Rebirth: Love me Again

"Michael, it's fine. Just do whatever you can," I snapped, trying to pull him out from his negative thoughts. "Did you tell Sinclair?"

"Of course I told him!" His voice dropped lower, eyes darting back toward the old man who was still by the table, frozen in despair. "I told him this would be our first live test on a dog. I explained that we don't know how it'll react, that every animal responds differently. We've tested smaller animals but—"

"Yes, yes, I get it!" I waved him off, irritation bubbling to the surface. "Just make sure the dog lives, okay? I don't care about the science. That's your department, not mine."

I wasn't interested in the technicalities or the risks. The bottom line was simple: if Sebastian died, so did my chance of getting out of this hellhole.

Michael hesitated, clearly torn between his duty as a engineer and the reality of the situation. I had to hand it to him—the man had guts.

It wasn't often you saw someone stand toe-to-toe with Sinclair, let alone challenge him like this. Most people wilted under the old man's piercing gaze, terrified of his wrath. Chapter Enjoy:

But here Michael was, essentially telling him that his dog might not survive the procedure. And yet, Sinclair hadn't exploded. He was too focused on Sebastian to even care about the risk.

Still, I had no patience for doubt. "Michael," I said, my voice low but firm, "if that dog dies, Sinclair will break. And if he breaks, so does our deal. I can't afford that, and neither can you. Now, do what you have to do."

He met my gaze, his frustration barely masked, but he nodded. "I'll do my best."

"Michael."

He paused, then he looked over my way.

I stepped forward, my voice soft but filled with determination. "You've got this, Michael. I believe in you. No matter what happens, we're in this together. If you fail . . . we fail together."

He lifted his gaze to meet mine, and for a second, I saw the storm of doubt in his eyes. His brow furrowed deeply, frustration written all over his face as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

A tense silence hung between us until, finally, he sighed—a long, heavy breath that seemed to release some of the tension.

"What an uninspiring way to cheer someone up," he muttered, shaking his head. But then, just barely, the corners of his lips lifted into a faint, fleeting smile.

Without another word, he turned and headed back to Sebastian, every step filled with the burden of what was at stake.

I watched as he walked back toward the table, his shoulders tense. Sinclair hadn't moved, hadn't said a word. He just stood there, staring at his dog like the world was crumbling beneath his feet.

I clenched my fists, heart pounding. This was a gamble—one that could either save me or doom me.

Every second counted, every breath Sebastian took was a fleeting chance to keep everything together.

If the dog survived, I'd be one step closer to freedom. But if he didn't . . . I couldn't afford to think about that. The very thought made my chest tighten, like a noose slowly pulling me toward suffocation.

Sinclair, with his old age, had become a volatile force. His decisions weren't governed by logic, but by his ever-shifting moods.

One moment he could be reasonable, and the next, he was a tempest of anger and grief. I'd seen it happen before—during the debut, when his previous dog had died. It was as if that single event had shattered whatever composure he had left.

After that, everything crumbled. The others did whatever they wanted, taking advantage of his emotional state. Sinclair was drowning in grief, and they used it as their ticket to chaos, and it was the reason why Sophia and Sullivan were able to take control of the main family line and just ship me off to nowhere.

I couldn't let that happen again. Not now, not when I was this close.

I was treading on dangerous, unfamiliar ground. So much had already deviated from the original timeline that I barely knew what to expect anymore.

The future had become a foggy, unpredictable mess. Every twist, every choice, every slight variation sent shockwaves through the delicate web of events I had once planned for.

And now, I was stuck in the middle of it, trying to pull the strings of a plot I no longer controlled.

But one thing remained crystal clear: right now, my priority was keeping Sebastian alive. Not because I cared about the dog itself—but because his survival was my only chance at getting what I wanted.

My only chance to escape.

Time was ticking, and the life of that fragile creature was the key to my freedom. If I failed here, I could kiss my escape goodbye.

I didn't know how long I had been trapped in my thoughts, spiraling deeper into the endless possibilities and dangers that lurked ahead.

"You look like you're going to die as well," came a voice that snapped me back to reality.

Startled, I blinked and turned, finding the familiar, strikingly handsome yet serious face of Victor standing nearby, his sharp gaze cutting through the haze clouding my mind.

I rubbed my temples, trying to soothe the throbbing ache building behind my eyes. The tension was gnawing at me from the inside, threatening to break free. "Ah . . . just a lot to deal with lately."

Victor's eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth barely moving as he asked, "You mean the money?"

I nodded, forcing a smile that felt brittle, exhausted, and entirely unconvincing. "Yeah . . . I've gathered enough now. Finally, I can use it as my ticket—my escape. Once I deposit that money into Sinclair's account, I'll finally be free. Free from all of this."

Victor's expression shifted, ever so slightly—a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes.

Was it pity? Or maybe . . . concern?

My chest tightened. There was something there, something he wasn't saying. His lips parted as if he was about to speak, but he stopped. For a moment, the silence between us felt like a weight pressing down, threatening to suffocate me.

A wave of unease washed over me.

What was it? What wasn't he telling me?

I frowned, instinctively wanting to press him for answers, to shake loose whatever he was hiding. But before I could speak, the lab doors swung open, and Michael emerged, his face pale and drawn, his steps unsteady. He looked beaten, utterly exhausted, like a man who had been through hell and barely made it back.