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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 6
Briana's bare feet slapped loudly against the pristine marble floor. She swayed her hips exaggeratedly, walking straight to the sofa and dropping her weight heavily onto the cushion directly across from Kathleen.
Kathleen instantly pressed a manicured hand over her nose, leaning back as if Briana's cheap perfume was toxic gas.
The butler rushed forward, his face pale. "Miss, you cannot be here-"
"Clark told me to stay here!" Briana shrieked, her voice echoing shrilly in the cavernous hall. "Who the hell is gonna touch me?"
At the sound of Clark's name, the polite mask on Kathleen's face cracked. Her jaw tightened. She looked down at Briana with absolute superiority. "And who exactly are you?"
Briana rolled her eyes dramatically. She grabbed the hem of her coffee-stained sequin dress and hiked it up her thigh. "Clark picked this out for me last night. In his car."
The implication hit Kathleen like a physical slap. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her teacup.
Kathleen let out a cold, condescending laugh. She unclasped her limited-edition Birkin bag, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled a number.
She tossed the check onto the glass coffee table. It fluttered down like trash. "Take the money and get out. Don't dirty Clark's rugs."
Briana stared at the check. The memories of Kathleen stealing her family's company, her life, her future, boiled over.
A sharp, hysterical laugh burst from Briana's throat. It grew louder, echoing off the high ceilings, sounding completely unhinged.
The hair on Kathleen's arms stood up. "Guards! Throw this trash out!" she snapped.
Two massive bodyguards stepped forward.
Before they could reach her, Briana lunged. She grabbed the cup of Earl Grey tea from the table. With a vicious flick of her wrist, she sent the brown liquid splashing directly across Kathleen's pristine white gown and shocked face.
Kathleen gasped, a shrill, humiliated shriek tearing from her throat as the tea ruined her perfect makeup.
The guards lunged. Briana twisted her body, slipping out of their grasp like a snake. She grabbed a heavy crystal fruit bowl and hurled it at the closest guard's chest, knocking him back.
Chaos erupted. Briana sprinted across the hall toward a terrified maid who was holding a heavy mop bucket.
The bucket was filled with the day's filthy, grey mop water, thick with dirt and smelling of bleach and grime.
Briana snatched the bucket by the handle. Her eyes were dead, locked onto her target.
Kathleen was still shrieking on the sofa, wiping at her burning eyes.
Briana stepped up, raised the heavy bucket, and dumped the entire contents directly over Kathleen's head.
The filthy sludge ruined the custom white silk gown instantly. Kathleen sat frozen, dripping with grey mud, looking like a drowned rat pulled from a sewer.
The absolute humiliation shattered Kathleen's sanity. She let out a feral screech and lunged at Briana, hands outstretched to claw her face.
Briana was ready. She feigned a stumble, falling backward. As Kathleen leaned over her, Briana brought her knee up and drove it brutally into Kathleen's kneecap.
Kathleen cried out, her legs buckling. She crashed to her knees.
Briana instantly flipped their positions, straddling Kathleen's waist. She raised her hand and delivered a vicious, ringing slap to Kathleen's cheek. Then another.
Smack! Smack!
"That's for Clark!" Briana screamed, masking her personal vengeance as jealous rage. "He thinks you're disgusting!"
The bodyguards finally broke through the chaos. They grabbed Briana by the arms and violently hauled her off Kathleen.
Kathleen was sobbing hysterically, clutching her red, swollen face. The stench of the dirty water radiated off her. She couldn't even formulate a threat. She shoved the butler away, covered her face, and ran out the front doors into the night.
The roar of her sports car engine faded into the distance.
The grand hall was dead silent, save for Briana's heavy breathing. She was pinned to the floor by two guards, her hair a mess, but a wide, euphoric smile stretched across her face.
Up on the second-floor balcony, Clark stood in a black silk robe. He looked down at the wreckage, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Jairo stood beside him. "Should I have her thrown out, sir?"
Clark watched the feral, smiling girl pinned to his floor. Slowly, the corner of his mouth curved upward.
He raised a hand and flicked his fingers. "Let her go."
You may also like
7.2
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.
8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
7.4
Four years ago, to protect the man I loved from losing his billionaire empire, I drugged his drink, told him I only used him for his money, and vanished.
Now, at a high-society gala, Callum Wyatt is back. He isn't just a CEO anymore; he's a ruthless predator, and the second his eyes lock onto me, I know I am his prey.
When my wealthy half-sister publicly humiliated me, calling me the cheap bastard child of a homewrecker, Callum stepped out of the shadows. He nearly snapped her wrist in half and declared to New York's elite that anyone who touched me would be dismantled.
In the back of his Maybach, he pinned my arms above my head, his eyes burning with psychotic obsession.
"If you run again, Aubrey, I will burn your entire world to the ground just to keep you."
My heart bled. I had spent four grueling years tearing myself apart to keep him out of my messy, blood-soaked revenge against the family that watched my mother die.
But his terrifying protection only made my biological father's family target me harder, using their massive capital to buy out my movie set and crush my acting career.
They thought I would cower.
But as I walked onto the soundstage, facing the heiress trying to steal my role, I took off my sunglasses. I wasn't running anymore; it was time to make them pay.
7.8
The moment I saw my husband massaging his dead brother's pregnant mistress's feet, I knew my marriage was over.
He moved her into our home under the guise of "family duty," forcing me to watch as he prioritized her comfort over our vows.
The final betrayal came when she stole and deliberately broke my mother's priceless necklace.
When I slapped her for the desecration, my husband struck me across the face to defend her.
He had violated a sacred honor code by putting his hands on the daughter of another Don-an act of war.
I looked him in the eye and swore on my mother's grave that I would bring a bloody revenge upon his entire family.
Then I made one phone call to my father, and the demolition of his empire began.
8.6
The Maybach glided through rain, Dante's cold cedar cologne a familiar comfort. Seven years, my life revolved around him, my fingers on his suit cuff, a silent promise. But tonight, our normal shattered with a single phone call.
He answered, speaking rapid Italian – a language he thought I didn't understand. Every word: a death knell. Confirming his engagement to Sofia Moretti, dismissing me as a 'consolation prize.'
Seven years of loyalty vanished. His loving mask back, he left for his fiancée. I stumbled into freezing rain, recalling my foster past. My numb fingers dialed his mother, Isabella, demanding fifty million for my silence. Her insults didn't sting.
The true gut punch: Sofia's Instagram, a prenup on Dante's desk, proudly showing *my* watch, captioned: 'Fourteen days left.' This wasn't their celebration; it was my death sentence.
I wouldn't stay another day in this gilded cage. My old duffel bag, packed, waited. The Australia brochure, a childhood dream, in my pocket. This time, I would live for myself, and they would all pay.
9.5
My husband told me I was a contractual obligation, an irritant he was forced to endure after a car crash stole his memory of our love five years ago. He replaced me with a social media influencer, a woman whose lies were as polished as her feed.
But when her baby was found with a small cut on her lip, she tearfully accused me of being a jealous monster who attacked an innocent child.
My husband, the man I had stood by through everything, didn't hesitate. In a blind rage, he ordered a guard to take a needle and thread and sew my lips shut.
"She needs to see nothing. Hear nothing. Say nothing," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy.
He then had me hung upside down in the lobby of my own wellness retreat, a public spectacle for the world to condemn.
As I dangled there, bleeding and broken, I finally understood. My blind love and foolish hope had been my downfall. I had loved the wrong man, and he had utterly destroyed me.
But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know about the hidden camera I' d planted in the baby's room. And they had no idea that my family could crush his entire empire with a single phone call.