Reborn Heiress: Reclaiming My Monster Billionaire
Ginny was chained to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, bleeding and betrayed by the two people she trusted most.
Her fiancé, Brant, and her adopted sister, Coretta, had just slashed her face open. Brant coldly admitted she was nothing but a disposable key to a vault, right before he tossed a lighter onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
As Ginny burned alive in the roaring inferno, the heavy iron doors were violently smashed open. Bedford Parks—the notoriously ruthless, germaphobic "monster" of Silicon Valley whom Ginny had always feared—charged straight into the flames. Ignoring the blistering heat, he shielded her charred body with his own. A massive steel beam collapsed, snapping his spine.
"I love you."
He coughed up blood, whispering his final words against her blackened skin before dying to protect her.
Hovering as a ghost, Ginny's soul screamed in agonizing realization. She had spent her life terrified of Bedford, yet he was the only one who truly loved her, while her supposed family laughed at her gruesome murder.
Suddenly, a blinding white light swallowed the warehouse.
Ginny gasped for air, opening her eyes to find herself sitting in the back of a luxury Maybach. She was eighteen again, wearing the humiliating clown makeup Coretta had tricked her into wearing on the day she was brought back to the wealthy Steele estate.
Ginny stared at her reflection, her dark eyes turning cold and sharp.
This time, she would tear her betrayers apart piece by piece, and she would protect her "monster."
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Chapter 7
Thomas cradled his throbbing wrist against his chest, his face a mottled mask of humiliation and rage. He shot Ginny a venomous glare, then spun sharply on his heel.
"Follow me," he spat.
Ginny didn't glance at the medical team loading her mother onto the stretcher. She didn't look at Coretta, who stood frozen on the steps, watching her with narrowed, calculating eyes. Ginny turned and followed Thomas into the grand foyer.
They walked past the sweeping double staircases, past glittering crystal chandeliers dripping with light, down a long hallway lined with expensive oil paintings of dead Steele ancestors sneering from their gilt frames. Thomas didn't lead her to the guest wing. He took her to a narrow, uncarpeted wooden staircase hidden at the very back of the house, a servant's passage long forgotten.
They climbed three flights. The air thickened with each step, growing warmer, staler, heavy with dust. They reached the top floor—a cramped, low-ceilinged hallway. Thomas stopped in front of a heavy, scratched wooden door at the very end. He grabbed the brass knob and shoved it open. The hinges screamed.
"This is your room," Thomas said, a cruel smirk twisting his thick lips. "Fitting. For someone who brings bad luck."
He didn't wait for a response. He turned and retreated, his heavy footsteps fading down the wooden stairs.
Ginny stepped inside. It was an attic storage space, barely a room. The air was thick with dust and the stale, sweet smell of old paper and mothballs. A single narrow bed with a thin, lumpy mattress was pushed against the far wall. A rickety wooden wardrobe leaned next to a small, grime-smeared window. Cobwebs draped the corners like tattered lace.
Ginny walked to the bed and sat. The springs groaned loudly under her weight.
She didn't feel anger. She felt a profound, cooling wave of relief. The air in the grand halls below was suffocating—thick with lies, hidden cameras, and constant surveillance. Up here, in this forgotten box beneath the rafters, she was invisible. She was safe to plan.
She closed her eyes and began mapping the timeline of tomorrow night's birthday banquet, every variable slotting into place like pieces on a chessboard.
The sharp, rapid click of designer heels on the wooden floorboards shattered her concentration.
The heavy door was shoved open. It banged against the wall.
Coretta swept in. Iris followed close behind, laden with three massive, glossy shopping bags emblazoned with high-end designer logos. Coretta immediately pressed a lace handkerchief over her nose and mouth, waving her other hand in front of her face with theatrical delicacy.
"Oh, my god," Coretta said, voice muffled by the lace. "This dust. How can Grandmother make you sleep in this filth? It's inhumane."
Ginny opened her eyes. She looked at Coretta. The fake sympathy dripping from her voice was entirely betrayed by the gleam of absolute, glittering triumph in her eyes. Coretta was drinking this in, savoring every moment of Ginny in the squalor.
Coretta lowered the handkerchief and snapped her fingers at Iris. "Put them on the bed."
Iris dumped the heavy shopping bags onto the thin mattress beside Ginny.
"I couldn't bear the thought of you not having anything nice to wear to Grandmother's birthday banquet tomorrow," Coretta said, her voice dripping saccharine sweetness. "So I picked out a dress for you. It's the latest trend. Very exclusive."
Ginny sat perfectly still. She didn't look at the bags. She kept her eyes locked on Coretta's face.
Coretta reached into the largest bag, grabbed a fistful of fabric, and yanked it out.
The dress was a monstrosity. Cheap synthetic material covered entirely in garish neon-green sequins. The neckline plunged practically to the navel. The hemline was barely long enough to cover a pair of underwear. It looked like a costume for a low-rent nightclub dancer.
"Isn't it stunning?" Coretta held the dress up against her own body, striking a mock-model pose. "You're going to be the center of attention tomorrow night. Everyone will be looking at you."
Coretta smiled, waiting. She was waiting for the country girl to gasp in awe at the designer tags. She was waiting for Ginny to thank her profusely for the hideous garment that would make her the laughingstock of Silicon Valley.
The attic was dead silent. The only sound was the faint rustle of the neon sequins as Coretta held the dress aloft.
Ginny slowly stood up from the bed.
The corners of her mouth twitched upward, forming a slow, chilling smile. It didn't touch her eyes. Her eyes were black voids.
Ginny took a step forward.
Coretta's smile faltered. The air in the cramped room suddenly felt thick, oppressive, difficult to pull into the lungs.
Ginny took another step. Her posture shifted. The slight, uncertain slump of the country girl vanished, replaced by a fluid, predatory grace. She moved like a blade sliding from its sheath.
Coretta's chest seized. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to move. She took a stumbling step backward.
Ginny kept walking. Slow. Deliberate. Inexorable.
Coretta stepped back again, her heel catching on the uneven floorboards. She stumbled, her back slamming against the rough wooden wall of the attic. Trapped.
Ginny stopped less than a foot away. The physical proximity was suffocating.
Coretta's breathing hitched, rapid and shallow. She clutched the neon-green monstrosity to her chest like a shield. Her perfectly glossed lips trembled.
"What..." Coretta's voice cracked, then died. She swallowed and forced it out again, barely a squeak. "What are you doing?"
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9.1
With only fifteen days of cash flow left to save her tech startup, Aida had no choice but to seek a five-million-dollar bridge loan from Brendan Walls, a ruthless billionaire predator.
He agreed to sign the check, but on one sickening condition. He demanded Aida act as bait to get close to his corporate rival, Grayson Lott, treating her like a high-end call girl for a business transaction.
Forced to comply to save her employees, Aida let Grayson take her to a windowless underground club, where he secretly spiked her whiskey.
As the drugs paralyzed her body, triggering horrific flashbacks of a brutal assault from six years ago, Aida locked herself in the bathroom. She had to shatter a mirror and slice her own thigh open with a jagged shard of glass just to stay conscious enough to call Brendan for help.
Brendan's armored SUV immediately smashed through the club's wall to save her, and Grayson was arrested. But lying in the hospital, the horrifying truth finally clicked in Aida's mind.
The rescue was too fast. Brendan’s men hadn't rushed from Midtown; they had been parked outside the entire time. He had watched Grayson drug her and waited for the felony to happen just so he could legally seize Grayson's company. He had gambled her life and trauma for a hostile takeover.
When Brendan casually tossed a signed contract and luxury car keys onto her hospital bed as hush money, the last thread of Aida's sanity snapped.
"The deal is dead. NovaTech is mine. If you ever come near me again, I will kill you."
Bleeding and shaking with icy rage, Aida threw the keys at his chest, formally declaring war on the monster who thought he could buy her soul.
7.5
Ivy is the last heir of the fallen Highmoor Pack. At sixteen, she entered Silvercrest Pack by a blood contract and became the partner of Alpha heir Julian. For three years, she was loyal and silent, but never loved.
In a crisis, Julian abandoned her and chose Selena. Heartbroken, Ivy insisted on ending the contract. She refused Julian's gifts and threats, determined to regain freedom.
When Ivy was attacked, silver-eyed Silas Blackwood saved her. He is the powerful Lycan King, above all Alphas.
Ivy's wolf awakened and recognized Silas as her real fated mate.
Escaping Julian's control, Ivy broke free from her painful past. Protected by the Lycan King, she regained dignity and strength.
The abandoned Luna finally rises, embracing her true destiny and love.
9.3
My father ordered me to marry into the cursed Vaughn family.
Their heirs were rumored to die young from a mysterious genetic agony. My sister Kayden laughed, saying she wasn't going to waste her youth planning a funeral. So, I became the sacrificial lamb.
When I refused, my father slammed his hand on the table and threatened to throw my dead mother's ashes into the city dump.
"You are a struggling actress with no money and no power. You have no choice," he told me coldly.
To make matters worse, my own agent drugged my drink at a business dinner, trying to sell my body to a sleazy investor just to secure project funding.
I was completely cornered, suffocating under the weight of their cruelty. I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could be so vicious, treating me like a worthless pawn to be traded and discarded.
But none of them knew that while escaping the drug-laced dinner, I crashed directly into the terrifying Vaughn heir, Algot.
When his glowing crimson eyes locked onto me during a violent episode of his cursed pain, we discovered an impossible truth: my physical touch was the only cure for his agony.
Looking at the dark bruises he accidentally left on my neck, I chose not to run. Instead, I pulled out the private business card he gave me and dialed his number.
"You need me," I whispered to the dangerous billionaire. "And I am going to use you to destroy them all."
8.0
I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question.
But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump.
"This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth.
"Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project.
I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears.
Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.
8.8
I was the despised adopted daughter of the Sanders family, hiding behind heavy gothic makeup and enduring their daily disgust.
The day my adoptive father died in a severe car crash, my adoptive mother and stepsister didn't even bother to call me.
Instead, while his body was still warm, my mother filed a multi-million dollar life insurance claim.
"I am not feeding a useless freak for another day. Pack your trash and get out."
She kicked me out into the freezing rain, but that wasn't the worst of it.
My stepsister Cornelia stole my greatest secret. Five years ago, I saved the life of Fidel Vaughan, a ruthless billionaire heir, from a burning estate.
Cornelia claimed my identity, accepted a million-dollar reward, and secured a marriage proposal from him, burning my only proof to ashes.
They thought I was just a helpless, pathetic high schooler they could discard and replace.
But when I hacked the police files, I discovered my father's crash wasn't an accident. It was a targeted hit, and the Vaughan Group had hijacked the traffic cameras to cover it up.
I washed off the ugly black makeup, shedding the disguise of a pathetic outcast.
I am Spectre, the world's most elusive hacker and underground doctor.
I intercepted the billionaire heir's heavily armed convoy in the dead of night. They thought they could steal my life and murder my father, but now, I hold the needle that controls Fidel Vaughan's sanity, and I will make them all pay.
8.3
Jazmin woke up with a splitting headache and red system error codes flickering across her vision, only to realize she was trapped in a bizarre reality as a billionaire's contract wife.
Before she could even process the alien data in her mind, her arrogant husband, Adrian, threw a harsh divorce agreement onto her lap.
"You get nothing. Melody is the one I love. You were just a placeholder," he sneered, demanding she leave the marriage without a single cent.
When she didn't break down in tears, he grew furious and lunged forward, his fingers closing tightly around her throat to remind her of her place. His wealthy family expected her to quietly accept her public humiliation, while her greedy adoptive parents immediately demanded a payout, treating her like a worthless ATM.
They all thought she was still the same fragile, pathetic woman who would beg for their scraps and cry over their cruelty. They had no idea that the original Jazmin was already dead, and the system had loaded a completely different, indestructible entity into her body.
Jazmin didn't shed a single tear or gasp for air.
She simply grabbed Adrian's wrist, shattered his bones with a sickening crunch, and tossed him through a glass window like a bag of trash.
"I'd rather dance alone in hell than be a dog in your heaven."
Taking the massive settlement she extorted, she walked straight into the arms of his deadliest rival, ready to tear this entire world apart.