Rebirth: A Second chance at life-Chapter 87: Crescent Moon...

After settling Jenny in bed, Aurora quietly returned to her room.

The night outside was still, the silence so absolute that even the faint ticking of the clock on her nightstand seemed loud.

Just as she pulled the curtains shut, a soft knock broke the stillness.

"Come in," she said, adjusting the shawl on her shoulders.

Margaret entered with a tray in hand. On it sat a small plate of night snacks, a warm glass of milk, and a set of ointments. Aurora’s brows furrowed slightly at the unexpected delivery.

"There’s some ointment as well," Margaret offered, setting the tray down.

Before Aurora could inquire further, her phone chimed.

She picked it up to find a message from Sebastian:

I’ve dropped off some ointment and snacks for you. I hope they suit your taste. It felt inappropriate to disturb a lady at this hour, so I asked the nanny to deliver them instead. Get well soon.

Aurora stared at the screen, then at the tray beside her—everything was precisely to her taste.

Golden garlic bread still warm, and a perfectly crisp fried chicken leg drizzled with just the right amount of barbecue sauce.

A flicker of something unfamiliar stirred in her chest, subtle yet undeniable. And if one looked closely, they might have noticed it—the faint blush blooming at the tips of her ears.

If one looked closely, the tip of her ear had flushed a deep red.

"You can leave the tray there. Thank you," she said, her voice quiet.

Margaret nodded, smiling knowingly before retreating from the room.

Aurora sat down, took a small white pill, and swallowed it with the warm milk. Then, gingerly, she uncapped the ointment.

The scent was faint—clean and cool. She dipped her fingers and began to apply it to her bruised shoulder. Her expression softened, betraying none of the grit and hardness she was known for.

Had her team seen her like this, they would’ve been mortified. Luna—the fierce and untouchable leader—tending to minor scrapes with care?

It was laughable. Normally, unless she was bleeding out, she wouldn’t bother. And yet, tonight, she dabbed the ointment on each mark as if it mattered.

After finishing, she picked up her phone, typed a short message, and hit send:

Thank you.

Back at his residence, Sebastian had been checking his phone every few minutes despite being in the middle of a high-stakes video conference.

His team—calling in from overseas—was presenting updates on the upcoming smart innovation project.

The tension in the virtual room was palpable. The lead director, who was mid-presentation, was visibly sweating, tripping over his words under Sebastian’s cold, unreadable gaze.

Then, suddenly, Sebastian’s expression shifted.

He glanced at his phone. A message had arrived.

As his eyes read the simple text—Thank you—a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

The conference room fell into stunned silence.

The smile was more terrifying than his glare.

Everyone froze. The lead presenter, convinced he was moments from being dismissed or worse, nearly dropped his pointer.

Was this the calm before the storm? The final smile before a merciless execution?

Then Sebastian leaned back and said coolly, "What happened? Continue."

The command snapped them out of their daze. Trembling, the director resumed his presentation while the others hurried to take notes, their nerves fraying at the edges.

Back in her room, Aurora sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, nibbling absentmindedly on one of the snacks Sebastian had sent.

The savory bite lingered on her tongue, but her thoughts had already drifted elsewhere. With a soft exhale, she set the half-eaten cracker down and reached for her tablet.

Unlocking it with a swift movement, she opened a secure, encrypted app—one that only a handful of people in the world knew even existed.

Her fingers moved quickly over the screen, initiating a direct call to Jeremiah, the one operative she trusted implicitly.

The line clicked, and a soft hum filled the space as the signal connected. Then came the faint sound of movement, a rustle, and finally his voice—calm, alert, loyal.

"Yes, Boss?" he answered, his tone clipped, ready for business.

Aurora leaned back against the headboard, one arm draped casually across her lap, though her eyes were anything but relaxed.

"Any updates?" she asked, her voice low and deliberate.

He responded with a string of smirking emojis, followed by a secure payment link. Aurora stared at the screen for a moment, her expression unreadable.

Without a word or flicker of reaction, she authorized the transfer—one hundred thousand dollars, gone in an instant.

The moment the transaction was completed, Jeremiah’s reply came through.

"Payment received," he wrote, then added: "Now for the goods."

"I’ve been working on it nonstop," Jeremiah replied. "And I think I finally found something... about Helen."

"She’s been living in the countryside for over two decaded. Settled there with her daughter after her husband passed away.

We confirmed she originally came from the Capital. Her late husband’s family was based there too. I’m still tracing the roots.

"After her husband’s death, Helen led a quiet, modest life with her daughter," Jeremiah explained.

"But everything changed the day the girl was kidnapped. For two years, Helen searched for her—relentlessly, without rest. And then, one day, the child returned. But she wasn’t the same."

He paused before continuing, his tone shifting slightly.

"She was no longer the gentle, sweet girl Helen once knew. Instead, she treated Helen with hostility, like a stranger—or worse, an enemy. Still, Helen stood by her, unwavering."

Aurora narrowed her eyes, her voice calm but sharp. "Did they ever run a test to confirm she was truly Helen’s daughter?"

"I had the same suspicion," Jeremiah admitted. "I dug into it, but no records of any DNA testing exist. Helen was convinced it was her child because of one thing—" he hesitated, "—a birthmark. A very specific one."

Jeremiah continued, "The daughter has a birthmark on her back. A rare one—crescent moon with three stars."

Aurora froze.

"What... did you say?" she whispered.

"Like a crescent moon and stars hanging around it. Clear and distinct."

Aurora dropped the tablet onto the bed and slowly walked to the mirror. Her hand trembled as she lifted the back of her shirt.

There it was. The same mark. The same inexplicable, haunting mark she’d found on her body after waking in Aurora’s form. It was identical to the one she had carried as Luna.

Back then, she had dismissed it as fate’s cruel irony—that she had ended up in a body so eerily similar to her own. The same birthmark. The same features, save for the eyes.

But now... Helen’s daughter had it too.

Lily.

Her expression darkened, grim confusion swirling in her eyes.

"How is this possible?" she murmured.

They weren’t blood-related. Not as Luna, nor as Aurora. Not by any traceable lineage. And yet... they shared something deeply, impossibly connected. A mark that should have belonged only to her.

The birthmark, once a mysterious coincidence, had just become a key—one that might unlock a truth far more twisted than she had imagined.

Her tablet chimed softly, and Aurora quickly turned her attention to the screen.

Jeremiah’s messages continued to stream in. "But you know me," he wrote, "I went ahead and checked the hospital records for cross-verification.

And guess what—I found something interesting. Helen’s RH blood group is O+, but Lily’s is AB−, a rare type. Biologically, it’s impossible for them to be mother and daughter."

"And the conclusion!!!" Jeremiah’s dramatic flair turned the moment into a theatrical cliffhanger.

A second later, the final message came through. "Lily isn’t Helen’s child. And that birthmark everyone keeps clinging to—it has to be a scam."