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 2
The interior of the Maybach was a cocoon of leather and climate-controlled heat, but Kenzie felt like she was burning from the inside out. The shivering had returned with a vengeance, her tiny body convulsing against the soft cashmere blanket Devin had wrapped her in. Her skin felt tight, stretched over a furnace, yet her teeth wouldn't stop chattering.
Devin sat beside her, his posture rigid. He hadn't taken his eyes off her since they pulled out of the alley. He could hear the ragged, shallow breaths she took, and with every breath, the voice in his head grew fainter, more fragmented.
"So... hot..." The thought drifted into his mind, weak and disoriented. "Why is it so cold if I'm burning?"
Devin's jaw clenched. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. It was like touching a stovetop. The fever was spiking dangerously fast.
"Drive faster," he ordered Arthur from the back seat.
The Maybach lurched forward, weaving through the Manhattan traffic. Thirty minutes later, they screeched to a halt under the bright white awning of a private hospital on the Upper East Side. Arthur was out in a second, pulling the door open.
Devin stepped out into the rain, holding the baby against his chest like a football. He strode through the sliding glass doors of the ER, his shoes slapping against the linoleum. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit Kenzie's nose, making her stomach heave.
"I need a pediatrician!" Devin's voice cut through the quiet hum of the emergency room, loud enough to make a nurse drop her clipboard. "Now!"
A doctor in rumpled blue scrubs looked up from the nurses' station. Desiree Dillon looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She grabbed a chart and walked over, her face set in a bored, annoyed expression.
"Sir, you can't just-" Desiree started, then caught sight of Devin's face. The sharp jawline, the expensive coat, the aura of pure, unadulterated wealth. Her demeanor shifted instantly. The annoyance vanished, replaced by a sickeningly sweet, professional smile. "Oh, Mr. Ayers. Of course. Bring her this way."
Kenzie forced her eyes open at the sound of that voice. The fever made everything swim, but the name tag on the blue scrubs was clear. Dr. D. Dillon.
A jolt of pure, undiluted terror shot through her, stronger than the fever. That voice. That face. A primal sense of danger, rooted in a pain so deep it had followed her across death itself, screamed at her to flee. She didn't know how the universe had brought them together again, but the cold, calculating glint in those blue eyes was a nightmare she recognized instantly.
The heart monitor clipped to Kenzie's toe suddenly screamed. The line on the screen spiked into a jagged peak, the rapid beeping filling the room.
"She's tachycardic," Desiree said, her voice smooth as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "Probably just a panic response to the fever. Let's get her settled."
Desiree leaned over the gurney, her face inches from Kenzie's. Kenzie stared into those eyes, pushing past her own fear, and reached out with her mind. The telepathy was erratic, fueled by adrenaline, but she caught it. The surface thoughts leaking from Desiree's brain like toxic sludge.
"Another screaming brat," Desiree was thinking as she turned her back to Devin. "Rich daddy probably just wants a quick fix so he can go back to his meeting. I'll just knock her out. Shut her up."
Desiree walked to the medication cabinet. She didn't even look at the dosage chart. She pulled out a vial of Diazepam and a syringe. She drew the liquid, her thumb pushing the plunger up. She didn't measure. She just filled it.
"Poison..." Kenzie's mind shrieked, the thought blasting into Devin's head like a jagged, broken siren, weak but desperate. "Too much... needle... DANGER! Stop her!"
Devin, who had been listening to the hospital administrator drone on about protocols, froze. The fragmented voice in his head was raw with a primal panic. He turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto Desiree's back.
Desiree was humming softly. She pulled the syringe out of the vial and turned back to the gurney. The needle glinted under the harsh surgical lights. She didn't check the baby's weight. She didn't check the label again. She just reached for the IV port in Kenzie's arm.
"Lethal..." Kenzie screamed internally, her physical body paralyzed by the fever and terror, her mental transmission fracturing under the strain. "Overdose... she's trying to kill me!"
The chaotic burst of words echoed in Devin's skull, but the intent was crystal clear. His eyes narrowed to slits. He moved. He didn't walk; he closed the distance in two long, predatory strides, his shoes making no sound on the floor.
Desiree was smiling gently at the baby, the needle inches from the IV line. "There, there, little one. This will make it all go away."
Devin's hand shot out. His fingers closed around Desiree's wrist like a steel trap. The grip was brutal, crushing the delicate bones together.
Desiree gasped, her eyes going wide. The syringe shook in her trembling hand. She looked up at Devin, her face pale. "Mr. Ayers? What are you-"
"What are you doing?" Devin asked. His voice was barely above a whisper, but the menace in it made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.
Desiree tried to twist her arm free, but his grip was iron. She forced a trembling smile. "I'm just administering a mild sedative, sir. Her heart rate is too high. It's standard procedure."
"Standard?" Kenzie thought, her mind a mix of rage and relief. "Zero point one milligrams per kilogram is standard, you psycho. That syringe has at least five milligrams in it!"
Devin's gaze flicked to the syringe. He didn't let go of Desiree's wrist. With his other hand, he plucked the syringe from her trembling fingers. He held it up to the overhead light.
The clear liquid sat at the 5mg mark. The evidence was irrefutable.
Devin's hand flicked. He threw Desiree backward. She stumbled, her back hitting the metal instrument tray with a deafening crash. Trays and scissors clattered to the floor.
The entire ER fell silent. Nurses froze. The administrator stopped mid-sentence.
Kenzie lay on the gurney, her heart still racing, but the panic was fading. She looked at Devin's broad back, at the rigid set of his shoulders. A sense of profound, unexpected safety washed over her.
"That was close," she thought, a weary satisfaction coloring her internal voice. "This guy is ruthless. I like him."
Devin heard the thought. The tight line of his shoulders eased just a fraction. He turned around, his cold expression softening for a split second as he looked at the tiny, feverish baby. He reached out and gathered her back into his arms, wrapping the blanket tight around her shivering body.
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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.