Rebirth: Love me Again
Chapter 336 - 336: Home at Last

[EVE]

When we finally landed in Frizkiel, I thought the hard part was over. That the whirlwind was behind me.

But the moment I stepped into the grand halls of the Frizkiel estate—a towering mansion nestled deep in the highlands, where the clouds kissed the marble rooftops—I realized that the most overwhelming moment had yet to come.

I was home.

Not the kind I had invented in my head to soothe myself to sleep. Not the illusion I clung to out of desperation.

This was real.

And standing before me . . . were my real parents.

Evangeline Cole Frizkiel and Eric Frizkiel.

There was no need for a DNA test. No papers. No explanations. The moment I saw them, I knew. I had my mother's features—the same high cheekbones, the same elegant poise. And my eyes . . . they were my father's. Clear and sharp, with a depth that told a thousand unspoken stories.

My legs trembled. My breath caught in my throat. And before I could say a word, she—my mother—stepped forward.

"Eve," she whispered, her voice breaking.

She had the kind of presence that silenced rooms. Regal, composed, a woman who wore confidence like silk. But in that moment, all the polish cracked. Her eyes brimmed with tears, her lip quivered, and as she pulled me into her arms, the weight of years spilled out in a sob that pierced the air.

"We've finally found you. At last . . . all my payers . . . my wish had been granted . . ."

I clung to her like a child again, no longer Eve the abandon, the unloved, the girl who had to grow up too soon. I let myself crumble, burying my face in her shoulder as tears streamed freely down my cheeks.

Then I turned—to the man who had always been just a ghost in my dreams.

My father.

Eric Philipe Frizkiel was tall, dignified, with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that once might have seemed cold to a stranger. But not to me. The moment our eyes met, something inside him shattered. His stern face broke into a soft, shaky smile, and for a man so stoic, the tears that slid down his cheeks felt all the more powerful.

He said nothing.

He simply stepped forward and wrapped me in his arms—strong, firm, grounding. As if by holding me, he could make up for all the years I'd been gone.

And then—my brothers.

Three of them. Each so different.

Damien, the eldest, who ran the family business with quiet authority. He was composed, serious, dressed in a tailored suit that said he was always ready to take on the world. But the moment he hugged me, his composure melted. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you again," he murmured, voice cracking.

Dante, the second, was a renowned doctor—he smelled faintly of antiseptic and cologne, his white coat draped over his arm. He held me gently, as if I might break. "You don't have to hurt anymore," he said, wiping away one of my tears with his thumb. "Not on your own. Never again."

And finally, Dean—my wild, protective third eldest brother, the one who had found me. The social media star, the charming face of the Frizkiels. He didn't say anything, just ruffled my hair and grinned, pride shining in his eyes as he continuously repeated that he was the one who found me.

Surrounded by them—my mother, my father, my brothers—I felt small. But for the first time, that smallness didn't make me feel afraid. It made me feel safe. Like I could finally exhale. Like I didn't have to be strong anymore, because they were here now. They would protect me. They had my back—now and forever.

I was Eve Cole Frizkiel, the youngest of them all.

The daughter who had been stolen, lost in the shadows, and now—finally, miraculously—returned to the light.

It felt strange, how they were the most powerful people in all of Frizkiel. Their name alone could shake boardrooms and media headlines. And yet . . . it took them this long to find me.

But I didn't blame them.

Frizkiel was remote—nearly a full day's flight from New York. And the syndicate that orchestrated my abduction wasn't just some petty criminal group. They had reach. Influence. Operations that crossed borders and silenced anyone who came too close.

Still, none of that mattered now.

The past was a scar I would carry, but today—today was a healing.

I was finally in the arms of the people I had been searching for my entire life, even when I didn't know I was searching.

Warmth surrounded me. Laughter. Tears. Love so pure, so raw, it stripped me bare and stitched me back together all in the same breath.

And for the first time in a long time . . .

I felt whole.

I felt home.

=== 🤍 ===

As for Dutch, Helen, Dave, and Haley, they met a fate worse than death.

For months, they had played their parts—pretending to be Eve's family, feeding her lies wrapped in warmth and affection. They wore smiles like masks, offered comfort like poison. And all the while, they knew. They knew she wasn't theirs. They knew she was lost, broken, searching for something real. And they took advantage of that.

Their punishment came swiftly.

The moment the truth surfaced, Dean ensured there was no mercy. They weren't killed—no, death would've been a kindness. Instead, they were taken. Stripped of their false lives, exposed for the frauds they were, and delivered into the hands of those who demanded answers.

The interrogation that followed was brutal. Dutch put on a brave face, Helen wept. Dave broke first, and Haley screamed until her voice gave out. But in the end, they had little to offer. They weren't masterminds—just puppets hired to play a role. Henchmen. Useless in the grander scheme of the syndicate.

Only one name surfaced through their trembling lips: Sullivan Rosette.

That changed everything.

Because now it wasn't just about Eve's abduction. It was about the syndicate. The layers of corruption. The long-hidden truths. And Sullivan—he was involved in the syndicate.

As for the imposters, they were cast into the deepest, most torturous prison cells in the frozen dungeons of Frizkiel.

They had dared to impersonate the family of a Frizkiel-blooded princess—deceiving her, manipulating her, and taking advantage of her innocence. For that, the punishment was far worse than death.

Day after day, they were subjected to relentless torment in the cold, unforgiving dark, their screams swallowed by the ice and stone. There would be no escape, no final release—only endless suffering in a place where warmth and mercy did not exist.

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