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 7
Dim bar lights bled into a smoky haze as Nicolas fixed his gaze on Ashley across the crowded room, each breath growing heavier than the last.
What he saw refused to settle in his mind, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
In the past, Ashley had always appeared in gentle, muted dresses, her presence quiet and unassuming, the kind of woman who would lower her eyes and wordlessly take his coat the moment he stepped through the door.
But now the same woman was draped in a black dress that clung to her figure with striking precision, every curve outlined with effortless confidence. One leg crossed over the other in a languid, deliberate pose, while a vivid cocktail swirled idly between her fingers, catching the light with each subtle movement.
Tilting her head back, she let out a soft, unrestrained laugh beside Dayna, the clean line of her profile sharp enough to feel almost sculpted from stone. Everything about her carried an air of cool detachment, an untouchable elegance that instinctively kept others at a distance.
"Nicolas, tell me I'm not seeing things. That's Ashley over there, right?"
Cristian's gaze lingered before a derisive snort escaped him. "Damn. She really pulled out all the stops just to catch your eye, huh? That dress probably wiped out every cent she's managed to save over the last few years."
Nicolas stayed silent, yet the rigid set of his jaw made his unease impossible to miss.
Cristian gave his shoulder a smug slap, sounding completely sure of himself. "I'm telling you, she definitely found out you'd be here tonight and dressed up like that on purpose. Want to make a bet? Give it ten minutes. She'll stroll over pretending this was all some accident, then start tearing up and beg you to take her back."
A sharp, humorless scoff left Nicolas's lips as he tore his eyes away from across the room. "She can do whatever she likes. Pulling pathetic stunts like this only makes her seem even more revolting."
Even so, the irritation clawing at him all night mysteriously began to loosen, little by little.
Now that made more sense. Ashley was an orphan with no one to lean on. There was no chance she would actually leave him behind for good.
This whole cold, distant performance was nothing but another scheme to make him come after her.
Minutes slipped by in silence. Ten… then twenty.
Across the room, Ashley remained relaxed and radiant, laughing freely as she chatted with her friends, never once sparing Nicolas so much as a glance.
At that moment, a burly man in a gaudy floral shirt swaggered over to her booth, a couple of equally rowdy companions trailing close behind.
"Hey there, beautiful," he drawled, flashing a leering grin as he leaned in. "Mind if I keep you company?" His gaze lingered shamelessly on the curve of her exposed shoulder while his hand lifted, reaching toward her face. "Sit with me for a drink. Whatever this booth runs tonight, I'll take care of it."
A sharp chill settled into Ashley's eyes. Before his fingers could come close, she leaned back, her expression hardening. "Fuck off."
For a split second, the man froze. Then irritation twisted his features into something ugly. Around here, no one ever dared to brush him off so publicly.
"What's with the attitude?" he barked, voice rising. "You walk in dressed like that—what, you think you won't get noticed?"
With a heavy thud, his palm slammed onto the table, glasses clinking violently. "Name's Jordy Howard. I'm the heir to Howard Realty. Tonight, you're drinking with me—whether you like it or not. Take her."
At his command, the men behind him moved in without hesitation, circling closer. Dayna shot up from her seat, fury flashing across her face. "Jordy, you absolute idiot—take a good look at who you're talking to. This is—"
Ashley cut in before she could finish, "Dayna, don't waste your breath on garbage."
Keeping one hand on Dayna's arm, she slowly tightened the other around the slender neck of the bottle on the table, her eyes turning cold and sharp.
Back in her previous life, she had reined in every bold, dangerous side of herself for Nicolas.
She had buried that side of herself so completely that most people had long since forgotten who she had once been. After all, she used to be the most naturally gifted fighter in the entire Dunn family.
Jordy gave a mocking laugh and reached for her hair. "What? You want to fight? Then maybe it's time somebody showed you who really runs Sleridge," he spat icily.
From a short distance away, Nicolas caught sight of the scene, his brows knitting as he pushed back his chair to stand.
He wanted nothing to do with Ashley, but their divorce still wasn't final. Legally, she remained his wife, and there was no way he was going to watch some worthless thug lay a hand on her.
Before he could even move, a deep, glacial voice sliced through the noise of the bar and swept across the room like a blade.
"Enough."
The word wasn't loud, but it carried such crushing authority that the entire bar seemed to lock in place.
Still swearing under his breath, Jordy whipped around. "Who the hell are you to stick your nose into my—"
The rest of the sentence died in his throat the instant he recognized the man.
Out of the shifting haze and fractured light, the man strode forward in a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit, his handsome features cut sharp as glass, his eyes so cold they seemed to steal the air from a man's lungs. A line of stern security guards moved in behind him, and the crushing weight of his arrival made the entire room draw tight with silence.
"Mr. Greene?!" Jordy's knees almost buckled beneath him. His voice trembled as it came out thin and uneven. "W-what are you doing here?"
Nicolas stiffened as well, his fingers curling into a hard fist while his gaze locked on the newcomer.
It was Vincent Greene.
What was a man like him doing in a place like this?
And above all… what was it about Ashley that held his gaze so tightly?
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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."