Mr. CEO, I'm Reborn-Now Spoil Me 100 Percent!
Revenge brought her back. His unwavering love made her stay.
Paisley Hughes opens her eyes three years in the past, at the start of her gilded cage marriage to tycoon Clive Harrington. Haunted by the memory of her tragic end, she is a storm of vengeance, ready to expose the betrayal that awaits. Yet she swiftly uncovers a stunning truth: her powerful, enigmatic husband has loved her silently but fiercely all along.
Thrust into the heart of his family's ruthless succession war, Paisley discovers that Clive's devotion is her greatest weapon. Together, they battle hidden enemies and poisonous alliances. This time, she fights not just to settle scores, but to claim the powerful love and the true family that were always her destiny.
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Chapter 5
Clive showed up out of the blue, totally catching Paisley off guard. She'd stirred up trouble on purpose, having confirmed with Patrick that Clive was stuck in a super important meeting.
The whole call had just been her trying to push his buttons - get on his nerves, make him hate her.
But what happened?
Now Paisley was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, locking eyes with Clive. Her mind blanked hard - she couldn't even find the words. In the end, he spoke up first.
"You seemed desperate to talk. What's the urgency?" Clive stood there with that same frosty expression, like the world owed him something.
"I want a divorce." Paisley took a second to gather herself, then went all in with her drama mode.
"Care to explain why?" Clive raised an eyebrow, completely unshaken, like none of this was surprising.
What Paisley didn't know was Patrick had already spilled everything to Clive. Her wild act? Totally pointless.
"You went to that couple's restaurant with your precious ex, right? The one you have to book a week in advance? That's cheating while married. I think I've got every right to walk." Her accusations came out sharp and clear - but the guy barely reacted.
"Who are you talking about?" Clive frowned slightly. "Which ex?"
"You've gotta be kidding me. The one who cried like she was auditioning for a soap at our wedding! Don't act clueless now. What, you think I'm that naive?" Paisley shot back, clearly hoping he'd finally drop it and just admit he's still into someone else. That maybe he'd say, "You're too much, we're done." But nope. Nothing.
"It was just dinner, not a death sentence." Clive said it like this was no biggie - like dinner with another woman while married was as casual as ordering takeout.
Paisley couldn't believe how calm he was - talk about infuriating. She jumped off the sofa, slid into her slippers and declared, "I'm not asking for your opinion. I'm telling you - we're getting divorced."
Then she stormed off to the master bedroom to pack like she was leaving for good.
She'd almost finished when Clive, still maddeningly calm, leaned against the doorframe and said, "Grandpa wants us home for dinner tonight. Get changed. It's almost time to head out."
What?!
Paisley blinked. She spoke English, right? Did Clive suddenly forget how to process words?
Based on everything Patrick ever said about Clive - and what she'd known about him before - she was sure this kind of crazy would at least spark some anger.
But nope. Not even annoyance. The guy was just... shameless now?
Without even glancing his way, Paisley grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door. Except, it was heavy as hell, got stuck by the bed, and before she could move it again, Clive had already stepped in and wrapped an arm around her waist.
Then, just like that, she was hoisted up and dumped back on the massive bed.
"What the hell are you doing?" Paisley's eyes flared as she glared at him - this man had seriously lost it.
"Think about your dad's company - Hughes Group. Your mom begging us to stay together. Our marriage isn't just about us. The whole Harrington dowry went into patching up the holes in your family's business. You really think you get to decide alone?"
After hearing all that, Paisley finally got it. Divorce? Not her call. Clive was the one holding the cards here. Furious, she mumbled under her breath, "You manipulative jerk. Always playing me like a damn chess piece."
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8.6
I was eight months pregnant with the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. My husband, Austen, told me he was hosting a private celebration to honor me and the baby.
But when I walked into the warehouse, the steel doors slammed shut behind me.
I wasn't in a ballroom. I was locked inside an industrial glass freezer.
Through the thick glass, I saw Austen standing with his assistant, Deb. They were laughing. He told me he didn't care about his son; he only cared about the trust fund that would unlock upon my father's death.
"Cool her off," he ordered.
His men dumped buckets of ice water onto me. The shock was instant. I begged him to stop, screaming for the life of our child, but he just watched with cold eyes.
As I collapsed into a slush of ice and my own blood, I felt the baby fade away.
Austen thought he had won. He thought my father, the Don, was dead and buried. He thought I was just a helpless, spoiled princess he could dispose of to seize the throne.
He was wrong.
With my last ounce of strength, I looked through the glass and mouthed three words: "He is coming."
Before Austen could react, the warehouse doors didn't just open—they exploded inward.
And through the smoke walked the man Austen thought was worm food.
My father wasn't dead. But my husband was about to wish he was.
7.4
I was a broke clinic doctor drowning in debt, so I took a confidential job to evaluate a billionaire heir's fertility.
I marched into the VIP ICU, pinned the struggling patient down, and injected a sedative. I finished the extraction and loudly declared to the family lawyer that the Holt heir was completely sterile.
But then, a chilling laugh echoed from the doorway.
The real heir, Jarrod Holt, the tyrant of Wall Street, stepped in. I had just sterilized his younger brother right in front of him.
Facing a decade in federal prison, I was completely at his mercy. To make things worse, my arrogant ex-boyfriend tried to publicly humiliate me, and my greedy uncle threatened to burn my dead mother's belongings for ransom. I was pushed to the absolute brink of ruin.
But instead of destroying me, Jarrod offered a terrifying lifeline. He bought out a Manhattan high-rise in five minutes just to ruin my ex, then handed me a marriage contract.
I was terrified and deeply confused. Why would this ruthless billionaire force a nobody into a fake marriage? He knew details about my past that no one should know. Did he discover my hidden identity as 'E', the underground surgeon the entire medical world was hunting for?
With my back against the wall, I signed the prenuptial agreement.
"I do," I whispered at City Hall.
He shoved his heavy, antique family ring onto my finger. It was supposed to be strictly business with absolutely no physical contact, but when his lips crashed violently onto mine, I knew I had just sold my soul to the devil.
9.3
Elliana sat on the cold marble floor, staring at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test. Overjoyed, she went to her husband Garrett’s study to surprise him.
But the room was empty. On his iPad, she accidentally opened a muted security video from the night before. As a graphic novelist trained in facial anatomy, she easily read Garrett’s lips as he spoke to their housekeeper.
"Increase the hallucinogens and the birth control. Let her become a complete lunatic."
The truth shattered her reality. Her three years of inexplicable exhaustion and mental collapses were orchestrated to keep her away from her ex-fiancé, who was now married to Garrett’s sister, Cristina. The nightmare worsened during a horrific highway crash. As their SUV flipped and caught fire, Garrett ruthlessly abandoned a pregnant Elliana in the crushed backseat. He dragged Cristina to safety, leaving Elliana to burn. She survived, but her right hand—her drawing hand—was permanently destroyed.
Lying in the hospital with her career ruined and her intellectual property stolen by the husband who forged her signature while she was drugged, a freezing void of hatred consumed her. She was nothing but a sedated decoy to hide Garrett's twisted, incestuous obsession with his own sister.
When Garrett knelt by her hospital bed with fake tears, Elliana didn't scream or expose him. Instead, she forced a pathetic, dependent smile, playing the perfect broken wife. She was going back to his penthouse to steal his encrypted files, ready to feed him to Manhattan's most cutthroat divorce lawyer and watch his empire burn.
7.4
What's worse than being trapped in an elevator with your gorgeous, Rich boss?
Being trapped with all three of them.
Jack, Gavin, and Harrison aren't just my bosses; they're my brother's filthy rich best friends.
After a steamy, unplanned hookup when the lights went out, I'm about to become much more than just the girl next door.
There's Jack, whose touch drives me wild.
Gavin, the cocky CEO whose dirty orders I can't wait to obey.
And Harrison, the sweet, passionate one who pours his heart into everything... including me.
I've waited years for these men to finally see me. Now, I belong to them. My body is theirs to devour, my bed is theirs to break. But giving them my heart is a terrifying risk, and I just pray they don't shatter it.
9.6
Annabelle lay dying on a rotting mattress in a freezing apartment, her lungs failing from severe malnutrition.
Her phone rang. It was her fiancé, Axel, calling from his lavish wedding—with her best friend, Fay.
"You were just a naive ATM," Axel chuckled over the phone.
He admitted he had drained her trust fund and framed her for the drug scandal that ruined her life.
Fay took the phone, wearing the haute couture wedding dress Annabelle had designed for herself.
"Your parents' private jet crash wasn't an accident," Fay whispered viciously.
The brutal truth shattered Annabelle. She died in pure agony, vomiting blood, her eyes wide open in absolute hatred.
But as her soul floated above her corpse, the door was kicked open by Dangelo Valencia—the arrogant heir she had despised her entire life.
He held her ruined body, sobbing, and ordered his private army to destroy Axel and Fay, sending them to prison.
Then, Dangelo collapsed, dying from a military shrapnel wound he got just to prove his worth after she had cruelly rejected him years ago.
Watching him bleed out for her, Annabelle's soul screamed in excruciating guilt.
Why had she blindly trusted a parasite who murdered her family, while destroying the only man who would burn the world down to avenge her?
When she opened her eyes again, she was back in her pristine high school uniform.
She had returned to the exact day she was supposed to fund Axel's startup.
This time, she ripped his business plan to shreds and walked straight out to find Dangelo.
8.7
They killed her once. Now, she's back to collect the debt.
Thrown back in time to the single night that shattered her life, Jane King is no longer the powerless charity case of the billionaire Norman family. She's a ghost with a ten-year grudge and a perfect memory of every sin they committed. The timid girl is gone, replaced by a woman with nothing left to lose and a ledger that can only be balanced in ruin.
Her audit begins tonight. With the cold precision of a master strategist, she dismantles the heirs, staging their downfall as tragic accidents. But her bloody work doesn't go unnoticed. From a balcony above, the enigmatic and dangerous Hudson Ellison watches the victim become a predator. He's the only one who sees the monster she's become, and he doesn't want to cage it-he wants to crown it.
He offers a dangerous alliance and the keys to an empire. But in a game of secrets and lies, when you partner with a wolf, you risk becoming the prey.