Stigma

"Rachel, you fucking bitch. GO TO HELL!"

On the king-size bed, the man's face was a mask of fury, his black eyes burning with hate. The veins stood out on his forehead and his arms as he wrung the woman's slender neck.

The woman was still half-asleep, but she could feel something was wrong. She couldn't breathe!

Rachel Bennet opened her eyes wide, still groggy from sleep. She felt a pair of hands on her neck, choking the life out of her. She was confused and consumed by fear and panic.

As her lungs started screaming for air, her survival instinct kicked in. She raised her hands to her throat, trying to fend off her attacker.

But the man wouldn't budge. Instead, he tightened his grip on her neck, causing her face to turn a deep red and her vision to blur.

Bam!

The door was thrown open and the butler rushed in. His face paled at the sight before him, but he didn't lose a minute. He hurried to the bed and grabbed the man's arm, shouting, "Mr. Sullivan! Mr. Sullivan! Please let go of her! You're killing her!"

"She deserves to die!" The man had an unhinged look in his eyes and spit came out of his mouth along with his words.

The butler knew that couldn't stop the man physically, so he knelt by the bed and started begging for Rachel's life. "Mr. Sullivan, please! If you kill her, your grandma will roll over in her grave. She won't be able to rest in peace!"

Grandma?

Hearing the butler's words, Victor Sullivan loosened his grip slightly.

Rachel grabbed the opportunity to escape his grasp and crawl away. Her back hit the headboard and she stayed there curled in a ball, looking at Victor with wide, fearful eyes.

The butler saw the change in Victor's attitude as a sign to keep pushing. "Mr. Sullivan, be patient! Today your divorce will become official. You will never see her again! Spare her life for her mother's sake. Her mother once saved your grandma, remember? Please calm down!"

Victor seemed to see the reason behind his butler's words. He got out of bed, put on his pajamas in silence. When he was done, he turned around and spoke, in a voice cold as ice.

"I'll tell Ivan to send the divorce papers here. Sign it and then get the hell out. I don't want to see your face ever again."

With a final look filled with hatred, he left the room, followed by the butler.

The door slammed behind him, the sound hurting Rachel's ears. She covered herself with the bedcovers, still in shock. Her face was deathly pale, her heart fluttering in her chest.

She lowered her head and looked at her body. She was completely naked and dark bruises marred her otherwise flawless skin.

The adrenaline coursing through her veins had dulled the pain until now. But when the worst had passed, Rachel felt that her entire body was sore. She hurt everywhere.

Rachel couldn't find any women's clothes in the closet. It contained only men's shirts and black suits.

She grabbed a shirt and a pair of suit pants and put them on. The pants were ridiculously large for her, dragging on the ground.

On top of the pain she already felt, she could feel a terrible headache coming on. Groaning, she walked to the sofa and sat down. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Memories that didn't belong to her started flooding her senses.

Moments later, she opened her eyes again. Those memories belonged to the former owner of this body, the woman named Rachel. After quietly sorting things out in her mind, she finally came to two conclusions.

She had been reborn, from Shelia Davis to Rachel Bennet.

The one inhabiting this body before her was a worthless girl madly in love with Victor. Her mother had gotten sick and died a while ago and her father was a pathetic scumbag.

There was a knock on the door.

The sound startled Rachel out of her reverie. A cold voice came from the other side of the door. "May I come in?"