Reborn to the '80s: The Playboy's Wife

When I opened my eyes again, there was a mop of messy, tousled hair right beside my hospital bed.

"Da… Ryder?"

"Y-Yeah, it's me."

Ryder's voice was hoarse. When he looked up at me, his eyes were full of exhaustion.

I glanced at the calendar on the wall and realized I had slept for an entire day.

When he saw me looking around, he sighed and said, "Don't bother. That jerk isn't here."

Janell entered the ward carrying an aluminium lunchbox. "Damian is really something else. He looked pretty worried about you at first, but the second Heidi said she felt dizzy, he ran straight to her.

"Do you have any idea that if Ryder hadn't insisted on getting you to the hospital to change your dressing, you'd have burned up with fever right at home?"

Ryder turned and shot her a look, telling her to stop.

Just like that, all my memories of him came flooding back as I stared at the familiar back of his head. I remembered him stripping off his shirt to cover the stain on my skirt and him pedaling his old bicycle for miles just to take me home.

I remembered him perched on my backyard wall at midnight, whistling just to make me smile while I was grounded.

Then, heavier memories of him surfaced. He had carried Dad's casket and knelt by my grave for a whole night before finally leaving in helplessness. Even after he found fame and fortune, he had kept my portrait by his bed.

For 40 years after I died, he had secretly left supplements at the Conrad family's door with my name on them and bought me birthday gifts every year.

Suddenly, I had this desperate urge to rush home and wait for Ryder's parents to come and formally ask for my hand.

The day felt unbearably long.

By the time I was discharged and returned home, it was midnight. After Dad took two phone calls, he was formally dressed up and sitting in the living room the next morning.

I didn't expect Rosalyn to be our first visitor.

She showed up at our door carrying two tins of milk powder. "How's your hand, Carla?"

My mind went blank for a second. Behind her, Damian stood looking ashamed. There was a gauze on his forehead like he had suffered a beating.

Ryder, who had been coming to our house morning and night like clockwork, let out a cold, disdainful snort.

After a round of small talk, Rosalyn rubbed her hands together and said, "Don't hold a grudge, Carla. Once you marry Damian, I'll treat you like my own daughter.

"The kids are such a good match, Colonel West. Why don't we make this official and let them marry each other?"

As she spoke, she withdrew a jewelry box from her purse.

Damian frowned, but when he caught sight of the dejected Ryder sitting nearby, he couldn't help but puff out his chest.

While I was taken aback, there was commotion outside the door. A crowd of our childhood friends arrived just in time. Countless boxes of wedding gifts were carried into the yard.

"Carla's lovely. We'd love to have her as our daughter-in-law, too."

Ryder's parents, Hawken Maverick and Sofia Burton, came over from next door. "Ryder might not always know when to keep his mouth shut, but his heart has always been with Carla.

"Carla, would you consider Ryder?"

Ryder dropped his usual playful demeanor and looked dead serious. "Mom, Dad… Carla doesn't actually—"

Damian let out a cold, mocking laugh before he could finish. There was a smug look in his eyes as he radiated the pride of a man waiting for his prize to crawl back to him.

For a moment, the air stilled. Only my footsteps could be heard in the silence.

With every step I took forward, the look in Damian's eyes shifted from haughty arrogance to disbelief. "Carla, you—"

"I, Carla West, would like to marry Ryder Maverick!"