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 8
"So, you're jealous now?" Clive never played by the script she laid out.
Every little trap she thought would catch him? He dodged them all like a pro.
Jealous? So was this him basically admitting he had something going on with his precious first love? And he still refused to divorce her? Classic jerk move - textbook gaslighting.
Paisley took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. If not, she might just lose it and punch him right there.
"Clive, you rejected all my proposals before, so how about this - I'll pay back that money you patched into my dad's company. Deal?" Paisley tried to sound reasonable. "Please, just divorce me already. That way, your dear first love won't have to carry the mistress label. Makes sense, right?"
She kept bringing up his beloved first love just to slam reality in his face.
And what happened?
Clive acted like she hadn't said a single thing. He walked over slowly, grabbed her hand like they were some lovey-dovey couple, and said near her ear, "You've got one minute to fix your resting face. We're going home for soup."
Seriously?
Paisley thought he was absolutely nuts and had no interest in humoring him. She started walking off on her own.
But he didn't let go. In fact, the guy even started counting down. "Eight, seven... three, two..."
Paisley was fuming, but she didn't dare actually start a full-on fight with him. After all, she'd been locked up by him in a past life - she'd had quite enough of that. So, pissed off and puffed up, she followed him back inside for soup.
Naturally, once they were at the dining table with Grandpa Harrington, Paisley wore her best graceful-wife face. Played the part well, even called Clive out with a sweet passive-aggressive twist, and Grandpa totally laid into him. He got chewed out like crazy.
After they got back to the villa from the Harrington family estate, Clive moved his stuff into the master bedroom.
Said it was because real couples don't sleep separately. Before, he let her have the master because she insisted they had no romantic connection. Now? Not only was he moving in without asking, the man had a key and everything - just barged in with his stuff.
Paisley thought about switching rooms, but he shut that down fast and even threatened to follow her into whatever room she tried to escape to.
So now, here they were, sharing a bed. Didn't do anything, didn't talk. Paisley just straight-up ignored him.
If there was one upside to living with Clive, it was that the man could cook. The next morning, he went into the kitchen and made a full breakfast of all her favorites, then came to wake her.
"You're coming to the office with me today," Clive said like it was totally reasonable. "Didn't you tell Grandpa last night that I was messing around at work? As my wife, you better supervise me properly."
Paisley didn't move.
When he came back from the kitchen, she was still hiding under the covers, dead silent.
Clive didn't get worked up or anything. He just said, calm as ever, "Lobster omelette with parmesan's getting cold. If you're not getting up, I'll eat it all. Don't worry - I'll tell the housekeeper to toss you a sandwich later."
Lobster vs. sandwich? No contest.
Muttering bitterly under her breath, Paisley dragged herself out of bed, shot Clive a death glare, rushed to wash up, and then headed straight for the lobster omelette.
Clive, meanwhile, was kind of offended. He felt like he was actually jealous - of lobster omelette.
Apparently, in Paisley's eyes, he ranked lower than breakfast.
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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.