Reborn Heiress: Pampered By The Ruthless Guardian
Antoinette stood on the manicured church lawn, the blinding summer sun stabbing her eyes. The funeral service for her parents had just ended.
A hand wrapped around her trembling shoulder, carrying the sharp, cloying scent of Fabian Cash's cologne. It was the exact same cologne her fiancé wore the night he locked her in a burning house to die in her previous life.
Now, wearing a mask of sorrowful devotion, Fabian tried to drag her to his car to control her parents' massive life insurance payout.
When she shoved him away in pure nausea, his mother Eleanor immediately shrieked to the crowd, deploying her usual guilt trip.
"She's lost her mind! The girl has completely snapped!"
The townspeople whispered and pointed fingers, watching Fabian play the victim as he tightened his bruising grip on her wrist, claiming she was hysterical and needed to be locked away.
Antoinette stared at the mother and son who had conspired to steal her family's estate and end her life. The rage inside her felt like battery acid pumping through her veins.
They didn't care if she lived or died; they only cared about the money. How could she let them strip her of everything again?
She didn't hesitate. She swung with every bit of strength she possessed, slapping Fabian across the face in front of the entire town.
"The engagement is over," she announced coldly.
Then, she turned her back on her greedy ex-fiancé and walked straight toward the terrifyingly powerful billionaire Hiram Graves, ready to let the world burn.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
Hiram dropped to one knee in front of the sofa.
His large, calloused hand reached out and wrapped entirely around Antoinette's slender, pale ankle.
His palm was burning hot. The intense heat pressed against her cool skin, sending a violent shiver up her calf.
Hiram's thick fingers pressed gently into the swollen flesh.
Antoinette flinched, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. She tried to pull her leg back.
Hiram didn't look up. "Don't move," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in the quiet room.
The sheer authority in his tone pinned her to the cushions. She froze, not daring to breathe.
Satisfied nothing was broken, Hiram stood up. He walked over to the kitchenette cabinets and pulled out a standard hotel first-aid kit.
He cracked an instant cold pack, wrapped it in a clean hand towel, and returned to the sofa. He carefully pressed the makeshift ice pack against her throbbing ankle.
Once it was secure, he grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the sofa and tossed it over her bare legs. Only then did he turn around, walk into the bedroom, and put on a dark grey bathrobe.
When he walked back out, the flush on Antoinette's face had slightly faded. She quickly grabbed the crumpled insurance claim form she had dropped on the cushion and held it out to him.
"Fabian withheld some of the original documents," she explained, her voice slightly shaky. "He was trying to delay the payout so he could control me."
Hiram took the paper. His dark eyes scanned the legal jargon. As he read, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His eyes turned into chips of black ice.
He didn't yell. He didn't scold her for being careless.
He walked over to the coffee table and picked up the suite's landline phone.
He dialed a number from memory. "Get the Detroit legal team on the line," he ordered, his voice laced with lethal calm.
He paced the length of the room. "I want a cease and desist sent to Fabian Cash within twenty-four hours. File for a restraining order. And contact the insurance underwriter. Every single cent of that payout goes directly into a new, independent trust account under Antoinette Rasmussen's name. If Cash tries to block it, bury him in litigation until he bankrupts."
Five minutes later, Hiram slammed the phone down. He turned to look at the girl sitting on the sofa.
"Fabian Cash is no longer a problem," Hiram stated. "His plans are dead."
The tight knot of anxiety that had been sitting in Antoinette's chest since she woke up at the funeral finally unraveled. She let out a long, shaky exhale. Hot tears of pure relief pricked the corners of her eyes.
Hiram walked over to the single armchair opposite the sofa and sat down. He crossed his long legs, his posture dominant and unyielding.
He looked at her with absolute seriousness. "Starting today, I am initiating the legal process."
He leaned forward slightly. "I am fulfilling my promise to your father. I will be your sole legal guardian."
Antoinette stared at him. In her past life, she had fought alone. She had never known what it felt like to have someone stand in front of her like a brick wall.
She swallowed hard and nodded her head firmly. "Okay."
Hiram watched her obedient response. The hard, unforgiving lines around his mouth softened by a fraction of a millimeter.
He stood up. "Stay in this room tonight. Keep your weight off that foot."
He walked toward the connecting door. "I need to meet with Alex next door to finalize the paperwork."
Hiram stepped through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him.
Click.
The sound of the lock didn't make Antoinette feel trapped. For the first time since she opened her eyes in this life, she felt entirely, undeniably safe.
She leaned back against the sofa, looking at the ice pack on her ankle. She had found her fortress.
On the other side of the door, Hiram stared at a faxed background check on Fabian Cash. His eyes were pitch black. Taking the documents was just the legal step. He fully intended to make sure the boy learned what happened when you touched someone under the protection of Hiram Graves.
You may also like
7.6
After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built.
Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant.
She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday.
Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite.
Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him.
The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note.
"Good Job."
For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM.
With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work.
She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal.
But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President.
Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train.
"You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.
9.3
Alyssa Gregory slept with Benton Steele, a recently disgraced and bankrupt heir, just to humiliate him.
She threw a massive check at his bare chest, treating the former prince of Wall Street like a cheap escort.
But Benton didn't take the charity.
Instead, he manipulated her anger, tricking her into signing an ironclad contract that surrendered absolute control of her entire trust fund to him.
When her abusive mother found out she had funded a penniless outcast, she slapped Alyssa across the face.
Her mother froze all her bank accounts, locked her inside her bedroom, and arranged to sell her off to a degenerate politician.
Desperate to escape, Alyssa climbed down her balcony, falling fifteen feet and shattering her ankle on the stones below.
Stripped of her money and freedom, she dragged her broken body to a VIP club just to publicly declare that Benton belonged to her.
She thought she was the boss, playing a rebellious game with a broken man.
But when Benton effortlessly carried her away from the club and locked her inside his rundown apartment, the terrifying calculation in his dark eyes shattered her illusion.
How could a man stripped of his entire empire still radiate such suffocating, violent power?
"You bought me," Benton whispered, his massive frame trapping her against the sofa. "That means I have to take care of you."
Physically trapped and completely broke, Alyssa stared into his consuming eyes, her mind racing to find a way to turn the tables.
9.3
They say you can't have it all. I'm about to prove them wrong-or destroy myself trying.
When my struggling mother married billionaire Richard Stone, I thought I was gaining a family. Instead, I found three stepbrothers who became my obsession, my downfall, and my salvation.
Dominic, the eldest, cold and commanding, who kisses me like he's claiming his kingdom and looks at me like I'm the only thing he can't control.
Julian, the charming playboy who hides a vulnerable soul beneath his perfect smile, making me feel like I'm the only woman he's ever truly seen.
Asher, the brooding artist who paints me like I'm his muse and touches me like I'm his masterpiece, seeing parts of my soul I didn't know existed.
They're forbidden. They're dangerous. They're everything I shouldn't want.
But when I discover my father didn't die by suicide that he was murdered by the very man who now calls himself my stepfather, these three powerful men becomes my unlikely allies.
First it was a forbidden attraction, now it's an arrangement that defies every rule.
The rules are simple:
I'll give each of them a chance.
I'll take everything they offer.
And in the end, I'll have to make the hardest decision of my life:
Choose one of them. Choose all of them. Or choose myself.
9.0
Colette stepped out of the federal prison, finally breathing the air of freedom after two agonizing years.
But instead of a bus home, a black armored SUV blocked her path. Ferris Vance's men kidnapped her right at the gates. He forced her to sign a marriage certificate, threatening to completely destroy her father's legacy if she refused.
The nightmare had only just begun. She soon learned her father had been driven to suicide anyway. Dragged into the Vance estate, Colette was beaten bloody by the family of Ellie, the girl she supposedly wronged. Ferris paraded her in a pure white gown for the cameras, playing the fiercely devoted husband. But the second the lenses turned away, he forced her into a coarse maid's uniform, making her scrub the freezing marble floors on her hands and knees.
"Your life isn't even worth the dirt on my shoes."
Ferris whispered those words as he threw his muddy boots at her bruised face. She was nothing but a piece of bleeding bait, a prop meant to lure his missing lover out of hiding. She was tortured and humiliated for a crime she had absolutely nothing to do with. The sheer injustice of paying the price for another woman's disappearance tore her soul apart.
When he cornered her in the bathroom, the last thread of Colette's sanity snapped. She hurled a bucket of filthy water right into his face, broke out of his grip, and threw herself out a window into a freezing storm. This time, she chose to escape, even if it meant death.
8.9
Five years ago, Arabella Sterling vanished without a trace, disgraced, heartbroken, and branded her billionaire benefactor's dirty secret.
What the world never knew was that she'd also been his wife.
Or that the man she loved-and the son she gave everything for-chose another woman over her.
Now, she's back as The Reformer, a world-renowned business strategist celebrated for resurrecting dying empires.
Her newest client? The Sterling Group.
Her ex-husband's empire.
Adrian Sterling has spent years trying to atone for the lies that destroyed them both.
But when Arabella walks into his boardroom, colder, sharper, untouchable...he realizes redemption may come at a cost he can't pay.
Because this time, she's not here to save him.
She's here to ruin him.
8.7
I was trapped in a greasy diner by my own mother.
She was forcing me to marry my abusive cousin because he had paid her twenty thousand dollars.
To escape, I used a contract marriage app and begged a complete stranger to marry me at City Hall that very day.
Ethan drove a cheap Ford and wore a plain suit. I thought he was just an ordinary guy needing a fake wife.
When my mother found out, she brought thugs to destroy my flower shop—my only home and livelihood.
To protect Ethan from her endless extortion, I shielded him and screamed that he was bankrupt and drowning in credit card debt.
My mother fled in disgust, and Ethan took me into his apartment for the night.
But out of trauma and habit, I locked my bedroom door, muttering that he must be old and desperate.
He stormed out into the freezing night, leaving me terrified that I had ruined my only lifeline.
I didn't understand why he was so furiously offended, completely unaware that my "broke" husband was actually the most ruthless billionaire in New York, and I had just trampled his massive ego.
The next morning, his face was a mask of ice as he dragged me back to City Hall to annul the marriage and get rid of me.
"Annulment. Now," he demanded.
But the clerk just popped her gum and slid a pink paper across the counter.
"State law changed. Mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period."