Rebirth: The New Bride Wants A Divorce-Chapter 404: I am going to do that

Anna pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes glassy but fierce. "I wanted to scream at her," she admitted. "I wanted to call her out for every single lie. But I knew that was exactly what she’d expect."

Daniel brushed his thumb beneath her eye, wiping away the tear she hadn’t realized had escaped. "You didn’t give her that satisfaction."

Anna let out a shaky laugh. "No. I didn’t."

She leaned back into him again, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "She’s dangerous, Daniel. Not because she’s loud or reckless—but because she’s subtle. She makes you doubt yourself while smiling at you."

"I know," he murmured. "And that’s why you handled it perfectly."

Silence settled between them, broken only by the quiet hum of the engine and Anna’s gradually slowing breaths.

"I don’t think I could’ve walked out of there without breaking if you weren’t waiting for me," she confessed.

Daniel pressed a kiss to her hair. "You never have to do things like this alone. Not ever."

Her grip on him loosened slightly—not because she wanted to let go, but because she finally felt steady again.

After a moment, Anna straightened in her seat and wiped her face, resolve replacing the vulnerability.

"Let’s go," she said. "I’ve seen enough for today."

Daniel nodded and started the car, casting her a brief glance filled with quiet admiration.

As the gates closed behind them, Anna leaned back into the seat, her hand finding Daniel’s.

Whatever game was being played, she now knew one thing for certain— She wasn’t just a piece on the board anymore.

***

Anna didn’t return home.

Instead, she insisted on going with Daniel to Glorious International.

Daniel hadn’t argued. He had seen the way her hands trembled earlier, how tightly she had clung to him as if letting go meant falling apart. This—being around people, noise, purpose—was her way of coping. And more than that, she didn’t want to be alone when the trailer dropped.

She wanted him there.

The building buzzed with controlled chaos, assistants moving briskly through glass corridors, muted conversations trailing behind them. Yet despite the activity around her, Anna felt oddly detached—as though she were watching everything through a thin sheet of glass.

Daniel’s phone buzzed for the third time since they arrived.

He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening slightly before he answered. Anna didn’t miss it.

"Yes," Daniel said calmly. "I understand the backlash... No, the shoot is already wrapped."

He listened for a moment, then nodded even though the person on the other end couldn’t see him.

"Alright. Keep her away from all promotional events until the release. No interviews. No appearances. We’ll reassess after the trailer response."

He ended the call and exhaled slowly.

Anna was watching him.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, though she already sensed the answer.

Daniel hesitated, then chose honesty. "Director Wilsmith called. People are outraged about Fiona’s presence in the film."

Anna’s chest tightened.

"The controversy picked up faster than expected," he continued. "But since the shooting is already complete, there’s nothing we can do about her scenes now. The safest option is to keep her out of the spotlight until the film is released."

Anna looked away, her eyes dimming.

"I’m sorry," she said suddenly.

Daniel frowned. "For what?"

She turned back to him, and the guilt in her expression was unmistakable. "For all of this. For the trouble. For the loss you’re dealing with because of me."

Daniel opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t let him interrupt.

"If you hadn’t been associated with me," she went on, her voice quieter now, "my past wouldn’t have resurfaced like this. None of this would’ve spilled onto your projects. Fiona wouldn’t be facing backlash by association. Your film wouldn’t be under scrutiny."

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her coat. "I feel like everything I touch ends up... complicated."

Daniel stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Anna."

She shook her head. "You invested in that film believing it would stand on its own merit. And now instead of talking about the story, people are dissecting connections, scandals, and history that should’ve stayed buried."

For a brief moment, she looked unbearably tired.

"If I wasn’t in your life," she whispered, "you wouldn’t be losing anything."

Daniel reached for her hands, stopping her spiral.

"That’s where you’re wrong," he said firmly.

She looked up at him, startled by the edge in his tone.

"I didn’t lose anything by choosing you," he continued. "I chose you knowing exactly how cruel the world can be. Knowing that people dig, speculate, and destroy for sport."

His grip tightened—steady, grounding. "What I’d lose is myself if I ever let you believe you’re a burden."

Anna’s throat tightened. "But the film—"

"The film will survive," Daniel said. "And if it doesn’t, I’ll make another. What I won’t do is regret standing beside my wife."

The word wife settled something deep inside her.

She swallowed hard. "I just wanted today to be about the trailer. About something good."

Daniel softened. "It still can be."

He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "You came here because you wanted support, not because you wanted to carry guilt. So let me do what I’m here for."

Anna let out a shaky breath, the weight on her chest easing just a little.

"Stay with me when it releases?" she asked quietly.

"I’m not going anywhere," he replied without hesitation.

While Anna had Daniel by her side to witness her long-awaited launch, Ethan was miles away—in both place and mind—fighting a losing battle to reach Kathrine.

He had woken up expecting the familiar signs of her presence. The muted clink of a mug against the counter. The soft whisper of fabric as she moved through the kitchen. Maybe even her quiet humming, the one she never realized she did.

Instead, the condo was silent.

Ethan pushed himself upright, his eyes immediately drifting to the other side of the bed. Empty. The sheets were smooth, cool to the touch. She hadn’t just stepped out for air—she had been gone long enough for the space to feel abandoned.

His jaw tightened and that’s was when he saw it.

A single sheet of paper, folded neatly, resting on the nightstand as though carefully placed to be found. His chest constricted as he reached for it, fingers stiff, instinct already warning him this wasn’t something casual.

The words were short. Almost detached.

I now understand what you said, and I am going to do that.