Reborn From The Lake: My Stoic Savior

Chapter 9

Word Count: 735 | Released on: 30/04/2026

ushed open the front door and walked straight across th

from her coat pocket. She didn't look at the words

xposing the red-hot core. Flames immediately licked upward, catching

Corda walked out, carrying a plastic basin full of

over to the fireplace, staring at the curling,

d at Bridget, asking if it was

ace her mother. She looked at the deep wrinkles

he led her to the worn sofa and pulled her down to

e told Corda that when she was under the water, something bro

hat the old Bridget

ny. She gripped Bridget's h

ridget, pulling her into a tight, desperate hug. She sobbed, b

lder woman thought the personality shift was a psycholog

e smell of cheap lye soap filled her nose. The

ducated woman in 1978 that a soul from the future possessed

inal goodbye to the girl who drowned. She accept

r back gently, whispering that she was fine, and

r apron. She forced a smile and told Bridget to go sit on

lked to the front door a

bruised orange. The cool evening breeze

en railing. She closed her eyes, letting

f heavy boots on grav

rd the road. A tall man wearing a dark c

His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. His eyes we

ther. This was the volunteer who pul

opped walking. He turned his head and loo

heart gave a violent, uncontr

s a purely biological reaction-a mature woman's primal appr

ok away. She stared right back at him, her ga

A muscle ticked in his jaw. A flash

of his jacket, pulled it up against the wind, and quicke

Chapter End

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Reborn From The Lake: My Stoic Savior

Janna Lemay Romance

“Bridget, a ruthless twenty-first-century Wall Street analyst, woke up violently coughing up murky lake water in a decaying 1978 slum. She quickly realized she was trapped in the body of a naive, marginalized teenager who had just committed suicide over a boy's cruel rejection. The original girl had been mercilessly bullied by a fake rich kid named Kurtis and his cruel followers. They had publicly read her desperate love letters out loud, mocking her as a toad trying to eat swan meat, and simply watched as she threw herself into the freezing water. Now, her impoverished mother was left weeping by the bed, facing catastrophic debt and total social ruin in their small town. Everyone expected the surviving girl to wake up begging and crying for the boy who humiliated her. Instead, a cold, calculating fury took over Bridget's analytical mind. "I already died in that lake. That stupid girl is never coming back." How could anyone throw their life away for a pathetic, vain clown wearing a mass-produced fifty-dollar watch? To Bridget, those uncollected love letters weren't symbols of teenage heartbreak. They were toxic assets. They were reputation landmines left out in the open that threatened her new family's survival. Locking away the dead girl's weak emotions, Bridget forced her freezing, exhausted body out of the clinic bed. She set a hard three-month deadline to drag this family out of tier-one poverty. But first, she was marching straight to the volunteer camp to liquidate those liabilities and completely destroy the people who drove this body to death.”