Aria practically grafted to his side, their conversation excluding everyone else. Investor whispers trail behind them, heavy with subtext.

I track their departure until they vanish.

Not this time, asshole.