Reborn Heiress: Marrying The Ruthless Billionaire
I was supposed to be celebrating my twenty-first birthday and my engagement to the man I loved.
Instead, I was bleeding out in a crushed car, listening to my fiancé Greggory and my stepsister Alta laughing over the car's Bluetooth.
They had cut my brakes.
As the steering wheel crushed my shattered ribs, they cheerfully clinked their champagne glasses, celebrating their hostile takeover of my family's media empire.
I tried to scream for help, but my lungs wouldn't work.
Then, Alta's sweet voice delivered the final, fatal blow over the speaker.
"Your mother? I took care of her too."
I died in the freezing rain, my heart frozen with absolute hatred as I realized every touch and whispered promise was just a calculated step toward my murder.
I gave them everything, treating them like my closest family.
Why did they have to kill my innocent mother? Why did I blindly trust two vipers who only wanted to drain my blood?
Opening my eyes again, the smell of gasoline was gone.
I was back in my bedroom, safe and unharmed, on the exact day of my twenty-first birthday party.
The day the tragedy began.
Downstairs, my murderers were waiting to spring their trap, expecting me to blindly accept Greggory's proposal.
But this time, I put on a blood-red dress, grabbed the photo of their secret affair, and walked down the stairs to choose a new fiancé—the most ruthless billionaire in the room.
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Chapter 2
"Your mother Caroline? I took care of her too."
Alta's voice echoed in the endless black, twisting from a sweet laugh into a manic cackle. The sound wrapped around Annalise's throat, squeezing until she couldn't breathe.
A scream ripped from Annalise's chest, raw and tearing. The pain of it was physical, a white-hot blade slicing through her ribs. Her mother. They killed her mother.
The blurry figure appeared again, closer this time. Lightning flashed, illuminating a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. He was slamming his fists against the twisted metal of the car door, his movements desperate, frantic.
The void shuddered. A massive force slammed into Annalise's back, like falling from a skyscraper and hitting the concrete.
Annalise's eyes snapped open.
She shot upright, her mouth gaping as she sucked in huge gulps of air. Cold sweat plastered her silk pajamas to her skin, dripping down her spine. Her chest heaved, the frantic rhythm of her heart pounding so hard it bruised her ribs.
She wasn't in the car. There was no rain. No blood.
Her eyes darted around the room. The vaulted ceilings, the crystal chandelier, the soft cream wallpaper with the delicate gold trim. This was her bedroom in the Knowles estate.
Her hands flew to her chest, her fingers clawing at the fabric. No blood. No shattered ribs. Just the rapid, thundering beat of her heart under her palm.
The heavy oak door crashed open, banging against the wall.
Eddy Martin nearly broke the door off its hinges surging into the room, his large frame immediately positioning itself between Annalise and the doorway. One hand reached back to shield her, while the other pressed firmly against the grip of his holstered weapon, his sharp, alert eyes sweeping the room in a practiced arc. He checked the corners, the balcony doors, the bathroom entrance. Finding no immediate threat, his shoulders dropped slightly, his hand relaxing on the holster.
"Miss Knowles, are you alright?" Eddy's voice was calm, but the concern was evident in the way he stepped closer, his eyes scanning her face.
Annalise stared at him. He looked so solid. So alive. In her other life, the last time she had seen him, he was being escorted off the property by security, his face bruised, his badge ripped from his chest because Greggory had convinced her father he was a liability.
She reached out a trembling hand. Her fingers brushed against his jaw. The stubble was rough, the skin warm. Real.
Eddy stiffened, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He didn't step back, but his confusion was obvious. "Miss Knowles?"
She pulled her hand back, her throat too tight to speak. She turned her head, her gaze landing on the antique vanity across the room.
The calendar sat next to her jewelry box. The bold red numbers seemed to glow in the dim light.
October 14th.
The air left her lungs in a rush. That was the date of her 21st birthday.
She threw the covers off and bolted from the bed. Her bare feet slapped against the cold hardwood floor as she ran to the mirror.
The woman staring back at her was young. Her skin was unblemished, her eyes bright, lacking the hollow, dead look she had seen in her final moments. There were no scars from the steering wheel, no stitches, no bruises.
Caroline. They killed Caroline.
The thought was a poison that burned through her veins. Annalise's hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms so hard she felt the skin break. The sharp pain grounded her.
Eddy took a step toward her, his hand outstretched. "Annalise, you're scaring me. What is it?"
The coldness in her eyes when she met his gaze stopped him in his tracks. He had never seen that look on the sweet, naive heiress before. It was the look of a woman who had crawled out of her own grave.
"I'm fine, Eddy," she said, her voice flat and steady. She uncurled her fists, taking a deep breath that filled her lungs with the scent of her bedroom, not gasoline. "Get the car ready. The party is still on."
Eddy hesitated, clearly unconvinced. But the steel in her voice left no room for argument. He nodded once and backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Annalise walked to the window. The sprawling lawns of the estate stretched out below, illuminated by the soft glow of the landscape lighting. Huge white tents dotted the grass, the catering staff buzzing around like bees.
And there, strolling through the rose garden like he owned the place, was Greggory Fitzgerald.
The sight of him made her stomach lurch. The fear was there, a reflex from the crash, but it was instantly swallowed by a rage so cold it made her shiver.
She turned away from the window and marched to her closet. She pushed past the racks of pastel dresses, the soft pinks and baby blues she used to favor. They looked like costumes for a fool.
Her eyes landed on the back of the closet. A dress she had bought on a whim but never had the courage to wear. It was a deep, blood-red silk, form-fitting and severe. It was the kind of dress that commanded attention, not affection.
She pulled it off the hanger and laid it on the bed. It looked like a weapon.
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8.1
Terminally ill.
Betrayed by her husband.
Abandoned by the only family she had.
Ariel died with nothing... and no one.
But fate gives her a second chance.
Reborn three years before her death, she walks away from the man who ruined her life-and takes back everything they stole.
Her love.
Her identity.
Her power.
Now, the cold billionaire who once ignored her can't take his eyes off her.
The brother who abandoned her starts to regret.
Too late.
Because this time, Ariel isn't the woman who begs.
She's the one who makes them kneel.
9.5
My husband, Colton, the Wall Street mogul, slid annulment papers across the table, coldly discarding me and our unborn child. He thought he was getting rid of a useless wife, but he was actually throwing away the secret architect of his entire empire. Now, I'm ready to make him pay for every insult, every lie, and every single secret I've kept.
For three years, eight months pregnant, I secretly saved Colton's ten-billion-dollar company from collapse, enduring a cold, transactional marriage.
One night, he shattered that illusion, serving annulment papers and callously discarding me and our unborn child.
I signed, leaving luxury behind. Exposing his butler's fraud, I escaped. Colton later found his wedding ring gone and, on his desk, my SEC compliance fixes—proof I was his hidden genius.
Blindsided, he realized he’d destroyed his own empire. His mother then called, gloating. The injustice ignited a fierce resolve within me.
The next morning, I launched Kidd Legal Consulting. I'd use forty-seven folders of Farmer Capital's un-patched loopholes to force a fair settlement, securing my daughter's future.
9.8
Adeline's stepmother had secretly drugged her for years, turning a child genius into a drooling, mentally disabled laughingstock just so her stepsister could steal her life.
But when her greedy father sold her off to Griffin Herring—a violent, untouchable billionaire psychopath—to save his company, things took a deadly turn.
Before the wedding, Griffin attacked her in a dark alley, nearly snapping her neck before stealing her grandfather's silver necklace.
That necklace held a micro-drive with her family's deepest secrets, and without it, she had nothing.
Back at the estate, her situation only worsened. Her stepsister Damaris paraded around in the Herring family's diamond engagement gifts, trying to force-feed Adeline wet dog food on an Instagram live stream.
When Adeline's calculated "clumsiness" ruined the video, her furious father locked her in a damp, rusted basement.
"Give her to the psycho," her stepmother hissed through the door. "Let him lock her away forever."
Listening from the shadows, Adeline's fists clenched until her palms bled.
Her supposed mental fog wasn't a tragedy—it was a calculated assassination of her mind. They had destroyed her childhood and were now throwing her to a monster just to keep the billions.
The dull, empty look in Adeline's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a razor-sharp, chilling clarity.
She pulled a thin surgical needle from her messy bun and picked the heavy iron padlock in ten seconds. It was time to break into the billionaire's penthouse, take back her necklace, and tear them all apart.
8.4
Elia was an orphan from the rust belt, taken in by the wealthy Chapman family in New York.
To them, she was just a shameful charity case.
The parents shoved her into a dusty storage closet, treating their other daughter Geri like a delicate princess, and mocked Elia as uneducated trash.
When Elia secured her own admission to Manhattan Elite Prep, Geri's jealousy turned vicious.
Geri orchestrated a massive smear campaign, posting anonymously on the school forum that Elia was a violent dropout who sold her body to a sugar daddy to pay tuition.
In the cafeteria, the school's elite dumped dirty milk on Elia's food.
They called her a whore and told her to go back to the streets, while Geri watched from afar with a victorious, innocent smile.
They thought she was just a helpless stray dog who would easily break under their high-society cruelty.
They had no idea she was actually "L", the dark web's most feared hacker, and "The Surgeon", a genius medical anomaly.
They also didn't know she was currently tracking a dying Wall Street billionaire who had stolen her only necklace in a dark alley.
What made these arrogant rich kids think they could destroy a girl who played with international firewalls for fun?
Instead of crying, Elia calmly pulled out her phone.
Within seconds, she breached the school's server, locking every screen in the building onto a blood-red skull.
As Geri's own recorded voice plotting the fake rumors blasted through the PA system, Elia grabbed her bag, stepping back into the shadows to reclaim what was hers.
7.2
Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest.
When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal—the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago.
But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member.
Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died.
Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring.
When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes.
"Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now."
The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion?
Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer.
"Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."
9.5
I woke up gasping from a nightmare of flames devouring Chandler Finch's estate, my body wrapped in burning curtains as I died alone.
But my eyes opened to silk sheets in his penthouse master bedroom. He was alive beside me, his cedarwood scent real. This was my second chance—I'd been reborn.
His phone buzzed: Eugenia Stewart's "emergency." Her security detail reported her refusing meals, unstable. Chandler bolted without a glance, rushing to her side.
I signed the brutal cohabitation contract binding me to him, but Temperance had planted birth control pills in the trash—a trap to frame me. Chandler found them, exploded in jealous rage, crushing the pills to dust. "No child unless it's mine," he growled, possessive fire in his eyes.
Brett, Eugenia's lapdog, stormed in later, accusing me of manipulation. I fired back: Chandler demanded my womb for his heir. Brett paled, fled to tattle.
Then the storm hit—power outage, locked on the terrace in pouring rain, freezing as Eugenia faked an asthma attack on Chandler's line, stealing his focus again. I hung up, huddled with a stray puppy, nearly dying from hypothermia.
He'd never believed me before—Eugenia's lies always won, dooming me to isolation and fire. Why did her every whimper trump my screams? How could he be so blind?
This time, reborn weeks before the inferno, I wouldn't beg. I'd play his game, shatter Eugenia's web, and make Chandler mine—before the flames returned.