Rebirth Into My Second Chance

Helen knocked on the door and peeked in, "Ms. Claire, it's lunchtime."

Rubbing my head, I attempted to get up, only to be reminded of last night's ordeal, leaving me with a sore back and aching muscles.

Compared to his usual intensity, Max had been somewhat gentler last night, probably because of my pregnancy. Still, the length of time had taken its toll!

I couldn't help but notice Helen's smirk, eerily reminiscent of Max's own mischievous grin.

"Do you think there was no need to decorate that spare room, assuming we'd just end up sharing a bed anyway?" I teased her.

She nodded seriously, "Should I bring some flowers in here?"

I tilted my head, "No need, the sandalwood scent here is quite nice."

Looking around, I noted the absence of any incense, yet the sandalwood fragrance lingered.

"Mr. Hilton is fond of incense, so he's hired experts to manage it. They visit daily at set times to refresh or change the scents according to his mood. Though the aromas are similar, their effects vary, lasting the whole day." Helen must have seen my puzzled look.

This was what set the elite apart from ordinary folks.

I thought incense was an easy thing.

But for the elite, it involved specialized incense masters tailoring scents to the homeowner's whims, something beyond my expectations.

"Where's Max?"

I casually used Max's name, causing Helen to pause before explaining, "Is that your nickname for him? Mr. Hilton's full name is Maximilian Hilton. And we jokingly call him Grim Reaper. There was a mix-up where 'MH' was embroidered on one of his shirts instead of 'GR', turning it into a unique piece. Luckily, Mr. Hilton wasn't upset."

Helen's story brought mixed feelings; the shirt was a one-of-a-kind item, and I'd stumbled upon it.

What shocked me further was Max having his own personal embroiderer.

Growing up, whenever my clothes tore, it was the orphanage director who fixed them.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

Richard's hatred for the Hilton family stemmed from societal inequalities and the stark divide between the rich and the poor.

"Ms. Claire, did I say something wrong?" Helen asked, seeing my downturned head, concerned she might have misspoken.

I shook my head.

Fate isn't something that everyone can control. People can strive to improve themselves; Richard did become better through his efforts.

Yet, obsessed with proving himself superior to the Hilton family, he lost his way.

I changed into an outfit Helen

selected for me, something

seemingly modest yet from a brat

I'd heard of but never encountered firsthand.

It was a dress made from cloud silk, a fabric so delicate it required perfect weather conditions for production.

Though the color was a bit subdued, wearing it felt like ascending several social classes.

"Could I choose something else?"

Helen shook her head, saying, "You must believe in the freedom to love, in equality. Mr. Hilton offers you these things because you're worthy. You mustn't feel inferior. You're exceptional. I once heard Mr. Hilton murmur your name during a fainting spell mentioning a flood. We learned from the news how steadfastly you went to help others, standing with Mr. Hilton to save lives. We also know of your medical skills. So, you see, you have no reason to feel less. You can be the best you can be."

Helen spoke as if she were Max's voice, sharing what he wouldn't.

I looked down, a faint smile on my lips.

I shouldn't feel less than anyone.