Pampered By The Ruthless Tycoon Guardian
Kenzie, the former leader of the Aegis Alliance, opened her eyes to find herself reincarnated as a freezing, abandoned infant in a wet cardboard box.
She was rescued from the rain by Devin Ayers, a ruthless billionaire, and rushed to a private hospital, but a deadly threat was already waiting for her.
The ER doctor, Desiree Dillon, approached her with a syringe. Through a sudden burst of telepathy, Kenzie read the doctor's dark thoughts. Desiree wasn't trying to cure her fever. She deliberately ignored the safe dosage, drawing a lethal amount of Diazepam to permanently silence the crying baby and disguise it as sudden infant death.
"This will make it all go away," Desiree smiled gently, the needle glinting as it moved inches from Kenzie's arm.
Trapped in a weak, paralyzed three-month-old body, Kenzie couldn't run, fight, or even speak. She could only watch the poison inch closer.
How could she survive death only to be assassinated in a hospital bed by a corrupt doctor? She used to command armies. The sheer injustice and terror of dying completely helpless in this tiny body ignited a blinding rage inside her.
Refusing to be a victim again, Kenzie pushed her newborn brain to its absolute limit and unleashed a desperate telepathic scream directly into the billionaire's mind.
"Poison! She's trying to kill me!"
Devin, who had been looking away, suddenly froze, his icy gray eyes locking onto the doctor's wrist.
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Chapter 10
The Aston Martin skidded to a halt right in front of the luxury apartment building on Fifth Avenue, blocking the entrance completely. The doorman jumped back, his mouth agape.
Devin was out of the car in a flash. He ripped the car seat from the back, unstrapped Kenzie with one hand, and tucked her inside his coat. He ran for the private elevator, Arthur and two men in black suits right behind him.
He used a master key card to override the system. The elevator shot up. The numbers climbed rapidly. 30... 40... 50.
Kenzie closed her eyes. She reached out with her mind, pushing through the static. She found Desiree's consciousness. It was buzzing with excitement, a sickening, greedy anticipation.
"Drink it... drink it... just one sip and you're mine..."
Kenzie's eyes flew open. "We're too late! She's making him drink! Kick the door!"
The elevator dinged. The hallway was silent, lined with expensive wallpaper and thick carpet. Devin didn't slow down. He walked up to the heavy oak door of the penthouse. He didn't knock. He didn't try the handle.
He took a step back, raised his leg, and kicked.
The door exploded inward. The heavy deadbolt sheared off, the wood splintering. The door slammed against the wall with a bang that shook the apartment.
In the dimly lit living room, Sterling was sitting on the sofa, a glass of whiskey raised to his lips. Desiree was draped over him, wearing a silk robe, her eyes glued to the glass.
The crash made Sterling jump. His hand jerked. The amber liquid sloshed over the rim, spilling onto his shirt.
Devin stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. He looked like a demon summoned from hell.
"Devin?" Sterling gasped, lowering the glass. "What the hell are you doing?"
Desiree scrambled back, her face draining of color. The fear in her eyes was real this time.
Devin didn't speak. He crossed the room in two strides and snatched the glass from Sterling's hand. He hurled it against the marble coffee table. The crystal shattered, sending shards and liquid flying.
"Are you crazy?!" Sterling shouted, jumping to his feet. "You can't just break into my-"
"If I hadn't, by tomorrow morning, every shareholder in the company would be watching you drool and grunt on camera," Devin snarled, pointing at the wet stain on the floor. "That was laced with GHB."
Sterling froze. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a chilling realization. He looked at Desiree, who was shrinking into the corner of the sofa.
"That's not true!" she cried, her voice trembling. "It was just whiskey! I was trying to help him relax!"
Kenzie poked her head out of Devin's coat. She scanned the room, her eyes landing on the bedroom door and a decorative vase on the bookshelf. "Smoke detector in the master bedroom," she thought clearly. "And the vase on the right side of the TV. Those are the camera angles."
Devin heard her. He didn't even turn his head. "Arthur. Smoke detector in the bedroom. Vase by the TV. Smash them."
Arthur moved. Two loud crashes later, he dropped two tiny, blinking devices onto the coffee table. The red recording lights were still on.
Sterling stared at the cameras. His stomach heaved. He thought about the glass in his hand, the drink he was about to take. He looked at Desiree, really looked at her, and saw the monster hiding behind the pretty face.
"You..." Sterling's voice was a low, dangerous growl. "You set me up. You drugged me. You filmed me."
"Sterling, please, I-" she whined, reaching out for him.
Sterling lunged. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip like a vice, and shoved her backward. She hit the sofa hard, the breath knocking out of her lungs. He didn't choke her; he didn't need to. He leaned over her, his face inches from hers, his voice a low, terrifying snarl. "You poisonous bitch! You were going to ruin me? I will erase you. You will wish you were never born."
Desiree choked, her face turning red, her hands clawing at his wrists. The fake tears were gone, replaced by a desperate, animalistic panic.
Devin watched for a moment, letting his brother vent the rage. But when Desiree's eyes started to roll back, he stepped in.
"Enough," Devin said, his voice cold. He grabbed Sterling's shoulder and pulled him back. "Don't touch her. You'll leave marks. Arthur, bag her and the cameras. Call the lawyers. I want her charged with attempted sexual assault, blackmail, and possession of illegal substances."
Arthur hauled Desiree to her feet. She was gasping, her silk robe disheveled, her mascara running. She looked pathetic and broken.
As the security team dragged her out of the apartment, Kenzie watched from the safety of Devin's arms. The tension in the room began to dissipate, leaving behind the heavy scent of broken wood and spilled whiskey.
"Round one," Kenzie thought, a weary but satisfied sigh echoing in her mind. "We won. But this is just the beginning."
Devin looked down at the baby in his arms. Her eyes were drooping, the exhaustion of the fever and the telepathic strain finally catching up to her. He gently adjusted his coat, wrapping her tighter.
He didn't say a word.
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7.6
Jocelyn Yang lived in the grand Turner Mansion, not as a guest, but as a prisoner. Ever since her father's death, the ruthless billionaire Elam Turner forced her to atone for sins her father never committed.
On her nineteenth birthday, a male classmate secretly sent her a diamond necklace. Elam, who had flown back from London overnight, flew into a psychotic, jealous rage at the sight of another man's gift.
He mercilessly crushed the delicate necklace into the marble floor with his custom leather shoe.
"Did you forget what you are?" Elam hissed, dragging her into a pitch-black storage room. "You take gifts from other men behind my back?"
He pinned her to the dusty floorboards and violently assaulted her. The next morning, a wire transfer of $500,000 hit her bank account. He had humiliated her, broken her spirit, and was now casually trying to buy her silence. Later, when a broken bike left her walking miles through a freezing rainstorm, he just shoved scalding tea into her bleeding hands.
"Look at you," he sneered. "You look like a stray dog ruining my floors."
Jocelyn curled up in the cold, her lips bleeding and her heart shattered. She couldn't understand his terrifying obsession. If he hated her so much, why did he refuse to let her go? Why did he look at her with such manic hunger while systematically destroying her life?
Staring at the massive sum of hush money on her phone, a desperate spark of vengeance flared in her chest. Jocelyn wired every single cent back to Elam's account. She picked up her charcoal pencil, vowing to win the upcoming art competition and buy her escape from this monster forever.
7.9
Hannah came home under a false identity, ready to keep her head down and avoid trouble. Then a near-drowning opened her eyes, and the family she had wanted gave her nothing but disappointment.
She severed every tie, shed the disguise, and rose in revenge as a miracle doctor, brilliant hacker, and feared underworld ruler. Shock followed her family at every turn.
Her parents regretted everything. Her eldest brother clung desperately to the bond of their shared blood, while her second brother gave up his entire fortune just to earn her forgiveness. Her third brother offered up his own body for a surgery-all to save her.
But Hannah stayed cold and built her empire alone. Only one deadly rival refused to be ignored.
"I was hired to kill you, mister."
"Then take my heart, too."
7.2
Allie Patterson poured fifteen years into her husband Grayson’s tech startup, living in a cramped San Jose apartment. Every penny, every late night coding session, was for their shared future, built on his constant claims the company struggled, always on the verge of its big break.
Then, a grant deed arrived: a stunning $4.2 million Atherton villa, paid in full, listing Grayson and an unknown Kacey Schmidt as joint tenants.
Her coffee mug shattered as Allie’s world imploded. Driving to the mansion, she found Kacey in silk pajamas, flaunting a massive pink diamond and, beneath it, Grayson’s grandmother’s heirloom ring – the one he’d tearfully claimed to have lost years ago.
Kacey purred, "He's in the shower. We were so tired last night."
The words were a serrated knife, twisting, confirming years of lies.
Humiliation and rage burned out, leaving a terrifying, absolute silence. All her sacrifice and trust were a cruel, elaborate joke, orchestrated by the man she loved.
Allie calmly took photos, then gave herself one minute in her beat-up car to mourn. When it passed, her tears stopped, replaced by cold, calculated murder in her eyes. She typed a text to Grayson:
"Come home early tonight. I have a surprise for you."
8.1
I died on an apocalyptic battlefield, only to wake up pinned down by a lead-lined blanket of my own fat.
A violent download of memories hit me. I had transmigrated into the body of an exiled, sadistic noblewoman who was three million coins in debt.
The original owner was an absolute monster. She had purchased beastman guards just to torture them for fun. In the corner of the filthy room, a golden retriever boy cowered, his back shredded by her barbed whip. In the basement, a snake guard was frozen and scarred from constant electro-shocks. When the white tiger guard returned from hard labor, he looked at me with pure, murderous hatred, ready to tear me apart to protect the others. Even the local elites kicked down my door to mock my pathetic life and try to steal my men.
I was a decorated commander who bled for humanity. Why was I trapped in this ruined vessel, bearing the sins of a degenerate abuser?
It was all a setup by her sweet-faced cousin, Debera, who stole her royal life and sent her to this outer-rim hellhole to rot.
I gritted my teeth and plunged a military-grade gene repair serum into my arm, letting the agony burn away the black filth and weakness.
"The crazy woman you knew before is dead."
I tossed a medical kit to the trembling guards, loaded my old electromagnetic pistol, and headed for the deadly Demon Hunting Zone to start my revenge.
8.2
For three years, I scrubbed tables as a "wolfless runt," hiding my identity as the Lycan King's daughter.
It was a test for my fiancé, Alpha Connor. I wanted to see if he loved the girl, or just the crown.
He failed spectacularly tonight.
His mistress, Jaden, deliberately knocked a tray of drinks onto me during the dinner rush.
The liquid wasn't alcohol. It was concentrated silver.
My flesh hissed and bubbled as the poison ate through my skin, blocking any ability to heal.
I fell to the floor, clutching my melting hand, while Jaden faked tears and claimed I attacked her.
When Connor finally answered the video call, he saw my mangled hand. He smelled the burning flesh. He knew it was silver.
But he didn't help me.
He looked at his watch, annoyed that I was interrupting his business meeting with investors.
"Apologize to Jaden," he ordered, using his Alpha Command to crush me into submission.
"On your knees. Now."
The pain was blinding, but the betrayal cut deeper. He was forcing his Fated Mate to bow to the woman who tried to maim her.
My knees bent under the pressure, but my Royal blood refused to break.
I looked straight into the camera lens.
"No," I whispered.
I reached into my apron, bypassing the notepad, and pulled out a black satellite phone I hadn't touched in years.
"Code Black," I said to the King on the other end. "Send the Guard."
Connor thought he was disciplining a waitress.
He didn't know he just declared war on the Royal Family.
9.0
Carli followed an anonymous text to a dark garage, only to find her fiancé of seven years tangled with another woman in his Porsche.
She smashed his window, threw her engagement ring at his face, and walked away.
But the betrayal didn't stop there. Her own family sided with the cheater. Her father slapped her across the face so hard she bled, demanding she hand over her late aunt's trust fund.
"If you don't do exactly as you're told tonight, I will freeze every credit card in your name," her father roared.
Forced to attend the exclusive Gutierrez family gala, Carli watched her ex-fiancé parade his cheap mistress to humiliate her, while her stepsister tried to publicly ruin her.
Suddenly, a violent screech echoed as the massive crystal chandelier above them snapped from the ceiling.
In a split second of pure instinct, Vaughn shoved his mistress to safety and threw himself to the ground, completely abandoning Carli to be crushed.
Staring up at the plummeting glass, Carli felt the crushing reality that her entire life had been surrounded by monsters.
But the fatal impact never came.
A massive force yanked her into a hard chest, shielding her body entirely from the explosive shrapnel.
Carli opened her eyes to find Fletcher Gutierrez—the ruthless billionaire king of Wall Street and the masked stranger from her reckless one-night stand—bleeding heavily over her.
Feeling his warm blood on her hands, Carli knew the game had just changed.