
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 7
Sterling pushed the heavy oak door open. He was ready to unleash the full weight of the Coleman family fortune on whoever had dared to cross him. Desiree hovered behind him, a smug, expectant smirk playing on her lips.
The man on the sofa slowly turned his head. He held a glass of whiskey loosely in one hand, his posture relaxed but radiating a dangerous energy. His icy gray eyes met Sterling's.
Sterling froze. His confident stride broke, his shoulders dropping in shock. The anger on his face melted into pure disbelief.
"Brother?" Sterling breathed, the word escaping before he could stop it. "What are you doing here?"
The smirk on Desiree's face vanished. It was replaced by a look of absolute, paralyzing horror. The glass in Devin's hand, the expensive suit, the cold eyes-it all clicked into place. The man who had destroyed her career wasn't just some rich sponsor. It was Devin Ayers, the most feared man on Wall Street. Sterling's older brother.
Devin ignored her. He tossed his iPad onto the coffee table with a loud clatter. "This is your taste in women, Sterling? A woman who tries to murder babies with triple doses of Diazepam?"
Sterling's face went pale. He walked over to the table on stiff legs and picked up the iPad. He hit play on the video file already queued up.
The screen showed the ER footage. It showed Desiree's face, twisted in malice, as she swapped the vials. It showed her loading the syringe with a deadly amount of sedative. There was no denying it. The evidence was irrefutable.
Sterling's grip on the iPad tightened until his knuckles turned white. He slowly looked up at Desiree. The love, the concern, the protectiveness-it was all gone, replaced by a disgust so deep it made his stomach churn.
Desiree panicked. She threw herself at Sterling's feet, grabbing his trousers. "Sterling, please! The baby was having a fit! I was just trying to help her! It was a mistake!"
In the bedroom, Kenzie rolled her eyes. "A mistake? She practically salivated when she pushed the plunger. This woman's IQ is lower than my current body weight."
Devin heard the thought and a faint smirk touched his lips. He stood up, walking over to stand beside his brother, looking down at the sobbing woman.
Sterling kicked her hands away. He wiped his leg as if he had been touched by something filthy. "A mistake? Your degree is a fake. You buy drugs on the street. And you try to kill infants. You're going to jail."
He pulled out his phone, his fingers shaking with rage. He dialed the number for his bank's concierge service.
"This is Sterling Coleman. Freeze the supplementary black card. Number ending in 4589. Immediately. And suspend all trust fund allowances linked to Desiree Dillon."
The confirmation on the other end was the final nail in the coffin. Desiree collapsed onto the floor, her makeup running down her face in black streaks. She looked like a clown whose circus had burned down.
"You can't do this!" she shrieked, her voice raw and desperate. "I saved your life, Sterling! You promised you'd take care of me! You owe me!"
The words hit Sterling like a physical blow. The memory of the car accident, the smoke, her pulling him from the wreckage-it flashed in his mind. He remembered her pulling him from the twisted metal, her face strangely calm amidst the chaos, almost as if she had expected it. But the trauma of the night had always overshadowed that detail. His shoulders slumped. The righteous anger flickered, replaced by guilt.
Kenzie saw the change in his posture. "Oh, no," she thought, groaning internally. "The idiot is feeling guilty. Don't fall for it, you fool!"
Devin saw it too. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Sterling-"
Desiree saw her opening. She clutched her chest, her eyes rolling back. She started gasping, her body convulsing on the floor. "I can't breathe! My heart! Sterling, my pills are at the apartment! Please!"
She writhed on the carpet, putting on an Oscar-worthy performance of a panic attack. Sterling hesitated for only a second. The guilt won. He couldn't let the woman who saved his life die on the floor in front of him.
He bent down and scooped her up in his arms. She buried her face in his neck, her body still shaking with fake sobs.
"I'll take her home," Sterling said, his voice tight. He looked at Devin, his expression a mix of shame and defiance. "I'll handle this, Devin. But I have to make sure she doesn't die first."
He didn't wait for a response. He carried her out of the lounge and down the hall to the elevator. The doors closed behind them, leaving Devin standing alone in the silent room.
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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.