Chapter 2

Eleanor’s greatest strength was her unwavering composure. She believed in accepting the inevitable—the outcome was predetermined, whether her rebirth or her husband's imminent departure. Fretting was pointless.

Sebastian would soon vanish without explanation. She was accustomed to widowhood and experienced at reclaiming what was rightfully hers. In this lifetime, she would banish Brenda and her family from the Sandberg household and recover the inheritance Brenda’s family had unjustly held for years.

She had one further goal: to find a handsome, untainted man for occasional companionship. Sebastian would be her benchmark; she wouldn't settle for anyone who failed to satisfy her as he had.

Sebastian remained oblivious to Eleanor's thoughts. He only noted the lingering blush on her face and the sensuality radiating from her as she lay there. His Adam's apple bobbed as he fought the urge to possess her again.

He rose, donned a bathrobe, and watched as Eleanor turned, taking in his broad shoulders and long legs. She admired his height—six foot two—and flawless physique. He was a striking specimen, the kind of man who inspired ardent female attention.

He and Maurice shared a father but different mothers. Half their genes were identical, yet Sebastian was far more handsome. Yes, they were half-brothers, making Sebastian not only Eleanor's cousin-in-law but her brother-in-law as well.

He turned to Eleanor, hesitating momentarily at the strange look in her eyes. Then, coldly and deliberately, he said, “I didn’t realize it was you in the dark. Regardless, what’s done is done. I’ll take responsibility.”

What did that mean? He hadn't known it was her. Had he mistaken her for Brenda?

Disgust welled up inside her. She didn't object to sex with anyone, but her pride forbade being mistaken for another—especially that viper, Brenda.

Anger flared, and she sneered, “You must be disappointed, then.”

Sebastian’s aloof expression momentarily stiffened.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. Retrieving her nightgown, she found it torn—undeniably Sebastian's handiwork, a testament to his earlier abandon. She snorted, unwilling to admit the encounter had been her first and surprisingly gentle, despite his recklessness and the mistaken identity.

Discarding the ruined garment, she rose, strode to the closet, grabbed a bathrobe, and met his gaze as she tied the belt, her hands trembling slightly. There was no point in pretense; they had already shared intimacy. He had seen everything.

Yet, his gaze was almost palpable, a consuming intensity that overwhelmed her. Eleanor, ever proud, concealed any shyness or embarrassment. Before heading to the bathroom, she said, “You can't make a crude person appreciate finer things.” A pointed remark about his mistake and her ruined nightgown.

Sebastian was speechless.

The well-lit bathroom offered stark clarity. Eleanor leaned close to the mirror, studying her reflection.

She was only three years younger than in her past life but far more beautiful. Was it the aftermath of intimacy? She had always considered herself attractive—netizens had nicknamed her "Weston Crabapple," a testament to her beauty. Now, however, she was overwhelmingly captivating, even to herself. This only underscored Sebastian's blindness. How could he have mistaken her for Brenda?

As she stared, her expression grew grave. She knew the reason for her rebirth. In her past life, after vanquishing Brenda and her family and reclaiming Sandberg Group, she’d celebrated late into the night. Returning to Minharton, a sudden, agonizing abdominal pain had struck. Driven by survival instinct, she'd called an ambulance. Her last memory was the arrival of paramedics and CPR, before fading into unconsciousness.

She had died. Acute illness? Alcohol poisoning? Or… murder? She'd had annual checkups and was relatively healthy despite long hours. Her gut feeling pointed to murder. Who? Brenda and her family were the only suspects. It mattered little; she would settle old scores and new.

Eleanor exhaled, removed her bathrobe, and headed for the shower. Catching sight of her body in the mirror, she saw the hickeys stretching from her neck to collarbones. She flushed. Had Sebastian been a ravenous animal? He’d marked her brutally. Bruises marred her waist; her soft skin highlighted the damage. She looked… horrific. She glared in Sebastian’s direction, the door separating them.

Forget it. He'd likely be gone by the time she finished.

Their weddings had been on a cruise ship. In her past life, a storm had struck during the night, and Sebastian had disappeared, rumored to have fallen overboard. Whether he abandoned her or perished at sea was immaterial; he would vanish.

Eleanor silently resolved to respect his fate before stepping into the shower. She would think of him no more.

Sebastian lit a cigarette at the suite's window. The lighter flame illuminated his handsome face; his fringe cast shadows, enhancing his aloofness. Closer inspection revealed a slight tremor in his hand as he held the cigarette.

A long-held dream realized. Calm outwardly, his emotions raged beneath the surface, constrained only by ironclad self-control, leaving his face impassive.

“Mr. Whitman.” An attendant approached, speaking in Criptonese.

Sebastian didn't flinch. He glanced toward the bathroom, ensuring Eleanor's absence before turning back.

The attendant continued quietly, “The intel was flawed. The item wasn't located. We'll provide cover for your departure.”