Reborn After Death, Now My Cheating Husband Regretted Everything

Samira stood by herself at the table, quietly minding her own business, when Luna showed up—hooked onto Jean’s arm like some prize she had just won.

It didn’t take long for Samira to notice the necklace hanging around Luna’s neck. Her necklace. The one Jean had taken from her just that morning.

It was impossible to miss. That piece wasn’t just jewelry, it meant something. It had always symbolized the status of the Zaccaro Family’s daughter-in-law.

And now Jean had handed it over to Luna himself, like he was making some sort of official announcement.

Samira didn’t react. She didn’t cause a scene or go stomping over to demand answers. Not this time. She had done that once before and became the joke of the evening. She had learned.

Instead, she just stood there, quiet, detached. Watching them like someone flipping through a memory they didn’t care to revisit.

Even though she hadn’t gone near them, she still stood out. And Jean noticed. His gaze caught hers from across the room and something in his chest twisted.

Her expression didn’t hold anger. No heartbreak. Just... distance. Like she wasn’t even part of this mess anymore. Just an outsider, watching it unfold. Before he knew it, he had walked up to her.

Samira didn’t move. She didn’t ask him why he came over. She didn’t even look surprised. Her eyes met his with a calm indifference.

But then Luna stepped in, her voice shaking. “Samira… I didn’t mean to upset you. Please don’t hurt me…”

Samira blinked, confused. ‘What is she talking about?’

Jean’s jaw tightened immediately. He turned to Luna, already scowling. “Did she do something to you again?”

Again. That word hit like ice in her chest. Of course. Of course that was what he would think. Before Samira could say a word, Luna pulled out her phone and showed Jean a string of messages. Her name was at the top of the chat.

The messages were ugly. Threats. Promises that if Luna didn’t leave Jean alone, she’d disappear for good. But Samira had never sent them.

Still… she had seen this move before. Luna had pulled this same stunt when they were kids. It worked back then too.

Jean stared at the screen, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped the phone. When he finally looked up at Samira, his face was full of fury.

“You’re unbelievable,” he hissed. “You’d go this far? You really want to kill someone over love?”

Samira didn’t even flinch. She just stared back at him, tired. Like she couldn’t believe he still didn’t get it. Samira stood there, silent, as the sting on her cheek burned hotter than the wine in her glass.

Jean had slapped her. In public. No hesitation, no questions asked, just rage. Because Luna gasped and pulled at her own dress like she was in danger.

She hadn’t even touched her. Samira didn’t know what shocked her more, Luna’s theatrics or Jean falling for it instantly. Again.

She tasted blood in her mouth, but maybe it was just the bitterness welling up from somewhere deeper.

Jean glared at her like she was something rotten he couldn’t wait to throw away. “You’ve gone too far, Samira. I’m done making excuses for you. Go back to your family’s house. I’ll come pick you up in two days. Think long and hard before then.”

He didn’t even wait for her response.

Instead, he pulled off his suit jacket, wrapped it gently around Luna’s shoulders and led her away like a hero protecting the damsel.

Samira just stood there, feeling like the ground beneath her had cracked wide open. It was humiliating. She had done nothing, not this time. And yet, here she was, once again cast as the villain in a play she hadn’t auditioned for.

So this was what it came to. He didn’t see her. Not who she really was. Not who she had ever been. Just Luna’s sister. A threat. A nuisance.

She could’ve yelled. She could’ve screamed that it was all fake, that Luna had set her up just like she used to when they were kids. That this was history repeating itself.

But there was no point. Jean never believed her back then. And clearly, he didn’t now.

So instead, she quietly reached for a fresh glass of wine, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the burn on her cheek. She raised it lazily in the air, as if toasting something only she could see.

Her voice was quiet, barely louder than a whisper. “I hope you’re happy, Jean. And I hope I can finally start living… really living, without you.”

She took one last sip from her glass, then set it down gently on the table. No drama. No second glance. Just like that, Samira turned around and walked away, calm, composed, done.

She didn’t rush. She didn’t look back. Whatever they’d had… it was over long before this moment.

Tomorrow, the news of her “death” would explode online. People would talk. There would be shock, whispers, a hundred theories. But none of it would matter. Because Jean was no longer part of her story.