Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you."
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Chapter 4
The smug curl on Nicolas's lips slowly faded, and a raw, simmering anger surfaced—the look of a man who realized he'd been read too easily.
"Perfect. Just perfect," he muttered, jaw tight, each word forced out between clenched teeth. "If you're that desperate for a divorce, fine—I'll give it to you. But listen carefully, Ashley… don't come crawling back later. The moment you lose the title of Mrs. Reed, you'll be nothing at all."
With a sharp turn, he strode toward the doorway and snapped at his assistant, "Get the divorce papers. Immediately."
Startled by the sudden command, the assistant flinched, then rushed off without a single word.
In less than ten minutes, the door swung open again, and two freshly printed copies were brought into the room.
Nicolas snatched the documents and slapped them onto the bedside table with a sharp, echoing thud.
Fixing his gaze on Ashley, he spoke with the cold restraint of a man extending his final scrap of mercy. "Ashley, for the sake of the three years of marriage we shared, I'll give you one last chance. Admit you were wrong, and I'll rip these papers up right now."
Admit she was wrong? A hollow scoff slipped from Ashley's lips. Of all the wrongs she had made, marrying him stood at the very top.
Without bothering to look his way, she strode forward, seized the pen, and bent over the papers. Her signature flowed across the page in one smooth, decisive stroke, bold and unyielding.
Not a flicker of doubt slowed her hand.
"There. It's done."
With a crisp snap, she flung the pen onto the table.
Lifting her eyes to him, she spoke with undisguised impatience. "Your turn, Mr. Reed."
The icy expression on her face threw Nicolas completely off balance.
Around the pen, his fingers clamped down so hard his knuckles blanched.
This wasn't right.
Something had gone terribly, unmistakably wrong.
The Ashley he remembered would be uneasy whenever he so much as frowned.
Each time her gaze landed on him, it had always brimmed with meek, desperate devotion.
The woman standing in front of him now met his gaze as if he were nothing but a stranger.
No—something lower than that.
She looked at him like he was garbage she couldn't wait to throw away.
That icy detachment pouring off her, sharp and final, sparked an odd irritation in his chest, along with a thread of unease he couldn't quite name.
For the first time, Nicolas faltered.
From beneath the blanket, Caroline had been silently watching it all unfold, and a cruel glint slipped through her eyes.
She couldn't let Nicolas waver now.
"Nicolas..." she whispered weakly, her voice quivering as tears clung to it. "This is all because of me. If I hadn't been here, Ashley wouldn't be arguing with you like this."
Turning toward Ashley, she put on a fragile, wounded look. "Ashley, please don't blame Nicolas for this. I'll leave. I'll go right now. I won't ever appear in front of you again..."
While she spoke, Caroline forced herself upright, her movements shaky, only to sway dangerously as if her strength had finally given out.
Seeing that fragile display erased the last trace of hesitation in Nicolas. Concern surged through him, swallowing everything else without a trace.
He reached out immediately, steadying her trembling body, then turned his gaze back to Ashley—cold, sharp, and brimming with undisguised contempt.
"Take a good look at Caroline, then take a look at yourself. A cruel woman like you has no place standing beside me as my wife."
Without the slightest pause this time, he grabbed the pen and scrawled his name across the agreement in one swift, decisive stroke.
Afterward, he tore one copy free and tossed it at her, his tone steady—unyielding, final, and merciless.
"Ashley, I'll be watching for the day you regret this choice. When it finally hits you, don't expect mercy—even if you come back begging on your knees, I won't give you a second glance."
Ever since Ashley had married him, Nicolas had been certain he understood exactly what kind of woman she was.
An orphan with no family, no backing, and no one in the world to lean on. In his mind, once she left, she would be utterly alone. Soon enough, he was sure, she would come crawling back and beg him to take her in again.
"Regret it? Then I'm afraid you're the one who'll be disappointed, Mr. Reed." Slipping the divorce papers out of sight, Ashley lifted her eyes and cast Caroline one final, measured glance.
And her lips curved into a faint, dismissive smile. "Caroline, I don't want this man anymore. You're welcome to take him. I sincerely hope the two of you stay together for a very long time—and spare everyone else from having to suffer either of you."
Without sparing so much as a backward glance, Ashley strode out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Her spine remained perfectly straight, each step light and unhurried, as if the suffocating burden she had carried for years had finally been lifted from her shoulders.
Left standing in silence, Nicolas kept his gaze fixed on the empty doorway where she had vanished, an unfamiliar hollowness spreading through his chest and tightening with every second.
Brushing it off with a faint scoff, he convinced himself it meant nothing, that the unease was merely the result of growing accustomed to her constant, clingy presence.
Given a few days, he thought coldly, once she tasted the harshness of life outside, she would come back to him on her own, humbled and desperate.
Stepping out of the hospital doors, Ashley felt the pale winter sunlight spill over her skin, its gentle warmth seeping into her bones in a way she had not experienced in years.
Pulling her phone from her bag, she keyed in a number she hadn't dared to touch in years.
The line connected almost at once, and a man's usually composed voice broke through, thick with sudden emotion.
"Ms. Dunn? Is… is that really you?"
Tilting her head back, Ashley stared into the clear, sunlit sky above her. Moisture clung to her lashes, yet her tone remained calm, almost resolute.
"It's me. I'm divorced. Come pick me up… take me home."
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7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
7.5
I spent three weeks scrubbing carbonized grease off woks at the Jade Garden, hiding my elite tactical training behind raw knuckles and a practiced, submissive stutter. My mission was the only thing keeping me sane: finding my sister, Elena, who vanished into thin air after her phone last pinged near the city’s Restricted Sector.
The breakthrough came when my boss, a bully named Uncle Wong, forced me to take a delivery to 101 Blackwood Drive—a high-security fortress where the drivers whispered that people went in and never came back right. It was a geographic match for Elena's last known location, but as I rode my battered scooter toward the massive steel gates, I realized I wasn't just investigating a lead; I was walking into a spider's web.
The mansion was a monolith of cold concrete and military-grade surveillance, owned by Hugh Bradford, a billionaire who controlled the city’s elite like puppets. During my delivery, the magnetic locks hissed shut, the lights died, and I was plunged into absolute darkness with a predator who didn't want my money. Bradford pinned me against a stainless steel counter and did something unthinkable: he sank his teeth into my shoulder, using the rhythm of my frantic pulse to anchor his own fractured mind.
I escaped with a bruised neck and a thousand-dollar "tip," feeling the crushing weight of his violation and the terrifying realization that my "clumsy immigrant" act hadn't fooled him for a second. I didn't understand why a man of his power would treat a delivery girl like a biological drug, or what he had done to the other girls who had vanished behind those black glass walls.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I realized I was being hunted by a man who could buy and sell my life a thousand times over.
"You're terrified," he had whispered in the dark, and for the first time in years, I wasn't faking it.
Back in my apartment, I found a note tucked inside the cash that confirmed my worst fears:
"For the inconvenience. See you Tuesday."
He thinks he’s found a new toy to play with, but he just gave me the one thing I needed to find my sister—an invitation to go back inside and finish what I started.
8.7
Lina Carter was just a waitress trying to make ends meet. On the other hand, Alexander Knight was a billionaire who would do anything to safeguard his empire. When he proposes a deal for her to be his fake girlfriend, it seems straightforward, he act like she loves him, stick to the rules, and walk away with a nice payday. No feelings involved. No strings attached. No room for error.
But as they share fake kisses, those moments turn into lingering glances. What starts as cold, business-like orders shifts into a quiet sense of protection. Suddenly, the line between pretense and reality begins to blur.
Then, out of nowhere, his ex-fiancée reappears-gorgeous, ruthless, and hell-bent on ruining Lina's life. When the truth about their arrangement comes to light, Lina finds herself publicly humiliated, tossed aside as if she never mattered at all. She walks away with her pride shattered, but her heart still whole.
Now, the man who once paid her to pretend is realizing he wants her for real. But some betrayals cut too deep... and some love stories start with a lie that's just too painful to forgive. She was brought in to act. He ended up falling for her for real.
8.3
For three years, I was the perfect, invisible wife to Bart Brown. On our third anniversary, I stood in the kitchen for four hours, preparing his favorite meal with imported truffles, only to receive a cold text command.
"Crysta fainted again. Get to the hospital. Now."
My rare Rh-negative blood was the only thing the Brown family valued. Bart didn't want a wife; he wanted a walking blood bank for his "sick" best friend, Crysta. While I was fainting from chronic anemia, Crysta was smirking in her hospital bed, clutching Bart's hand and mocking my "peasant" lifestyle.
Even his mother treated me like a servant, demanding I vacuum the floors after I'd already offered my veins for the hundredth time. When I finally reached my breaking point and signed the divorce papers, they didn't let me go quietly. They filed a false police report, accusing me of stealing a multi-million dollar diamond necklace just to watch me crawl.
I didn't understand how a family could be so heartless. I had cooked their meals, cleaned their house, and literally bled for them, yet they were determined to ruin my life the moment I stopped being useful. Did they really think I was a nobody with nowhere to go?
Standing outside the hospital with a bruised wrist and nothing to my name, I didn't cry. I simply took off my cheap wedding ring and dialed a secure line I hadn't touched since the day I married him.
"It's me, Dad," I whispered as a fleet of black Maybachs rounded the corner. "The extraction is a go. I'm coming home."
9.5
I was the heiress to a real estate empire, celebrating my engagement to Douglas at our Manhattan penthouse.
But when I stepped into the master bedroom, I caught him sleeping with my best friend, Krystle.
Before I could even react, Douglas forced me to sign away my family's entire trust fund.
He held up a tablet and forced me to watch a live feed of my parents being burned alive in our Hamptons estate.
"The fire hasn't reached the main house yet, sign it and I'll call them off," he lied.
As soon as the ink dried, he beat me to the ground and locked me in the soundproof study.
He poured twenty-three-year-old whiskey on the carpet and dropped a lit cigar.
"You could have walked away with nothing, but alive," he sneered.
He left me to burn to death while he and Krystle went back to our engagement party to drink champagne.
As the flames melted my skin and my bones shattered against the bulletproof glass, I couldn't understand it.
How could the man who promised me forever brutally exterminate my entire family just for money?
But I didn't die in that fire.
Three years later, with a reconstructed face and a new identity as the mysterious global designer Alice Moreau, I returned to New York.
Watching Douglas and Krystle flaunt the wealth they stole from my family's ashes, I smiled behind my black veil.
It was time to make them pay with everything they had.
7.1
I lay paralyzed on stiff white sheets, a prisoner in my own skin, listening to the rain lash against the window like nails on a coffin. My father, Elmore Franco, didn't even look at my face as he checked his clipboard. He just listened to the steady, monotonous beep of the heart monitor-the only thing proving I was still alive.
Without a hint of remorse, he pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the Do Not Resuscitate order. My stepmother, Ophelia, stepped out from behind him, wearing my favorite pearl necklace and smelling of cloying perfume. She leaned close to my ear to whisper the truth that turned my blood to ice.
"It was the tea, darling. Just like your mother. A slow, tasteless poison."
She chuckled as she revealed that my fiancé, Bryce, had a two-year-old son with my sister, Daniela. My inheritance had been funding their secret life for years, and now that the money was secure, I was an inconvenience they were finally scrubbing away. As my father yanked the power cord from the wall, the beeping died, and the darkness swallowed me whole.
I was being murdered by my own flesh and blood, used as a bank account until I was no longer needed. I died in that sterile room, drowning in the realization that every person I ever loved was a monster who had been waiting for me to take my last breath.
Then, I gasped. I woke up in a luxury hotel suite surrounded by silk sheets, five years in the past-the very morning of my wedding. Next to me lay Basile Delgado, the "Wolf of Wall Street" and my family's most dangerous enemy. In my first life, I ran from this room in a panic and lost everything. This time, I looked at the man who would eventually destroy my father's empire and decided to join him.
"I'm not leaving, Basile. Marry me. Right now. Today."