Rebirth Into My Second Chance

When everyone was at their wit's end, a message runner burst into the room, panting, "Mr. Collins, an urgent document just arrived for your eyes only."

Ronald furrowed his brow in concern but had a rare smile upon reading the document. "Proof! It is the proof we needed!"

Curious, I leaned in for a closer look. The document was a paternity test report. The DNA from the charred remains of a child did not match Claude's. Instead, it was a perfect match with Claire's DNA. "This report came in just at the right time, Mr. Collins. Who'd have the power to pull off what we couldn't?" One of the detectives asked.

Tears of joy and relief briefly overcame Ronald before he composed himself and said, "This report only proves one thing. Claire is dead. None of this was her doing."

I was still processing the news. So, the child wasn't Claude's. Then whose was it? Who was in that hotel room with me that night? Claude's childhood friend had arranged the room number and everything. To uncover the truth, I had to find Claude's childhood friend and discover whom they gave that room number.

"Pass this report to Mr. Hart," Ronald ordered.

I slumped into a chair, overwhelmed. With this report, Claude would forever see me as a loose woman. After all, the child wasn't his. Even if it could prove that I was dead, it would probably come as a relief to him. Feeling defeated, I looked at Ronald, suddenly wishing my death remained a mystery. That way, no one would know the child wasn't my husband's. If it became public knowledge, the entire society would condemn me. "Mr. Collins, this Claire... doesn't seem to be all that saintly, carrying another man's kid," I overheard someone mutter.

Ronald remained silent, probably harboring similar thoughts.

Disappointed, I left the police station, feeling like I'd lost a part of myself. My spirit almost shattered. Perhaps I wouldn't last long enough to see the day the truth came to light.

Who was behind my kidnapping and murder? Who was the father of my child? As a dead woman, who would bother to investigate the paternity of my child?

Outside the police station, I saw Max deep in conversation over the phone, his expression grave. Curiosity got the better of me, and I edged closer to listen.

"Boss, we've restored the surveillance footage from the Presidential Suite 6088. We can't make out the face, but we got a back view of someone entering the room." Presidential Suite 6088! That was the room number given to me by Claude's childhood friend, Elijah Brown.

'How did Max know and even

investigate this? Could he be

connected? It felt like a glimmer of hope as if Max might help me find out who the father of my child was and why I ended up in that room. Why did Elijah set me up? The with every passing moment.

mystery seemed to deepe

But as my spirit grew lighter and less controlled, I drifted back to Claude. This time, I went to his grand office building, a place I had never been allowed to visit in life but

finally could observe in death

I saw Kate comfy next to Claude, a luxury I never got.

Amid a video conference, Claude silently gestured for Kate to review the document Ronald had sent.

Without a second thought, Kate opened the document but blanched at its contents. She quickly deleted and destroyed it.

I was stunned Why didn't Kate want

Claude to know I was dead? What

role did she play in my demise? I

bitterly surmised that she might be the mastermind. Undoubtedly, with her family's influence and her brother's support, it wouldn't be hard for her to have me killed Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

After the meeting, Claude inquired, "What document was that?"

Quick as a flash, Kate put on a gentle facade, "Oh, nothing, just some spam. I've taken care of it for you."

Claude seemed unbothered, taking her hand. "Have you been feeling unwell these past few days? Let me take you out for your favorite food tonight." Kate smiled with a hint of guilt as she nodded, glancing at the computer.

And me? I wasn't sure whether to be relieved that Claude remained unaware of my death or to grieve the fact that, to him, I would forever be an unfaithful woman.