Rebirth: The New Bride Wants A Divorce-Chapter 407: You win Anna

"Let’s announce our marriage."

Anna’s words echoed inside Daniel’s head long after they left her lips.

He stared at her as if she had just rewritten reality in front of him.

"Y–You want to?" he asked, needing to hear it again—needing to be sure he hadn’t imagined it.

Anna exhaled softly, a sound caught somewhere between nerves and resolve. When she didn’t immediately answer, Daniel’s brows drew together.

"If you don’t want to, then—"

"I want to." The eagerness in Daniel’s voice cut her off completely.

The intensity of it left Anna frozen for a few seconds. She blinked once, then twice, before her lips curved into a smile so genuine it softened every sharp edge in the room.

"Okay then," she said lightly. "Come here?" She patted the seat beside her.

Daniel didn’t hesitate. He moved instantly, sitting close enough that their knees brushed. His heart was still racing when Anna reached for his hand, her fingers threading through his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Daniel watched her closely as she lifted her phone and angled it toward their intertwined hands. The soft click of the camera echoed twice.

The she released his hand only to immediately focus on her phone, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

"What are you doing?" Daniel asked, confusion flickering across his face. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

He leaned in, eyes following every movement as she unlocked her screen, opened her social media app, and uploaded the photos.

His brows furrowed when he saw the caption.

Together.

"Done," Anna announced, turning the screen toward him proudly.

Daniel blinked not once but twice.

"But... that doesn’t announce our marriage," he said slowly, genuinely baffled as he looked back at her.

"No," Anna replied calmly, locking her phone. "It doesn’t."

Daniel’s lips parted. "Then why did you say—"

"But it does confirm our relationship," she added, cutting him off gently.

Daniel stared at her in disbelief and then—his shoulders visibly sagged. "Oh."

The single word carried far more weight than it should have and Anna noticed it immediately.

He leaned back, arms folding across his chest, his expression shifting into something unmistakably sulky. His jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed stubbornly on the opposite wall.

Anna tilted her head, studying him. "You’re pouting," she said.

"I am not," Daniel replied instantly.

"You are," she insisted, amused. "You look like I just took away your favorite toy."

"That’s because you did," he muttered.

Anna laughed softly. "Daniel—"

"You said marriage," he cut in, finally turning to face her. "Marriage, Anna. Not... not vague hand pictures."

"They’re symbolic vague hand pictures."

"That say Together," he emphasized. "That could mean anything. Friendship. A project. A teaser."

She grinned. "Exactly."

His eyes narrowed. "That was not comforting."

Anna shifted closer, her tone softening. "Listen to me, okay?"

Daniel hesitated, then nodded.

"I didn’t do this because I don’t want to announce our marriage," she said sincerely. "I did this because timing matters."

He sighed. "I knew there was strategy involved." and Anna couldn’t help but nod.

"There always is," she admitted without shame. "But it’s not for selfish reasons."

She reached for his hand again, this time holding it firmly.

"My fans thrive on the chase," she continued. "The mystery. The guessing. The digging. The moment I post something subtle like this, they’ll start dissecting every detail—whose hand it is, why now, what it means."

Daniel watched her closely, his sulk easing just a little.

"They’ll connect dots," she went on. "Interviews. Appearances. Old clips. Suddenly the conversation shifts."

"From what?" he asked quietly.

"From Fiona," Anna answered honestly leaving Daniel still.

"The more they speculate about us, the less oxygen there is for that narrative," she said. "This redirects attention without creating a scandal. It builds curiosity instead of controversy."

Daniel exhaled slowly. "And the movie?" he asked.

Anna smiled—this time softer, deeper. "That’s the real reason," she admitted.

She leaned back, eyes thoughtful. "Wilsmith poured his soul into this film. You’ve seen it. The cast worked endlessly. Long hours, reshoots, pressure—everyone gave more than they had."

Daniel nodded. He knew that truth well.

"This buzz?" she continued. "It helps the film. It keeps it trending for the right reasons. Romance sells. Mystery sells. And when the audience is excited about the leads, they show up."

She turned to him fully now.

"I’m not doing this to hide you," she said firmly. "I’m doing this to protect what everyone worked so hard for—including you."

Daniel’s chest tightened. "You’re helping me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Anna said without hesitation. "Because you deserve success without it being overshadowed by someone else’s mess."

The room fell silent.

Daniel looked at her, really looked at her—the woman beside him who was balancing love, loyalty, strategy, and responsibility all at once.

"You didn’t have to do it."

Daniel’s voice was low, thoughtful. He knew better than anyone that loss had never been measured in numbers for him. Money came and went—millions earned in minutes, erased just as quickly. That part had never frightened him.

What unsettled him now was something else entirely.

The realization of why Anna had done it.

She hadn’t thought about headlines first. Or profit. Or control. She had thought about the crew who stayed late, the cast who gave everything, the director who believed in the story when it was still fragile. She had thought about people.

And somehow, that made him love her even more.

Anna noticed the way his gaze softened, but instead of basking in it, she pouted slightly. "I wanted to," she said stubbornly, folding her arms. "It mattered."

Daniel didn’t argue. Instead, he scooted forward and pulled her gently into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

The gesture was unhurried, reverent—as if he was afraid the moment might slip away if he moved too fast.

"I love you," he murmured, eyes closing as he held her closer, breathing her in like she was home.

Anna froze. Her heart stumbled, then raced.

"And I love you," she replied.

The words came out quieter than his—but no less real.

"...What did you say?" Daniel pulled back abruptly, his hands still firm on her waist. His eyes searched her face, intense and almost disbelieving, as if he were afraid his heart had finally betrayed him with wishful thinking.

"I said I love you," Anna repeated.

This time, she didn’t hesitate. There was no retreat, no deflection. Her voice was steady, open—honest in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in a very long time.

Daniel’s breath hitched.

For a man who had waited so long, who had loved so patiently and so quietly, the moment felt almost unreal. His joy wasn’t loud—it was overwhelming, swelling in his chest until it left him breathless.

Before Anna could say another word, she found herself lifted effortlessly and settled onto his lap. His hands framed her face, and then his lips were on hers—warm, claiming, full of everything he’d held back for far too long.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was deep, reverent, and emotional, as if he was pouring every unspoken feeling into it.

"You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this," Daniel muttered against her lips as he pulled back just enough to speak.

Then he kissed her again—this time slower, more certain.

Anna slowly melted into him keeping the pace.

She had always loved Daniel. That truth had never really left her, no matter how hard she’d tried to bury it. But after everything she’d faced in her past—betrayal, loss, versions of love that hurt more than they healed—she had convinced herself that distance was safety.

That starting fresh meant starting alone.

Yet no matter how far she tried to move away from him, Daniel had never stopped drawing her back—not with force, but with consistency. With patience. With a love that never demanded more than she could give.

And now, given the chance to choose freely, she finally understood. This was different.

This wasn’t fear disguised as independence. This wasn’t love that asked her to shrink or guard herself endlessly. This was steady. Gentle. Certain.

Her heart didn’t resist anymore. It fell—once again, and completely.

This time, she didn’t try to stop it. She rested her forehead against his, breathing him in, knowing with absolute clarity that whatever came next—scrutiny, pressure, storms—she wouldn’t be facing it alone.

"I love you Daniel" she repeated slowly leaning close and sealing his lips this time.

While the internet erupted in frenzy, inside a quiet apartment stripped of warmth and sound, someone sat motionless in the dark—eyes fixed on a single, glaring source of light.

The phone screen burned bright against the shadows.

Fiona hadn’t bothered to turn on a lamp. She didn’t need one. The glow from Anna’s post was enough to illuminate everything she had lost.

Praise flooded the screen—endless comments celebrating talent, authenticity, resilience. Strangers dissected every frame of the trailer, every glimpse of Anna, calling her refreshing, calling her deserving. Each word felt like salt pressed into an open wound.

Fiona’s chest tightened, a sharp, relentless ache spreading as she stared at the name she could no longer escape.

Anna.

Once, Fiona had believed she could outmaneuver her. Break her. Reduce her to something small and forgettable. She had mistaken restraint for weakness, silence for fear. Every time Anna had warned her—calm, steady, almost merciful—Fiona had dismissed it.

A mistake she now paid for.

After her final encounter with Anna, the truth had struck her with brutal clarity. She had never been fighting an equal battle. Anna hadn’t needed to destroy her; she had simply stepped aside and let Fiona destroy herself.

The final ultimatum still echoed in her mind.

Clear. Unforgiving. Final.

If Fiona had stopped then—if she had let go instead of trying to force control, force relevance, force affection—perhaps things would have ended differently. Perhaps she wouldn’t be sitting here now, abandoned by the industry that once applauded her, despised by the same voices that used to chant her name.

Alone. Hated from every direction.

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled, but the admiration never ended. There was no crack in Anna’s ascent. No space for Fiona to slip back into relevance.

The fight was over.

"You win, Anna," she whispered into the darkness.

The words felt heavy, but strangely... relieving.

Her phone slipped from her hand, landing soundlessly on the floor as her grip gave way. Fiona didn’t reach for it. She didn’t have the strength to look anymore.

A single tear traced a slow path down her cheek, disappearing into the darkness.