Rebirth: The New Bride Wants A Divorce-Chapter 362: You feel disturbingly like home

Anna finally turned around.

"And what if staying means standing against my own family?" she asked softly.

Daniel swallowed. "Then I’ll never ask you to choose sides. I’ll only ask you to choose me."

The room fell quiet. Then Anna closed the suitcase with a decisive snap.

Daniel exhaled shakily, relief flooding him. "Thank God."

She picked it up and his relief vanished. "Why are you lifting it?"

She walked past him toward the door, ignoring him.

"ANNA."

Anna stopped at the threshold and looked back at him, eyes dancing with mischief. "Relax. I’m just putting it back."

She placed the suitcase outside the room and returned, arms crossed, a satisfied smile on her face.

"You’re evil," Daniel muttered.

She grinned. "You married me. You should’ve known."

He stepped closer, cautiously, as if she might still disappear. "So... you’re not leaving?"

She looked up at him. "No."

His shoulders sagged in relief. "Good. Because I was two seconds away from doing something very undignified."

"Oh?" she teased. "Like what?"

"Begging," he admitted. "Possibly crying. Definitely apologizing excessively."

She laughed, full and warm this time, and Daniel realized he hadn’t heard that sound in far too long.

Anna reached up and poked his chest. "Next time, don’t decide my reactions for me."

He caught her hand gently. "Next time, don’t pretend to leave. I almost lost five years of my life just now."

She smiled softly. "You’re stuck with me, Daniel. War, secrets, Bennetts and all."

He pulled her into his arms without warning, holding her tightly. "Good," he murmured. "Because I don’t think I survive another morning like this."

She hugged him back, laughing against his chest. "Dramatic."

"Efficient," he corrected.

Daniel didn’t loosen his hold on her even after the laughter faded.

For a man who claimed to thrive on control, he was currently clinging to her like she might vanish if he blinked.

Anna noticed.

She shifted slightly in his arms. He tightened them.

"Daniel," she said calmly.

"Yes?"

"You’re squeezing me."

"I am preventing you from making any more poor life decisions," he replied seriously.

She snorted. "By suffocating me?"

"Temporary measure."

She pushed lightly against his chest. "If you don’t let go, I’m going to start questioning whether you’re scared of divorce or scared of being alone with your thoughts."

That did it.

He released her instantly, stepping back as if burned. "That’s a low blow."

"But accurate," she said sweetly.

He glared. "You enjoyed that suitcase stunt far too much."

"I had to test something," she replied, folding her arms.

"And?" he asked warily.

"And now I know," she said, meeting his eyes, "that the great Daniel Clafford completely loses his mind when he thinks he’s losing me."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I do not lose my mind."

"You grabbed my wrist, stole my clothes, insulted my dramatic exits, and admitted you’d cry."

"I said possibly."

She laughed again, softer this time, and stepped closer. "You don’t have to protect me from the truth, Daniel. I’m already standing in it."

His expression shifted—less defensive, more vulnerable.

"I don’t expect you to fight my battles," he said quietly. "And I don’t expect you to turn against your family overnight."

She nodded. "Good. Because I won’t."

He stiffened slightly, but she continued before he could spiral.

"But," she added, placing a hand on his chest, "I also won’t pretend nothing is wrong. Not anymore. There are too many lies. Too many convenient truths."

He searched her face. "So what are you saying?"

"I’m saying," she replied, "that instead of destroying each other from opposite sides, we find out what actually happened."

His brow furrowed. "Together?"

She smiled. "Together."

A slow breath left him. "You realize that puts you directly in the line of fire."

"I married into this mess," she said lightly. "Might as well reorganize it."

He huffed a short laugh. "You’re frighteningly calm about this."

"Oh, I’m not calm," she admitted. "I’m just choosing not to panic before breakfast."

"Breakfast," he echoed. "Right. Normal couples argue about chores. We argue about corporate warfare and family crimes."

She tilted her head. "Still counts as bonding."

He shook his head, a reluctant smile forming. "You’re impossible."

"And yet," she said, stepping closer again, "you stopped me from leaving."

He lowered his voice. "Because I meant what I said. I fell in love with you without planning it. And that terrifies me more than anything Hugo Bennett could ever do."

Her expression softened.

She reached up and cupped his face gently. "Then stop assuming love makes people leave. Sometimes it makes them stay and fight."

For a moment, he just looked at her.

Then he leaned down and kissed her—slow, grounding, real.

"So," Daniel said softly as he pulled back just enough to look at her, "you mean to say that you love me?"

Anna’s cheeks warmed instantly, a soft flush blooming as she looked away for half a second before meeting his gaze again. "Isn’t it obvious," she asked lightly, trying to mask her nerves, "or do you want me to say it out loud?"

When she looked up, she expected to see his usual teasing smile.

It wasn’t there.

Daniel’s expression had changed—gone was the playful arrogance, replaced by something raw and achingly sincere. The seriousness in his eyes stole her breath.

Slowly, as if afraid she might disappear, he lifted his hands and cupped her face. His thumbs brushed gently along her jaw before he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers.

"I’ve been dying to hear that, wifey," he whispered.

His breath was uneven now, the composure he wore so easily finally slipping. The man who never begged, who never admitted need, looked almost vulnerable as his eyes searched hers.

"I know I act like it doesn’t matter," he continued quietly. "Like I don’t need reassurance. But that was a lie I told myself long before I ever met you."

Anna’s chest tightened.

"For a long time," he said, voice low and honest, "I convinced myself that wanting something only made it easier to lose. So I learned how to deny everything—hope, attachment, love."

His forehead pressed a little closer to hers. "But you see through me. You always have."

She reached up, her hands resting over his, grounding him. "You don’t have to hide with me, Daniel."

A breath shuddered out of him. "That’s what terrifies me," he admitted. "You don’t just know me—you understand me. And still you stayed."

He closed his eyes briefly, as if steadying himself. "I might joke. I might pretend I don’t care. But the truth is... loving you is the one thing I’ve never been able to talk myself out of."

Anna smiled softly, emotion glimmering in her eyes. "Then let me say it properly," she murmured.

She leaned in, brushing her nose against his. "I love you, Daniel."

His eyes opened slowly, and for a moment he looked almost stunned—like a man who had waited far too long for a promise he never thought he’d receive.

Then he smiled. Not the sharp, confident smirk the world knew, but something quieter. Real.

Daniel might deny many things to protect himself from embarrassment, from disappointment, from loss—but in that moment, he didn’t need to.

Because Anna could see straight through him.

And for the first time, he didn’t want her to look away.

Daniel didn’t move for a long moment after she said it.

It was as if the words had settled somewhere deep in his chest, warming parts of him that had stayed cold for years. His hands were still cupping her face, thumbs brushing lightly over her cheeks, committing the softness of her expression to memory.

"I love you," she had said.

Not carefully. Not cautiously.

Just honestly.

His forehead rested against hers, his breath uneven as he exhaled slowly, grounding himself. "You have no idea how dangerous it is to say that to me," he murmured.

Anna smiled faintly. "I think I do."

That earned a quiet laugh from him, low and breathless. He leaned in first, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was unhurried, almost reverent. There was no urgency in it—just warmth, familiarity, and the kind of closeness that came from choosing each other despite the weight of everything else.

Anna’s hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back. The world outside the room faded, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the steady rhythm of their hearts.

Daniel deepened the kiss slightly, careful, as if he were learning her all over again. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers once more.

"For someone who scares me this much," he said softly, "you feel disturbingly like home."

Her chest tightened at that. She traced her thumb along his jaw. "You don’t have to be strong with me all the time."

His eyes flickered. "I don’t know how not to be."

"Then let me hold the pieces when you get tired," she replied gently.

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, allowing himself—just for this moment—to let go. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, not possessively, but protectively, as if anchoring himself to something real.

They stood like that for a while, wrapped in quiet comfort. No words. No promises. Just presence.