Reborn After Dying with My Child

In my previous life, I, Claire Holloway, was eight months pregnant, kneeling in a storm, begging Lucas Ashford to save the bankrupt Holloway Group.

But he held his first love, Vanessa Wren, in his arms, looking down at me with cold disdain.

"The Holloway Group's downfall was orchestrated by me. Did you really think I'd fall for a spoiled rich girl like you? If it weren't for getting my revenge today, I'd have found even touching you disgusting."

Consumed by despair, I took my life—and my unborn child's—on that bitter winter night.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I was diagnosed with pregnancy.

Lucas was gently peeling shrimp for me, smiling as he asked what kind of diamond ring I wanted.

I looked at his hypocritical face and let out a quiet, cold laugh.

This time, I wouldn't make the same mistake again.

......

"Pink diamond or blue diamond? I heard a new batch of exceptional stones just came out of Uthax."

Lucas dipped the peeled shrimp into sauce, then brought it to my lips with a gentle smile.

"Why so quiet?" he asked, frowning slightly as he looked at me.

My gaze fell on the wedding band resting against his knuckle.

My stomach churned violently, impossible to suppress.

Just half an hour ago, I had been dying in that cold rain.

And now, I was sitting in the most expensive revolving restaurant in the city.

"Nothing. It just tastes a little... fishy."

I forced down the nausea clawing its way up my throat, barely managing a faint smile before swallowing the shrimp.

"Then don't eat it."

Lucas immediately set his fork and knife down.

He took a heated towel and carefully wiped his long fingers.

"I'll have the kitchen prepare a fresh wagyu dish for you."

"No need." I lifted the glass of lemon water and took a large sip, using the coldness to force the nausea back down.

"Lucas. I heard from my dad that the Holloway Group's Southside bidding project is running tight on cash flow lately. Do you think we can secure it?"

I held his gaze, watching him closely.

Lucas's hand paused for half a second.

"Of course we can."

He looked up at me.

"With me here, how could anything go wrong with the Holloway Group's projects? I've already personally guaranteed the funding with the bank."

He reached out, brushing toward my forehead.

"You've been too tired lately, Claire. Your father's getting older. I'll handle the company. You just focus on being Mrs. Ashford."

I turned my head, avoiding his touch.

Only someone who had already died once could see through that façade of devotion.

In my previous life, it was this so-called guarantee that he used to quietly drain the Holloway Group's core assets dry.

He walked away with the money, leaving behind crushing debt—enough to stop my father's heart.

"If you're not feeling well, head back early and get some rest."

He withdrew his hand, his tone still gentle.

"Oh, right. That fifteen percent of Holloway Group shares under your name—I'll have the lawyer bring over a proxy holding agreement tomorrow."

I looked up at him.

"A proxy holding agreement?"

"The Southside project requires us to demonstrate absolute control as a married couple to the board." He explained patiently, like he was teaching a child who knew nothing. "It'll be easier if the shares are consolidated under me when exercising voting rights."

I nodded thoughtfully.

In my previous life, it was at this very dinner that I signed that death warrant without a second thought.

It didn't just destroy the Holloway Group—it cost me my life as well.

"What, you don't even trust your husband now?"

He feigned a stern expression and pinched my cheek.

"Of course I do." I slipped away from his hand. "It's just… business stuff is too complicated. It gives me a headache just listening to it."

"Then leave it to me."

The smile at his lips deepened.

The phone on the table suddenly vibrated.

The screen lit up with his assistant's name—Grant Mercer.

"Sorry. Something urgent came up at the company. I'll take this."

Lucas picked up his phone and stood.

I nodded.

I watched him walk out to the balcony and slide the glass door shut.

It wasn't Grant at all.

It was the name he used as a cover—for Vanessa.

I picked up the glass of red wine he hadn't touched.

The crimson liquid poured slowly onto the pristine white tablecloth, spreading into a glaring stain.

Ten minutes later, Lucas pushed the door open.

His expression was slightly off.

"Claire, there's an urgent meeting at the company. I need to head out."

"Is it something serious?" I asked, feigning concern.

"Just a small issue. I can handle it." He leaned in and placed a hollow kiss on my hair. "I'll have the driver take you home."

I nodded obediently.

He left in a hurry, not even noticing the wine stain on the tablecloth.

The room fell silent again.

I took out my phone and called my father.

"Dad. Stop all funding for the Southside project immediately."