Reborn 15 Years Later: Beating Up My Husband Chapter 1

I died during a difficult childbirth. When I woke up, I had been reborn fifteen years into the future.

On my first day back, I discovered that the precious daughter I had given my life for was being bullied by my husband’s so-called “one that got away,” and her child.

And my husband? He had become one of the city’s most enigmatic figures, a recluse cloaked in incense and prayer, detached from the world.

So, I grabbed a fistful of his hair, slapped him three times, hard, and asked him coldly, “Is this how you honor my memory?”

I forced my eyes open, a dizzying sense of disorientation washing over me. I was standing on the sidewalk next to my old high school. A few pedestrians drifted by, some casting confused glances at my stunned figure.

After ten minutes of staring at the sky, I had to accept the impossible truth.

Not only had I been reborn, but I had also time-traveled fifteen years into the future.

Pulling myself together, I borrowed a phone from a passerby and dialed the number of the man who, before my death, had been my husband: Warren Owen.

After a few rings, the call connected.

“Hello, who is this?”

The familiar male voice, deep and resonant, was the same, yet different. It held a new weight, a magnetic gravity it hadn't possessed before.

A lump formed in my throat. My voice trembled as I spoke, on the verge of tears. “Warren, it’s Sloane. I know this is going to sound insane, but I think I might have… time-traveled? Anyway, I’m at our old high school. Can you just… come get me?”

A long, heavy silence stretched from the other end of the line. Just as I was about to say something to break the tension, he let out a short, sharp laugh. It was laced with scorn.

“I don’t know how you people got my number, but tell whoever put you up to this to try a more original approach next time. You think mimicking a voice is enough to get my attention? It’s pathetic. Disgusting.”

His verbal assault struck me like a physical blow. My fingers went numb, and then a hot rage surged through me. Forgetting where I was, I snapped, my voice sharp and cold. “Warren Owen, have I spoiled you rotten? You can’t even recognize your own wife’s voice? Seems like you’ve wasted the last fifteen years.”

The man on the other end choked.

I pressed on, my voice dripping with fury. “I don’t care what hole you’ve been hiding in. You have thirty minutes to get your ass over here, or you can go dig your own grave.”

I hung up, leaving the phone’s owner staring at me, mouth agape. I managed a weak, apologetic smile and handed it back.

She took the phone, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Excuse me… were you talking to… Warren Owen? From Owen Industries? I’m sorry, it was on speaker, and the voice sounded like…”

I blinked, then nodded, asking cautiously, “You know him?”

She let out a breath of relief and waved a dismissive hand. “Who in this city doesn’t know the prince of the Owen dynasty?”

Seeing my curiosity, and assuming I was a friend of his, her inner gossip columnist took over. “After Mrs. Owen died in childbirth, she left him with a daughter. Everyone thought he’d remarry soon, especially after his old flame returned to the country with such a huge splash. But instead, after building Owen Industries into an empire, he just… disappeared. Became a recluse. No one knows where he went, though he sometimes shows up at the annual company gala. But…”

“But what?” I prompted.

The woman leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, this is just a rumor, but they say he and his old flame are finally getting serious. People are betting he’ll come out of seclusion for her. I mean, she’s Evelyn Croft, the Oscar-winning actress. What man could resist that?”

I raised an eyebrow, a cold smile touching my lips. “Looks like I’ve come all this way just in time for a wedding celebration.”

Sensing the sudden chill in my demeanor, the woman quickly excused herself and hurried away.

Two major shocks in a row. A wave of bitterness and grief washed over me. If Warren and his old flame were truly in love, I wouldn’t stand in their way. I had no right to expect him to mourn me for fifteen years.

But my daughter… I hadn’t even met her yet. I had to know if she was okay.

Knowing Warren, I had a good idea of where he would have sent her. The best private school in the city—our alma mater.

I hailed a cab, and soon, the familiar, imposing gates of the school came into view.