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 6
Calm certainty anchored Ashley's tone, not a hint of hesitation slipping through.
Seeing that, Raymond finally nodded in satisfaction.
With his granddaughter's answer secured, impatience flickered in his eyes—he had no intention of delaying even a moment longer.
"Good. In two weeks, we'll host the matchmaking banquet at the family's Pearl Hotel."
His palm came down on the table with a sharp, echoing crack, authority ringing through his voice. "Every eligible young man in Sleridge worth a mention gets an invitation. I'll have your three brothers return as well. They'll be there in person to look every candidate over. Any man who wants to marry my granddaughter must have the right background, the right character, and the capability to match. Miss even one of those, and he's out—no exceptions."
A soft laugh slipped from Ashley's lips at the sight of her grandfather gearing up as if he meant to line up every so-called perfect bachelor in existence right in front of her.
"Grandpa, it's only a matchmaking banquet. You don't need to turn it into such a grand spectacle. This is a bit much."
"A bit much? Not even remotely." Grim resolve settled over Raymond's features, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Your judgment was a complete disaster before. You let the wrong man fool you. This time, with your brothers and me standing right beside you, no one's going to let you get hurt again. We're not taking this lightly—this ends here, and that's final."
Noticing the quiet guilt and fierce protectiveness flickering in his eyes, a gentle warmth spread through Ashley's chest. She chose not to push back, simply lowering her lashes and giving a small, obedient nod.
...
Later that evening, inside Sleridge's most exclusive, dimly lit private bar, Dayna idly swirled the pale champagne in her slender flute, her laughter spilling out so freely that she nearly bent at the waist, shoulders shaking.
"You are really something, Ash. The second word spread that the Dunn family's heiress was picking a husband, Sleridge's entire elite circle lost its mind. All those smug rich heirs who usually act like no one is worth their time are practically tripping over each other just to land on your list."
Lowering her voice, she edged closer. "But there's one name on there that honestly caught me off guard. Ash, do you know Vincent Greene?"
"Vincent Greene?" Ashley's fingers stilled around the stem of her glass, and in that instant, a sharp, imposing face rose in her mind.
At the very peak of Sleridge's elite hierarchy stood Vincent Greene, the formidable head of the Greene family.
In her previous life, Ashley had crossed paths with him only once—at an exclusive, high-level business summit.
During that time, he had been the one rival Nicolas genuinely feared, the same man Nicolas had tried everything to approach yet could never quite reach.
Stories painted Vincent as cold-blooded and utterly inscrutable, a man no one could truly figure out.
Some rumors went even further, whispering that he suffered from a private condition and showed no interest in women whatsoever.
"Then why would someone like him appear on the list?" A faint crease formed between Ashley's brows. "This has to be some kind of mistake. Sure, the Greene family does business with the Dunn family, but someone at his level wouldn't need a matchmaking event to find a wife."
Letting out a soft huff, Dayna propped her chin on her hand, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. "That's exactly what I thought. Unless… he's had his eye on you all along? You might've dressed low-key before, but let's be honest—your face alone could outshine anyone in Sleridge."
A quiet scoff slipped from Ashley as she shook her head, brushing the idea aside without hesitation. "Stop. That's ridiculous. There's no way."
A man like Vincent only cared about power and advantage.
If he truly meant to show up at that banquet, then there was almost certainly a business motive behind it—something no one else had figured out yet.
...
Elsewhere in a booth across the bar, Nicolas sat drinking with his old friend Cristian Barnett.
"You really went through with divorcing Ashley?" Cristian went still in open disbelief. Yet barely a second later, that shock gave way to obvious relief. "Honestly, this is better for you. Sure, Ashley is beautiful, but what else did she really have going for her? She was never on your level. You should've cut ties with her ages ago. Caroline's the one who actually belongs with you."
Nicolas slowly rolled the whiskey around in his glass, his expression dark and unreadable.
Ever since he had walked out of the hospital, an unshakable restlessness had been gnawing at him for reasons he could not name.
"Oh, and get this," Cristian added, leaning in with open excitement. "The Dunn family's missing heiress is back, and Raymond Dunn is hosting a matchmaking banquet just for her. Nicolas, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. If you managed to win the Dunn heiress over, Reed Group could crush Greene Group in one move."
At the thought of Vincent—the rival he despised more than anyone—a dark flicker passed through Nicolas's eyes.
Still, he only gave a frosty, dismissive laugh, arrogance dripping from every word. "I have no interest in that. I only agreed to the divorce to teach Ashley a lesson, to make her see that without the Reed family, she's nothing. For all her flaws, she did spend the last three years taking good care of me. Once she comes crawling back in a few days, crying and begging for another chance, I might think about forgiving her."
A note of admiration colored Cristian's voice as he said, "That's what I respect about you—you're still loyal, even now. Ashley's nothing but an orphan. Without you backing her, she won't survive out there for long. She's probably holed up somewhere, crying her eyes out as we speak…"
While Cristian talked on, Nicolas's attention wandered, his gaze drifting lazily toward the edge of the dance floor.
Not far off, two women sat together in the dim glow. One of them faced away from him, her slender back exposed, the sleek black dress hugging her body and tracing every elegant curve with effortless allure.
Almost as if she felt the weight of his stare, the woman paused, then turned her head with unhurried grace.
Beneath the shifting lights, her features came into focus—refined, composed, and stunning enough to steal the breath from his chest.
It was... Ashley?!
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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."