Reborn After Death, Now My Cheating Husband Regretted Everything

Miranda stepped out of the organizer’s office and glanced around the hall, but there was no sign of Samira.

Frowning, she stopped a passing guest to ask if they had seen her. What she heard made her face tighten.

Without a word, she turned and headed straight for the lounge. As soon as she pushed open the door, she found Jean sitting on the couch, arms around Luna, gently comforting her like it was some tragic scene out of a drama. Miranda barely gave Luna a glance.

She cut straight to the point. “Where’s Samira?”

Jean, clearly still ticked off, waved her off. “How would I know?”

Miranda was about to respond when something caught her eye. Her gaze landed on the necklace around Luna’s neck and her face hardened.

She stepped forward quickly and pointed. “Why the hell is that on her?”

Luna flinched, her expression panicked. Jean moved in front of her protectively. “She liked it, so I gave it to her. What’s the big deal?”

Miranda didn’t even blink. She reached out and yanked the necklace off Luna’s neck with a scowl. “This necklace is for the Zaccaro Family’s daughter-in-law. My daughter-in-law. And that’s Samira. Not some girl who’s been dragging your name through the mud.”

Luna gasped and covered her neck, already in tears.

Jean looked stunned for a second, then got defensive fast. “Mom, seriously? Are you letting Samira get in your head too? She’s been awful to Luna from the start!”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He helped Luna to her feet and stormed out of the lounge, fuming. Even in the car, his hands gripped the wheel too tight, his chest rising and falling with frustration.

‘Yeah, Samira used to be sweet when she was younger, but things changed. She changed. Didn’t she?’ Still… the look on his mother’s face.

The conviction in her voice. A tiny part of him started to doubt. ‘What if... Samira wasn’t the one lying?’

Before he could follow the thought, Luna sniffled beside him. “Jean… does your mom hate me? My neck really hurts.”

That snapped his focus back. He reached out and stroked her hair gently. “Don’t worry about her,” he said softly. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

After calming Luna down, Jean sat in silence for a moment, trying to recall what had been bothering him earlier. But whatever it was, it slipped away. He started the car and took her home.

Once inside, he was about to leave when Luna reached out and gently held his hand. “Jean… how much longer are you going to wait to file for the divorce?”

Her voice was soft and vulnerable, the kind that made people instinctively want to protect her. But instead of sympathy, Jean felt an odd wave of discomfort. His brows drew together and he didn’t even realize it.

Luna noticed the subtle shift immediately. Her heart skipped. She forced her eyes to fill with tears and her bottom lip to tremble. “Jean… you did sign the agreement, didn’t you? Are you… are you hesitating now?”

As expected, her wounded expression hit its mark. Jean's heart tightened and he quickly tried to reassure her, brushing off her fears with a gentle voice, but still, he didn’t mention anything about divorce.

That made Luna uneasy.

She had worked so hard to get back everything that once belonged to her. She had the title, the spotlight, even the Zaccaro necklace. All that was left was Jean. She couldn’t afford for this to fall apart.

“She’s always hated me,” Luna whispered tearfully. “Even when we were kids. She killed my kitten, Jean. You know that, right? You believe me, don’t you?”

Her tears fell harder now.

Jean let out a long breath. He was getting tired of this, but he kept his voice steady. “Luna, I believe you. Okay? I know Samira isn’t easy to deal with… but she’s not the same as before. She’s been through enough.”

He looked away for a moment, then added quietly, “You already have everything you wanted. And Samira… she’s got no one now. I can’t just abandon her like she’s nothing. You understand, don’t you?”

Luna said nothing. Her fists clenched beneath the covers. Before she could argue again, Jean gently laid her down, pulled the quilt up over her and turned toward the door.

As she watched him walk away, something in her cracked. She slammed her fists against the bed, teeth clenched in frustration.

Jean had no clue what was going on. He walked out, his steps quick and stiff, got in the car and suddenly, Samira flashed through his mind.

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and called the Jourdain Family.

Earlier, back at the lounge, he had told them to send Samira home. But now, something in his chest tightened. He needed to see her.

The call connected. “Has Samira come back yet?” he asked.

The answer came back calm and polite—but it made his stomach drop. “No, sir. She hasn't returned.”

Jean hung up without saying much more and slammed his foot on the gas. He drove straight home. The second he stepped through the door, something felt wrong. The house was quiet.

Dark. Still. “Samira?” he called, walking deeper inside. “Samira? Are you here?”

No answer. He checked the bedroom. Nothing. Tried calling her again. Busy. Again. And again.

The constant beeping made his head spin. His breathing grew shallow and he clutched his chest, trying to calm down.

“She’s just upset,” he mumbled, sitting on the floor, one hand gripping the edge of the couch for balance. “She’ll come back. She always does…”

He tried to believe that. The next morning, he got up, made some coffee and sat down for breakfast. Half-distracted, he scrolled through the news on his phone, until one headline stopped him cold.

Dismembered body found near central alley. Victim’s identity pending. The location hit him first, it was right near last night’s venue.

Then came the jolt in his chest. He rubbed at the ache, assuming it was stress. Maybe he should see a doctor.

He pushed the thought aside and kept waiting. But by afternoon, she still hadn’t come home. She hadn’t gone back to the Jourdain house either.

That was when his phone rang. His heart jumped. He grabbed it, only to see Mom on the screen. Disappointed, he still answered.

“Jean,” she said, her voice cracking, “Samira... she’s gone.”

He froze. His fingers tightened around the phone. His mind went blank. Somehow, he got in the car and drove to the police station. But he didn’t remember the drive. Everything felt slow and far away, like he was underwater.

Inside, the first thing he heard was crying, his mother’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He didn’t even turn his head.

An officer approached quietly. “Mr. Zaccaro? This way, please.”

They led him down a hallway to the morgue. “We haven’t found her head yet,” the officer said carefully, “or parts of her body. But we’ve identified her based on what we recovered.”

Jean stood there, staring at the door, his body heavy, his ears ringing.