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 6
Annalise shifted her weight, trying to relieve the pressure on her heel. The movement was small, barely a flinch, but the sharp sting of the blister made her wince.
Angelo's gaze dropped instantly. He didn't just glance; he locked onto her foot like a hawk spotting prey.
Before she could blink, he went down on one knee.
The gesture was so sudden, so out of place for a man of his stature, that the nearest guests stopped talking. Heads turned, eyes widening at the sight of the ruthless Angelo Molina kneeling at the feet of the Knowles heiress.
Annalise's heart slammed against her ribs. Panic flared, hot and immediate. She jerked her foot back. "Mr. Molina!"
He looked up, his blue eyes pinning her in place. The command in them was absolute. "You need to change your shoes."
It wasn't a suggestion. It was a statement of fact, delivered in that low, gravelly voice that brokered no argument.
Annalise froze. The only man who had ever paid attention to her feet was Greggory, and that was only to complain that she was walking too slow, that she was embarrassing him by lagging behind. He had never offered to help. He had never cared.
A strange, complicated emotion twisted in her chest, but she crushed it immediately. Sentiment was a liability.
"I'm fine," she said, forcing a bright, dismissive smile. She tried to pull her foot away again, but his hand was firm on her ankle.
Without breaking eye contact, Angelo simply raised a hand, making a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture toward the far side of the room. Less than thirty seconds later, a staff member materialized at his elbow, proffering a small silver tray holding a sterile bandage and an antiseptic wipe. Angelo took the items with a dismissive nod, sending the waiter away. Annalise stared at the tray. He could summon medical supplies with a flick of his wrist? It was a quiet display of absolute control, so completely in character for the icy titan of industry, that her brain short-circuited for a different reason. He tore the paper open with his teeth, his movements efficient and practiced. He peeled the backing off and, with a gentleness that contradicted his hard exterior, pressed the adhesive over the raw skin of her heel.
His thumb brushed against her ankle as he smoothed the edges down. A jolt of electricity shot up her leg, making her breath hitch.
"This won't help much," he muttered, his voice rough with frustration. He stood up, his large frame once again blocking out the light. "I'll have someone bring you flats. Wait here."
He turned, ready to signal a staff member, but Annalise's hand shot out.
Her fingers grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, gripping the expensive fabric tight.
Angelo stopped. He looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. The hard lines of his face softened, just for a moment, a flicker of something warm in his eyes.
Annalise realized what she had done. She was touching him. Willingly. She snatched her hand back as if she'd been burned, smoothing her expression into one of cool indifference.
"I mean, I can't leave the party now," she said quickly, scrambling for an excuse. She couldn't change her shoes. She needed the height. She needed the power that came from looking down on her targets.
She glanced toward the champagne tower, the glass glittering like a promise. "I have something important to do."
Her voice hardened, the softness evaporating. It was the voice of a woman on a mission.
Angelo followed her gaze. He looked at the tower, then back at her. He didn't ask questions. He didn't demand an explanation. The corner of his mouth curved up in a faint, almost imperceptible smile. It was a look of pure, unadulterated indulgence.
"As you wish," he said.
He took a step back, restoring the proper distance between them. But he didn't walk away. He stayed right by her side, a silent, immovable sentinel.
Annalise let out a slow breath. She slipped her foot back into the heel. The blister still throbbed, but the bandage provided a slight buffer. It was a tiny piece of protection in a room full of enemies.
She straightened her spine, her shoulders squaring. The pain was a reminder. It kept her focused.
She looked up. Alta was weaving her way through the crowd, a fake smile plastered on her face, heading straight for them.
The hunter's light flickered in Annalise's eyes. The trap was about to spring.
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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.