Reborn And Remade: The Exiled Matriarch
A jagged spike of agony woke Kiana up in a filthy stone room.
She had transmigrated into the body of a notorious, exiled matriarch in a brutal wasteland.
Before she could even process her new reality, she saw a massive, bloodied man huddled in the corner, trembling in absolute terror.
Foreign memories detonated in her brain: the original Kiana swinging a spiked whip, laughing as she tore his flesh open.
He was her husband, and she was a monster who tortured her own consorts.
The situation was a complete death trap.
Another husband stormed in, throwing down a marriage contract and demanding to sever their ties, which would leave her to be eaten by mutated beasts.
Outside, her third husband lay dying from a toxic wound while the rest of the tribe mocked her, eagerly waiting for her downfall.
Scanning her own body, Kiana discovered her face was covered in ugly purple bruises.
The original host hadn't just been naturally insane; she had been secretly fed a chronic poison by political enemies, destroying her beauty and driving her mad until she was exiled.
As a survivor from a modern apocalypse, the sight of broken, enslaved men made her skin crawl.
She refused to die in this savage wasteland as a pawn in someone else's twisted game.
Kiana tossed the contract back to the furious man.
"Give me three months. I will save him, and I swear I won't touch you."
With her apocalyptic healing powers and a newly awakened Spatial System, she was going to rewrite the rules of this primitive world.
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Chapter 2
Alfred didn't move. His right hand remained hidden inside his torn sleeve, his fingers gripping a sharp, jagged stone. The rough edge cut into his palm, but he didn't feel the pain. He was fighting a war inside his head.
Kiana saw the tension in his forearms. She saw the hidden intent to kill.
She didn't call him out. Instead, she let her head fall back against the cold stone wall and closed her eyes. She made herself look small, exhausted, and harmless.
Heavy, aggressive footsteps crunched on the gravel outside.
Before Alfred could make a decision, the rotting wooden door of the stone room was kicked open with a deafening crash.
Blinding sunlight and hot, dusty wind from the Wilderlands poured into the dark room.
Kiana squinted against the harsh light, lifting a hand to shield her eyes.
A tall man with fiery red hair stood framed in the doorway. Brogan Webster.
Pure, unadulterated hatred radiated from his eyes. He glared at Kiana as if he wanted to rip her throat out with his bare teeth.
Brogan stormed into the room. The heat of the wasteland clung to his skin.
He stopped right in front of Kiana, towering over her.
He gritted his teeth and threw a rough animal-skin parchment onto the dirt floor at her feet.
"Sever the contract," Brogan snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. "Now."
In the corner, Alfred's grip on the hidden stone loosened. The rock slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a soft thud.
Brogan's head snapped toward the sound. His eyes landed on Alfred's bloodied, battered body.
The veins in Brogan's neck bulged. On his collarbone, the branded beast-mark flared with a searing, angry crimson light, mirroring his explosive fury. His hands curled into tight fists, his knuckles popping loudly in the quiet room.
Kiana opened her eyes. She looked down at the dusty animal-skin contract by her boots.
She didn't scream. She didn't reach for the whip that hung on the wall.
Slowly, Kiana leaned forward and picked up the parchment.
She calmly brushed the dirt off the rough surface. Her movements were so steady, so unbothered, that Brogan froze. A flicker of confusion crossed his angry face.
Kiana tilted her head up and met Brogan's furious gaze dead on.
"Look at the situation," Kiana said, her voice dropping into a crisp, analytical tone.
She pointed to her own battered body, then gestured to the open door. "I am severely injured. There are mutated beasts and rival tribes right outside this camp."
She held his gaze. "If we sever the contract right now, without the protection of a family unit, we will all die in the wasteland."
Brogan let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "You're just afraid to die. Stop stalling."
Kiana ignored his insult. She didn't have the energy for a screaming match.
"Three months," she said flatly. "A probationary period."
Brogan stopped laughing. He stared at her.
"You stay and protect me for three months," Kiana continued, her voice unwavering. "In exchange, when the three months are up, I will sign this paper and give you your freedom. No strings attached."
She tossed the contract back onto the floor. "And for these three months, I swear I will not invade your personal space. I won't touch you."
Brogan stood paralyzed. The concept of a modern, conditional contract completely short-circuited his brain.
Alfred stepped out of the shadows. He violently forced down the primal terror and disgust clawing at his throat. Whatever twisted game she was playing, her offer of a three-month probation was their only viable path to survival in this wasteland. His icy eyes locked onto Kiana for a long, calculating second, evaluating her like a dangerous opponent across a bargaining table.
"Agree to it," Alfred muttered to Brogan.
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8.5
Everyone knew Caroline loved Jacob, the frail man in a wheelchair, even giving up her chance at marrying into wealth for him.
She devoted everything to his recovery, enduring hardship and humiliation to help him stand again.
When he finally recovered, they were praised as perfect together-until danger came.
Faced with saving her or her sister, Jacob chose the latter without hesitation. Only in her final moments did Caroline realize his heart was never hers.
Reborn, she made a different choice, choosing power over love.
When Jacob later begged, she looked down coldly. "I have no interest in men who can't stand on their own."
7.1
The captain is dead to the world. And I'm the only one holding the kill switch.
Ethan Carter, the "Glacier of Silvercrest," was the most feared Alpha to ever step onto the ice. Now, he's nothing but a shell-a broken, comatose legend trapped in his own body.
My life? It was supposed to be simple. Graduate, survive the pack's bottom-tier status, and pay off my father's ruinous blood-debts. Instead, the pack elders handed me a contract soaked in cold, hard malice: I am the designated "Stabilizer." My only job is to touch him, scent him, and keep his wolf from flatlining.
I thought I was just a glorified nurse. I didn't realize the Alpha was listening.
When Ethan finally wakes, he isn't the hero the Kingdom of Valeria remembers. He's a starving predator with amber eyes that burn holes through my defenses and a temperament that makes the frost in the mansion seem warm. He hates the bargain, he hates the pack, and-most dangerously-he hates the way his scent turns wild whenever I'm near.
He wants me out of his sight. I want to be out of his reach.
But in a pack built on secrets, someone is still trying to finish the job they started on his life. Now, the man who wants me gone is the only one who can protect me. And as the rink turns into a battlefield, I'm realizing the most dangerous thing about the Alpha isn't his temper... it's the fact that once he claims a mate, he doesn't know how to let go.
Frozen hearts are meant to shatter. But in the fire of this pack, we're both going to burn.
9.5
As a highborn succubus, I somehow managed to starve myself to death-thanks to my obsessive cleanliness and ridiculously picky appetite.
When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into Vivian Hartwell-the long-lost "real" daughter with a tragically cursed fate.
I had barely been taken back into the Hartwell family before they forced me to attend a so-called "death matchmaking" event in Kingsford-on behalf of Natalie Hartwell, the fake heiress-to meet Damian Blackwood, the infamous "living reaper."
Rumor had it Damian was brutal and bloodthirsty-every woman who'd ever been involved with him either ended up dead or driven insane.
At the event, over a hundred socialites were trembling on their knees, silently praying they wouldn't be the one chosen.
Just as Damian let out a cold smirk and reached to pick his unlucky victim, I took a deep breath from the back of the crowd.
The scent emanating from him was a rare, potent masculine essence-something encountered perhaps once in ten millennia.
For a painfully picky succubus like me, this was nothing short of salvation.
I kicked aside the girl blocking my way, my eyes practically glowing as I threw both hands up. "Pick me! Hurry, pick me!"
9.4
I was the eldest daughter of the powerful Kirk family, sent away to a Swiss sanatorium to recover from my supposed mental illness.
But my stepmother, Johnie, never intended for me to get better. She sent her personal cleaners to drag me onto a plane back to Washington D.C.
In my past life, I didn't know they were assassins. I was forcefully injected with heavy sedatives and locked in a secret torture chamber inside our luxury estate.
My stepmother and cousin skimmed my inheritance while watching me suffer.
They framed me as a crazy addict, and my own father, a sitting Senator, turned a blind eye to protect his political career.
"Her political value is gone, just get rid of her quietly."
That was the last thing I heard my father say before I was brutally slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why they hated me so much.
Why did my father let them force those pills down my throat?
Why was my life worth less than my stepmother's public image?
Opening my eyes again, the freezing sensation of lake water filling my lungs vanished.
I was back in the VIP room of the St. Moritz Sanatorium in 2023.
It was the exact morning before the cleaners walked through my door with uncapped syringes.
This time, I wouldn't just survive. I was going to cut the throat of the Kirk family.
7.5
I thought my best friend Mila and my lover Preston were my only salvation from Essex Langley, the ruthless billionaire who kept me caged in his estate.
I trusted them blindly when they planned my grand escape.
But it was all a cruel setup.
Mila deliberately leaked the plan to Essex's guards to win his favor, and Preston only wanted my family's shares to pay off his massive debts.
When we were caught in the rose garden, Preston shoved me toward the guards and ran for his life.
"You're insane if you think I actually loved a freak like you!"
I was dragged back into the manor, my ribs cracking under heavy boots.
I bled out on the freezing marble floor, staring into Essex’s unhinged, mad eyes as I took my last agonizing breath.
Until the moment I died, I couldn't accept it.
I had ruined my own life, adopting a hideous punk look with fake tattoos and piercings just to make Essex hate me, all for two people who saw me as nothing but a sacrificial lamb.
Why was my blind rebellion rewarded with such a brutal betrayal?
Opening my eyes again, the white-hot pain was gone.
I was back in the freezing bedroom on my eighteenth birthday, the very night Mila would come to orchestrate my ruin.
I looked at the rebellious, smudged stranger in the mirror.
This time, I calmly washed off the black makeup, took out my lip ring, and put on a pristine white dress.
If fighting the devil got me killed, then in this life, I would tame him and make them all pay.
8.0
She has thirty days. Ten billion dollars. And a quantum space that can swallow anything.
Kinsey Elliott died cold, starving, and betrayed—pushed into a frozen abyss by the uncle who stole her fortune.
Then she woke up.
Back in her penthouse. Back in her perfect body. Back with a silver mark on her wrist that lets her store entire warehouses of supplies in a dimension where time stands still.
The world has thirty days until a global ice age freezes everything.
Her family has thirty days to try to lock her away, steal her money, and have her killed.
And Kinsey? She has thirty days to turn ten billion dollars into an invisible fortress—and burn every last one of them to the ground.
She's not surviving the apocalypse.
She's building it.