Reborn to Rewrite My Ending

"Global Celebrity Chloe Monroe Sentenced to Death."

The headlines spread like wildfire. My execution had become a public spectacle, my death become a source of entertainment. News anchors discussed it as if it were nothing more than another Hollywood scandal. Social media was flooded with my final moments, my lifeless body on display for the world to see. Fans who had once adored me now condemned me with ruthless words: "She deserved it!" "What a monster!" "I can't believe I ever supported her." The betrayal stung more than the injustice of my death. They had turned on me without hesitation, without question. My entire life had been reduced to a single crime—a crime I never committed.

But as the world cheered, I opened my eyes.

I wasn’t supposed to. I had felt the sharp pain, the suffocating darkness. I had died. And yet, here I was, weightless, breathless, trapped between life and death. Below me, I saw my own corpse, discarded like garbage in a simple wooden box. There was no honor in my burial, no dignity in my final moments. The rage inside me boiled, twisting and curling into something dark. This wasn’t fair.

My mind barely had time to process it before I found myself pulled by something in somewhere familiar—Kierra’s bedroom. My younger sister sat curled in Richard’s arms, laughing, carefree, untouched by grief. My boyfriend. The man who had once whispered that he loved me, held me close, promised me forever. Seeing them together now—seeing them so comfortable in each other’s embrace—made my stomach twist. And then Kierra spoke.

“I can’t believe Chloe was so easy to fool.”

Richard smirked but still hesitated. “You really did all that to her?”

Kierra scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Of course I did. You think that idiot could’ve ended up in prison on her own? I made sure of it.”

I tried to move closer, but I felt like I was being pulled instead, forced to watch this unfold without control over my own presence. My sister continued, her voice filled with sickening satisfaction.

“All I had to do was pretend to be on her side. I told her I believed in her innocence, that I’d help her fight for justice. And the idiot actually fell for it! She gave me access to her inheritance, thinking I’d use it to hire her a good lawyer. But instead? I made sure she got the worst defense possible.”

Richard let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, babe. That’s cold.”

Kierra shrugged, unbothered. “Please. Chloe’s been handed everything since we were kids. She was adopted into a rich family, pampered like a damn princess while I was left behind to suffer. She had it coming.”

Pain stabbed through me like a knife. I had never treated Kierra poorly. I had loved her. I had tried to protect her from our abusive father, the man who beat her while I was taken away to live in comfort. I had written her letters, called her, sent her money whenever I could. And yet, she hated me for it.

Richard rubbed slow circles against Kierra’s back. “And her friends? Did you…?”

Kierra rolled her eyes. “Do you really think I’d dirty my hands? I hired someone.”

My whole body—if I still had one—went rigid.

The memories slammed into me like a wrecking ball. The house. The blood. The lifeless bodies of my closest friends. I had woken up in that nightmare, covered in their blood, surrounded by their corpses. The shock, the horror, the desperate attempts to wake them up, to make sense of what had happened—only to be arrested before I could even process it. And Kierra had orchestrated it all.

Rage burned in my chest. I tried to grab her, to make her feel the pain I was feeling, but my hands passed through her like air. I was powerless.

Kierra sighed dramatically. “Honestly, it was almost too easy. All I had to do was plant the right evidence, and the rest took care of itself.”

Richard chuckled quietly. “And we're famous now—got a ton of opportunities, all thanks to you.”

Kierra smirked, pulling out her phone and flashing at him the bank statements. “And we're also rich now.”

My vision blurred—not that it mattered. The world had already turned against me. And my own sister was responsible.

---

I didn’t know how much time passed after that. Weeks? Months? Time meant nothing to me anymore. I was stuck in limbo, watching the world move on while I remained forgotten. I wandered the places I once loved, only to be met with hatred and scorn. I visited my friends’ graves, whispering countless apologies they would never hear. I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t even protect myself.

Eventually, I forced myself to visit my own grave again.

It was worse than I had imagined.

There was no honor in my burial—just a crude, wooden box tossed carelessly into the dirt. People had vandalized my grave, leaving insults and garbage behind. Even to death, they refused to let me rest. I had never felt so helpless.

Then, someone appeared.

A lone figure stepped toward my grave, moving with a strange urgency. At first, I thought it was another stranger here to desecrate what little remained of me. But then… he started digging.

Panic surged through me. What the heck is he doing?! How dare he touch my body! I moved closer, screaming, but of course, no one could hear me.

The man dug with desperation, his fingers clawing at the dirt as if the world itself would collapse if he didn’t reach me in time. And then—he did. He uncovered my coffin, threw the lid open, and pulled my lifeless body into his arms.

And then… he hugged my body.

Tears ran down his face as he held me tightly, his entire body trembling. His sobs were raw, unfiltered, filled with a grief that shouldn’t exist. No one in the world had mourned me. No one had cared.

My whole face became a big question mark.

The heck? So who was he??