Reborn As The Vengeful Billionaire Heiress

The heavy mahogany double doors of the penthouse slammed against the walls. The sound echoed like a gunshot, but it barely competed with the thunder rattling the floor-to-ceiling windows. April Gamble stood in the entryway. Rainwater dripped from her soaked trench coat, pooling on the pristine hardwood floor. Her chest heaved. Her lungs burned with every breath she dragged in. Lightning flashed, illuminating the man sitting on the dark leather sofa. Julian Travis didn't flinch. He didn't even look up. He just slowly swirled the amber liquid in his crystal whiskey glass. The ice clinked against the sides. April's legs felt like lead, but she forced herself to walk forward. She stopped at the edge of the glass coffee table. Her hands shook so violently she could barely hold the damp stack of papers. She slammed the ruined financial report onto the glass. "Why?" Her voice cracked. It didn't sound like her own. It sounded like a dying animal. "Why did you short Vance Group? That's my grandfather's company, Julian. You destroyed it." Julian took a slow sip of his whiskey. He set the glass down. Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. There was nothing in them. No guilt. No warmth. Just a cold, calculating void. A slow, mocking smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Because it was profitable, April," he said. His voice was flat. "The market is a machine. Your grandfather was running a dinosaur. I just put it out of its misery." April's stomach plummeted. A wave of nausea hit her so hard she had to grip the edge of the table to stay upright. This was the man she had loved for five years. The man she had shared a bed with. He reached into the drawer of the end table and pulled out a crisp, dry manila folder. He tossed it casually. It landed at the tips of her wet boots. "Asset transfer agreement," Julian said, adjusting the cuff of his bespoke suit. "Vance Group is being liquidated. I've already extracted the core patents. There is nothing left. Not a single cent." The blood drained from April's face. Her vision tunneled. "You used me," she whispered, the realization a physical blow to her chest. "You used me to get the internal data." "You were convenient," he corrected. A blind, white-hot rage exploded in April's brain. She lunged forward, raising her hand to slap that arrogant smirk off his face. Julian didn't even blink. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist like a steel vice. The pressure was agonizing. She felt her bones grind together. With a sharp, violent twist, he shoved her backward. April lost her footing. She crashed hard onto the thick Persian rug, her shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. The pain radiated down her spine. Before she could push herself up, a shrill, piercing alarm erupted from her coat pocket. It was the breaking news alert. Her fingers fumbled, slick with rain and sweat, as she pulled her phone out. The screen lit up with a live broadcast from Times Square. The news anchor's voice was rushed. "Breaking news. Cornelius Vance, founder of the recently bankrupt Vance Group, is currently standing on the ledge of the Vance Tower..." "No," April gasped. Her throat closed up. She couldn't breathe. "No, no, no, Grandpa, please." On the small screen, the tiny figure of the old man took a step forward. And then he fell. The screen instantly cut to a static graphic. April let out a sound that tore her vocal cords. A raw, guttural scream of absolute agony. The phone slipped from her numb fingers and clattered onto the floor. Julian stood up. He looked down at her writhing on the floor, his expression entirely bored. He adjusted his other cuff. "Show her out," Julian said to the bodyguard standing silently by the door. April slowly pushed herself up to her knees. The tears mixing with the rain on her face felt like acid. She looked up at Julian. The despair in her chest hardened, instantly calcifying into a hatred so pure it made her teeth ache. She didn't say a word. She turned and stumbled out of the penthouse. Blind with grief and rage, she slammed her fist into the rough stone wall of the hallway. The skin tore, but she couldn't feel the physical pain over the shattering of her heart. She hit the elevator button for the parking garage, her bloody knuckles leaving a smear on the metal. Minutes later, she was behind the wheel of her sedan. She slammed her foot on the gas. The tires screeched against the concrete as she tore out into the torrential rain of Fifth Avenue. The windshield wipers thrashed violently, but they couldn't clear the water fast enough. Her vision was completely blurred by tears. Her chest heaved with dry sobs. She sped toward the intersection. The traffic light was a blurry red halo. Suddenly, a blinding beam of light shot through the passenger side window. A massive horn blared, shaking the very frame of her car. A heavy transport truck was hydroplaning straight toward her. April slammed both feet on the brake pedal. The car spun out of control on the slick asphalt. The impact sounded like the end of the world. The glass shattered into a million pieces, tearing into her skin. The metal crushed inward, crushing her ribs. And then, there was only a deafening, absolute silence.