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 7
Alta walked toward them, her white dress swishing with every step. She was playing the part perfectly-the concerned, sweet younger sister. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes darting to Angelo before settling on Annalise.
"Anna, your ankle..." she started, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I saw you wince. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Alta," Annalise cut her off, her voice sharp and cold. She didn't look at her sister like a sibling; she looked at her like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
Greggory appeared right behind Alta, his face flushed. He took a step forward, trying to insert himself into the conversation. "Annalise, we need to talk. This is ridiculous."
Annalise didn't even grant him a glance. She simply turned her back on him, her focus entirely on Alta.
She walked over to the massive champagne tower. The glass structure reached up toward the ceiling, a pyramid of crystal flutes. At the very top, resting on a special cradle, sat a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon. It was an antique, worth more than most cars, and it was notoriously difficult to reach.
Annalise pointed a manicured finger at the top of the tower.
"I want that one," she said.
Alta blinked, her smile faltering. "What?"
"The antique one. On the top." Annalise spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "Get it for me."
The nearby guests had gone quiet, sensing the shift in the air. This wasn't a request; it was a command.
Alta's face flushed red. She looked around at the watching crowd, then back at Annalise. "Anna, that's too high. I can't reach it. Why don't you ask the staff-"
"Are you defying me?" Annalise asked, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. She crossed her arms over her chest, the rubies at her throat catching the light. She wasn't asking as a sister. She was ordering as the heiress of the Knowles empire.
Greggory stepped in, trying to smooth things over. He forced a laugh. "I can get it for you, sweetheart. It's no trouble."
Annalise finally looked at him. The disgust in her eyes was barely concealed. "I didn't ask you. I asked my sister."
She put a heavy, sarcastic emphasis on the last word. The implication was clear: know your place.
Alta's lower lip trembled. She looked like she was about to cry, the perfect picture of the victim. But Annalise felt no pity. All she could see was the woman who had cut her brake lines. All she could hear was the sound of her mother's name being dragged through the mud.
"Well?" Annalise tapped her foot impatiently. "We're waiting."
The whispers started. The guests were eating it up. The Knowles heiress was putting the interloper in her place.
Alta was trapped. If she refused, she would look defiant and ungrateful in front of the city's elite. If she accepted, she would look like a servant. She shot a desperate, pleading look at Greggory.
But Greggory was too busy trying to figure out Annalise's angle. He still thought this was a game. He thought she was acting out because she was jealous, and that if he just let her get it out of her system, she would fall into his arms.
He gave Alta a subtle nod. Just do it.
Angelo stood a few paces back, his hands in his pockets. He watched the scene unfold with a faint smirk on his face. He didn't interfere. He just watched Annalise work, looking like a man admiring a masterpiece.
Alta took a shaky breath. She smoothed down her white dress and walked toward the tower, her head held high, trying to salvage some dignity.
She looked up at the top of the pyramid, her jaw clenching. It was at least eight feet off the ground.
Annalise watched her, her face a mask of indifference. She caught the eye of the head butler, Arthur, who was standing near the wall.
She gave him a look. A specific, deliberate look.
Arthur understood immediately. He disappeared through a side door, returning moments later with a small, polished mahogany stepping stool, usually reserved for reaching the highest shelves in the estate library. It was elegant, but clearly too short and precarious for the towering champagne pyramid.
He set it up right next to the champagne tower, the wooden legs scraping against the marble floor.
Alta stared at the stool, her face pale. This was it. The execution was about to begin.
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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.