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 9
Devin walked into the hospital room and scooped Kenzie up from the window seat. He turned and shoved her into the arms of the startled head nurse, who had just walked in to check her vitals.
"Watch her," Devin ordered, his voice like gravel. "If she gets a single scratch, I will shut this hospital down and sell it for scrap."
The nurse went white, clutching the baby to her chest. "Yes, sir! Of course, sir!"
Devin turned and headed for the door. His long legs ate up the distance, his body coiled with explosive energy.
Kenzie struggled in the nurse's arms. This wasn't part of the plan. Devin was going in blind. He didn't know where the drugs were. He didn't know where the cameras were. He would walk into Desiree's trap just like Sterling.
"You idiot!" Kenzie screamed in her mind, thrashing her tiny limbs. "You can't just kick the door down! She'll have the cameras hidden! If you don't find the evidence, she can claim Sterling attacked her! You need me!"
Devin's stride faltered. He was at the elevator bank, his finger hovering over the call button. He heard the baby's thoughts loud and clear. She was right. Without the physical evidence of the cameras and the drugs, it would just be his word against hers. And a rich man accusing a poor doctor of entrapment wouldn't play well in the press.
But taking a sick infant on a tactical raid was insane.
"Bring me!" Kenzie insisted, her mental voice frantic. "I can pinpoint the cameras! I can read her mind! I'm your radar! You're flying blind without me!"
Devin's jaw clenched. He looked back at the squirming baby in the nurse's arms. He weighed the risk to the child against the risk to his family's empire. The empire won.
He strode back and snatched Kenzie from the nurse. "Shut up," he muttered, holding her close. "Arthur," Devin barked, turning to his bodyguard. "You follow one block behind in the SUV. If anything happens to me, your only priority is the child. You get her out. Understood?" Arthur nodded grimly. Devin shifted his grip, using his broad chest and the thick layers of his wool coat to create a protective barrier around Kenzie's fragile body. "If you throw up on my coat, I'm leaving you on the side of the road," he added, though the careful way he shielded her head belied the harsh words.
Kenzie immediately stopped struggling. She nestled into his neck, a smug satisfaction warming her chest. "Deal. Let's go, tyrant."
Devin hit the elevator button. They plummeted down to the underground garage. A sleek, black Aston Martin DBS was waiting, its engine already growling like a caged beast. Arthur was standing by the driver's door, but Devin pushed him aside.
"I'm driving. You follow with the team," Devin snapped. He opened the passenger door and quickly strapped Kenzie into a top-of-the-line car seat that had magically appeared in the back. He buckled the five-point harness with quick, efficient movements.
Kenzie looked around the interior. The leather, the carbon fiber, the rumble of the V12 engine. "Not bad," she thought, impressed. "Zero to sixty in three point four seconds. Might actually make it in time."
Devin slid into the driver's seat. He heard her thought and a grim smile touched his lips. "Hold on, little monster."
He slammed his foot on the gas. The Aston Martin roared and shot out of the garage, the tires squealing against the wet concrete. They hit the street, and Devin wrenched the wheel, weaving through traffic with a terrifying precision.
Kenzie's tactical mind kicked into high gear. She stared out the windshield, calculating distances and traffic patterns. "Turn right! Take Sixth Avenue!" she yelled in her mind. "Broadway is a parking lot right now! The theaters just let out!"
Devin saw the wall of red taillights ahead. He didn't hesitate. He cranked the wheel, the car drifting sideways through a narrow gap in traffic. They shot down Sixth Avenue, the engine screaming.
"Left on 50th! Cut through the park! It's faster!"
Devin obeyed, the car jumping the curb slightly as they carved a path through the city. They were a bullet tearing through the heart of Manhattan, driven by a man who owned the city and navigated by a baby who used to protect it.
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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.