His Dead Lover In A New Body
Imogen Montgomery was the perfect billionaire heiress, deeply in love and ready to marry her fiancé, Clark Ellis.
That all ended the night her cousin Kathleen ripped the sapphire pendant from her neck and pushed her into a pool of toxic chemicals to die.
Two years later, Imogen's eyes snapped open. But she didn't wake up in a hospital. She woke up tied to a stained mattress, trapped in the battered body of Briana, a teenage girl from the slums who had just been sold to a local trafficker.
After violently fighting her way out of a cheap motel, she discovered the horrifying truth. Kathleen had taken over the Montgomery Group. She had locked Imogen's grieving parents away in a psychiatric facility as prisoners.
And worst of all, Kathleen was now flaunting her stolen wealth online, preparing to marry Clark.
A wave of pure, white-hot rage boiled in her blood. Kathleen had murdered her, stolen her family, and was playing the perfect grieving cousin. How was she supposed to fight back? She was just a runaway nobody now. If she tried to expose the truth, Kathleen's security would shoot her dead in the street.
She needed a weapon. She needed a shield. She needed the one man Kathleen feared.
Covered in mud and blood, Briana intercepted Clark's car in the freezing rain. She was going to infiltrate his home as his vulgar, unhinged fake mistress, and she would drag Kathleen straight down to hell.
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Chapter 3
The diner smelled of rancid frying oil and burnt coffee.
Briana slid into the cracked vinyl booth. Her hands were shaking so badly she had to press them flat against the sticky table. She dug into the pocket of her wet jeans. Her fingers brushed past the cheap, cracked-screen smartphone that had belonged to this body's previous owner—dead battery, useless until she could find a charger—and closed around a crumpled, blood-stained twenty-dollar bill.
A heavy-set waiter approached, his nose wrinkling at the sight of her. Briana slid the bill across the table.
"I need to borrow your tablet," she said, her voice raspy. "Just for five minutes."
The waiter eyed the blood, then the money. Greed won. He pulled a cracked iPad from his apron and shoved it toward her.
Briana wiped her bloody fingers on a napkin. She connected to the diner's unsecured Wi-Fi and opened the browser.
Her fingertips hovered over the glass screen. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm. She typed in the name: Imogen Montgomery.
The loading icon spun. Every second felt like glass grinding against her nerves. She prayed her parents were safe.
The page loaded. The top headline felt like a physical punch to her gut.
Two-Year Anniversary of Montgomery Heiress's Tragic Drowning.
She clicked the article. A massive photo filled the screen. It was her cousin, Kathleen, dressed in custom black couture, weeping beautifully at a memorial service.
Rage, hot and blinding, surged through Briana's veins. Her knuckles turned stark white as she gripped the edges of the tablet.
She scrolled down frantically, searching for any mention of her parents.
She found a financial piece from six months ago. Montgomery Couple Steps Down Due to Severe Grief. Niece Kathleen Johnston Assumes Full Control of Montgomery Group.
The article mentioned her parents had retired to a private, highly secure sanatorium in Switzerland, refusing all visitors.
Briana stopped breathing. Her lungs seized. Sanatorium? It was a prison. Kathleen had locked them away to steal the company.
She opened a new tab and pulled up Kathleen's social media. The screen exploded with photos of Kathleen dripping in Montgomery diamonds, attending galas, drinking champagne on yachts.
The most recent photo was posted yesterday. Kathleen was standing in front of the massive iron gates of the Ellis Manor. The caption read: Looking forward to the future. The comments were flooded with congratulations on her upcoming engagement to Clark Ellis.
A wave of nausea hit Briana so hard she gagged. The betrayal tasted like battery acid in her mouth.
She slammed the tablet face-down onto the table. The loud smack echoed in the quiet diner.
The waiter jumped. "Hey! Break it and you buy it, psycho!" he yelled, marching over.
Briana slowly lifted her head. She locked eyes with the waiter. The sheer, murderous intent radiating from her gaze made the man stop dead in his tracks. The color drained from his face, and he quickly backed away.
Briana took a deep, shuddering breath. She had nothing. No money, no identity, no power. If she went after Kathleen now, she would be crushed like an insect.
She needed a weapon. A weapon so terrifying that Kathleen would beg for mercy.
Clark Ellis's cold, ruthless face flashed in her mind. A crazy, desperate plan began to form in her head.
She handed the tablet back to the waiter and ordered a black coffee. The bitter liquid burned its way down her throat, grounding her.
She grabbed a pen from the table and pulled a napkin toward her. She began writing down the debts Doyle owed, the names of the men chasing her, and the timeline of Kathleen's takeover.
The bell above the diner door jingled.
Three men in leather jackets walked in. They smelled of cheap beer and weed. Their eyes scanned the room and locked onto Briana sitting alone in the corner.
They swaggered over. The leader, a guy with a neck tattoo, leaned over her table. He reached out to grab her chin. "Rough night, sweetheart?"
Briana didn't even look up. Her hand shot out. She drove the ballpoint pen straight down into the back of his hand, pinning it to the table.
The man screamed, a wet, tearing sound, and yanked his hand back. Blood spurted onto the napkin.
The other two men cursed, reaching into their jackets for switchblades.
Suddenly, blinding high beams flooded the diner windows. Two black Range Rovers slammed into park right outside the glass doors.
Four men in immaculate black suits stepped out and pushed into the diner. The lead security guard didn't say a word. He simply stepped forward and let his suit jacket fall open, revealing the cold, black steel of a handgun holstered snugly under his arm. The thugs' bravado vanished instantly. They stumbled backward, their faces draining of color, and scrambled out the back door in sheer terror.
The lead security guard walked up to Briana's booth. He didn't look at the blood on the table. "Mr. Ellis wants to see you."
Briana looked down at her napkin, a cold, sharp smile stretching across her lips. She stood up and walked out into the rain.
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9.1
I stood alone at the marble altar, the silence of the temple pressing against my eardrums.
It was my Mating Ceremony, but the groom was missing.
My phone buzzed with a notification: a livestream of my mate, Alpha Cain, skipping our union to welcome my sister, Eris, home.
In the video, he held her like she was fragile glass, captioning it: "True power recognizes true power."
When I returned to the Pack House, humiliated, I wasn't met with an apology.
I was met with a slap from my mother.
Eris, feigning a powerful "Alpha Aura," claimed my mere scent was poisoning her.
To "save" her, my family locked me in my room.
But the true betrayal came when I overheard their hushed whispers through the door.
"Use Vera," my mother said, her voice chillingly practical.
"She recovers fast. We can drain her blood weekly for Eris. She can stay as a servant to raise Cain and Eris's pups."
My blood ran cold.
They didn't just neglect me; they planned to harvest me like livestock.
They thought I was the weak Omega they exiled to the North years ago to peel potatoes.
They had no idea that in the North, I wasn't a servant.
I was Commander V, a warrior forged in ice and blood.
I reached under my bed and pulled out my black tactical duffel.
"Screw the meatloaf," I whispered.
I wasn't just leaving. I was going to war.
9.3
She sells flowers. He spills blood. And he will stop at nothing to make her his. Elena Rossi has always lived quietly among roses and lilies, dreaming of love as gentle as the petals she arranges. She thought she found it in Daniel, the man she planned to marry. Until her wedding day when a dangerous stranger walked into the church and shattered everything. Adrian Volkov is a king in the underworld, a man feared for his ruthlessness and power. But to him, Elena is not just a prize. She is an obsession. A storm he cannot live without. And he will burn the world and anyone in it, to claim her. Torn from the life she knew, Elena resists him, manipulates him, and even runs from him. But Adrian is relentless. His love is dark, his touch both punishing and tender, and his obsession inescapable. When betrayal and bloodshed close in, Elena must face the truth: She doesn't just fear him. She doesn't just hate him. She loves him. Petals and Blood is a haunting, passionate tale of obsession, betrayal, and the dangerous kind of love that blooms in shadows.
9.5
The first clue my life was a lie was a moan from the guest room. My husband of seven years wasn't in our bed. He was with my intern.
I discovered my husband, Brendan, was having a four-year affair with Kiya-the talented girl I was mentoring and personally paying tuition for.
The next morning, she sat at our breakfast table in his shirt while he made us pancakes. He lied to my face, promising he'd never love another, just before I learned she was pregnant with his child-a child he'd always refused to have with me.
The two people I trusted most in the world had conspired to destroy me. The pain wasn't something I could live with; it was an annihilation of my entire world.
So I made a call to a neuroscientist about his experimental, irreversible procedure. I didn't want revenge. I wanted to erase every memory of my husband and become his first test subject.
9.7
Sienna woke up in a hospital room, her body screaming from a severe car accident. Through the glass, a man paced with violent rage, a dark shadow she felt absolutely nothing for.
Her friend Julia burst in, eyes bloodshot, dropping a bomb: "He didn't even try to help you." Dante, Sienna's fiancé, had protected another woman, Valeria, in the crash, leaving Sienna to burn alive.
Her past life unspooled – seven years sacrificed, an architecture degree abandoned, all to serve Dante. Her phone was a shrine to him: his photos, his "taboos," and even "Valeria's preferences," with no trace of Sienna herself.
But amnesia brought no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating fury. She felt disgust for the "idiot" she'd been, stripped of dignity. The memory loss was a release, a blank slate.
With chilling resolve, Sienna deleted every trace of Dante. Ripping out her IV, she declared, "The wedding proceeds." Not for love, but as a weapon: "I need to take back everything that belongs to me before I disappear."
9.4
I was a New York photographer, but I woke up under the brutal sun of the African savanna.
Worse, I wasn't human. I was trapped in the body of a male cheetah, with two starving cubs clinging to my fur, telepathically calling me "Mom."
But I am a real man!
To keep my adopted sons alive, I had to fight hyenas and dodge rogue lions. But the real nightmare was my bizarre survival mechanism. Under extreme threat, I would uncontrollably shift back into my human form—stark, undeniably naked. I was forced to sprint across the plains with my bare skin exposed, carrying two cubs while escaping furious lionesses. I became a freak, the most confusing and humiliating legend of the animal kingdom.
Covered in bloody scratches and mud, I was pushed to the brink of despair. Why was I thrown into this beast's body? Why did my only defense mechanism involve profound social death?
Just when I barely survived a cliff dive to escape the lions, my path was blocked by two massive, highly intelligent prime male cheetahs.
But the alpha, Bradley, didn't want to kill me for my territory.
His intense gaze raked over my naked, bleeding human body with a dark, possessive hunger.
"You are full of surprises."
He purred smoothly, teaching me to magically summon a fur skirt before demanding I join his coalition.
"Oh, you'll come to me. I guarantee it."
Looking into his predatory eyes, I realized I was no longer just surviving the wild; I was the prey of a completely different kind of beast.
7.1
I worked eighty-hour weeks on Wall Street just to keep my sick brother alive, enduring endless humiliation from the wealthy family that adopted us.
But when I went to surprise my boyfriend of three years, I found him kissing my spoiled adoptive sister, Tatum.
They were celebrating their engagement to merge their powerful families.
To keep me quiet, my adoptive mother, Eleanor, threatened to freeze my brother's medical trust fund unless I attended the party to play the supportive sister.
Instead, I discovered Eleanor had been embezzling from my brother's life-saving fund to cover her own bad investments.
The nightmare worsened when a drunken Ryder cornered me in my apartment stairwell.
"Once I marry Tatum, Eleanor is giving me control of Liam's trust fund to buy out my father's board members."
He planned to drain my brother's medical money, dump Tatum, and keep me as his mistress.
For a decade, I suffered their abuse hoping for a shred of decency, only to realize they were plotting to leave my brother to die on the streets for corporate greed.
Calling the police wouldn't stop these billionaires. I needed absolute power.
Remembering the dark, predatory gaze of Jaren Jarvis—the ruthless billionaire who had watched me fight back at the party—I canceled my call to 911.
If they wanted to destroy my only family, I was going to use the devil himself to crush theirs.