The cold, sterile air of the operating room hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of blood. "Get the defibrillator! Increase the voltage!" a doctor's voice commanded, strained with desperation.

An intern nurse, hands trembling and stained crimson, cried out, "Doctor! The patient is experiencing massive bleeding, and the A-type blood from the blood bank was just urgently taken away!"

Debra Frazier lay on the bed, her lips dry, her pale face losing all color. Her eyes, once bright, began to lose focus, fixing on a distant point. "Juan... Juan Nichols..." she murmured, a final, fading whisper.

The doctor, on the verge of collapse, fumbled with his phone, finally connecting. "Mr. Nichols, your wife is experiencing massive bleeding, but the blood from the blood bank has been taken away. Please, come and see her for the last time."

Juan's voice, devoid of emotion, cut through the line: "She's still alive? Call me when she's dead." He hung up. All light vanished from Debra's eyes, her soul leaving her body as the machine flatlined. Exhausted, at twenty-seven, she died from postpartum hemorrhage.

Then, a gasp. Debra's eyes snapped open. Familiar surroundings, the home she shared with Juan. Her maid, Sophie, asked, "Madam, Mr. Nichols wants to take you to the auction. Which outfit would you like to wear?" Five years. She was reborn. This time, things would be different.