Reborn Heiress: His Obsession

Chapter 2: The Rebirth

Rosette's point of view~~

My hand shook, clutching the pregnancy report. Six weeks. My son—my son—was alive inside me again.

Tears formed in my eyes as I gently touched my stomach to feel him. The memory of his lifeless body clawing at me as I cried.

I’d lived through Blake’s betrayal, Leila’s cruelty, Celine’s schemes. I’d lost my baby, my father, my dignity, my life. I’d died.

No. I wasn’t the naive Rosette Jenner who’d loved blindly anymore. I was a storm, ready to tear their world apart.

I stood, legs steady despite the fury inside. The hospital gown clung to me, thin and humiliating, but I didn’t care.

My purse sat on the chair. Keys, wallet, a cracked phone. All I had in this life I’d chosen to be “normal.” No one knew I was Julio Jenner’s daughter, heiress to the JJ Empire.

I’d kept that secret to be with Blake, and it had cost me everything. But not this time.

I stormed out, ignoring the nurses’ stares. My beat-up car, a junker I’d bought to keep up the poor-girl act, sputtered in the lot.

The thought of my father, who I’d cut off for Blake, stung. I’d fix that soon. First, I had a reckoning.

The drive to Blake’s penthouse was a haze of rage. The city’s lights glared, the metropolis alive with its cruel pulse.

Blake’s tower loomed, a symbol of wealth he’d built on my father’s support. Yes, his wealth, fame, success, he owes everything to my father who secretly fueled it all while Blake grew his ego, thinking it was his own genius.

I parked, bare feet hitting the pavement, hospital gown peeking from under my coat. The doorman blinked, barely recognizing me.

“Miss?” he started.

“Up. Now.” I snapped. He buzzed me into the private elevator.

The ride to the penthouse was endless. My reflection in the steel doors showed tangled brown hair, violet eyes blazing. I looked like a nobody, just as they wanted. But I wasn’t their broken toy anymore.

The elevator opened to a party in full swing. Laughter, clinking glasses, and music filled the air, thick with champagne and ambition.

Blake’s elite circle—moguls, socialites, starlets—crowded the room, fawning over Leila McCain. Her new movie was selling out, her name plastered across the city.

I remembered this night from the first timeline. I’d hidden in my corner of Blake’s world, sick and ignored, while he told me to “stay out of the way”, even after informing him that I was pregnant. A bastard. That's what he is.

I stepped in, my presence cutting the noise like a blade. The crowd hushed, eyes on the hospital gown underneath, bare feet and tangled hair. Let them gawk.

“Rosette?” Blake’s voice was sharp, confused.

He stood by the bar, whiskey in hand, sandy blond hair catching the light, hazel eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home.”

“Home?” I laughed, loud and raw, making heads turn.

“You mean the cage you keep me in while you flaunt your wife?”

The music faded. Leila stepped forward, her smile venomous.

“Rosette, you poor thing. You look like you crawled out of a gutter. Go home before you embarrass yourself.”

But I wasn't intimidated. I stepped closer.

“Embarrass myself? But I’m not the one clinging to a man who uses me as a prop, am I?”

Blake moved toward me, jaw tight. “Rosette, stop. This isn’t the place—”

“It’s the perfect place,” I cut him off, voice rising.

“Right here, in front of your precious guests, I’m ending this. I’m done with you, Blake McCain. Done with your cowardice.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Leila’s face twisted, her voice sharp. “How dare you! You’re nothing—a nobody who thinks she’s something because Blake pitied you.”

“Nobody? Oh I'm anything but a nobody to that bastard you call a husband, Leila.”

“I loved a man who didn’t deserve me. I gave up everything for him—my pride, my future— my child. You’ll never know what that’s like, Leila. You’ll never carry a child, never feel that love, because you’re barren, and all you have is your lies.”

The room froze. Leila’s eyes widened with a bit of confusion, her hand clutching her chest. “You little—”

“Enough!” Celine’s voice sliced through, her sharp features contorted as she pushed forward.

“You ungrateful wretch! After everything Blake’s done—giving you a roof, clothes, food you couldn’t afford—you dare insult us?”

“Afford?” I turned on her, voice cold. “Everything Blake has—his penthouse, his deals, his life—came from money you don’t even know about. You think I’m here for his scraps? I don’t need them. I never did.”

Celine’s face flushed, but I didn’t stop. I faced Blake, heart pounding, words like knives.

“I loved you, Blake. I gave up my world for you. And you made me your dirty secret, let your mother call me a leech, let your wife mock me and above all, you let them take my son away from me.”

The crowd whispered, shocked. Blake’s face paled.

“Rosette, what are you talking about? What son? You’re not—”

“You don’t get it,” I said, voice breaking but fierce.

“You won’t, not yet. But I remember everything. The pain, the betrayal, everything! They killed him, Blake, and you let them!”

Leila laughed, shrill and forced.

“You’re insane! You're delusional. You think you can ruin my night with your fake stories? What the hell are you even talking about?! Rosette, you better get

your shitty self out of here this moment!”

I laughed. “Sure, I'm delusional because you don't understand yet. But remember this, you’ll never be a mother, and deep down, you know this already and it eats you alive.”

She lunged, hand raised, but I sidestepped, her swing missing. “Touch me,” I warned, “and you’ll regret it.”

Blake reached for me, voice desperate.

“Rosette, please. Stop this nonsense. Let’s talk in private. I love you and I always have.”

“Love?” I spat. “You chose her. You chose their lies, their status, their control. You let them destroy me, Blake. You don’t get to claim love now.”

Celine’s voice was ice.

“If you’re leaving, you take nothing. Not a single thing Blake gave you—not the coat, not the shoes you’re not even wearing. You walk out as the pauper you are.”

I smirked, yanking the coat off and tossing it at Blake’s feet. It landed with a soft thud.

“Keep your rags. I don’t need them. I’m done with you bastards.”

Leila’s voice trembled with rage. “You think you can just walk away? You’re a nobody, Rosette! You have nothing!”

“Watch me,” I said, turning to the elevator. The crowd parted, silent. Blake’s voice followed, pleading.

“Rosette, don’t.”

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped in, heart racing but satisfied.

The doors began to close, but a figure slipped through at the last second—a man, tall, shadowed, and in suits.

He moved fast, too fast, and the doors shut, trapping us together.

“Who are you?” I demanded, voice sharp, hand gripping my purse like a weapon.

His eyes glinted in the dim light, “Someone who knows who you are. I've come to take you home.”