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Reborn Heiress: The Revenge She Deserves Novel Cover

Reborn Heiress: The Revenge She Deserves

The rain was a solid sheet of gray as the black SUV rammed into my car, sending me spiraling over the guardrail. As the glass shattered and the world turned upside down, a searing pain ripped through my chest before everything went cold and dark. I didn’t stay in the darkness. My spirit hovered ten feet in the air, watching the steam hiss from my mangled sedan. I followed the magnetic pull of my soul back to my family estate, expecting to find them devastated. Instead, I found my stepmother, Florene, and my sister, Kassidy, pouring vintage champagne and laughing in the drawing room. "To the end of the nuisance," Florene said, her eyes gleaming with greed. "The trust fund unlocks at midnight. We're finally rich." The betrayal cut deeper than the metal that killed me, but the real shock came at my funeral. Hiram Tyson—the cold, masked husband I’d spent three years fearing—collapsed over my closed casket. He unbuckled his silver mask, revealing a face ruined by scars, and sobbed a name I hadn't heard since childhood. "I'm sorry, Angel. I thought keeping you at arm's length would keep the darkness away." He wasn't the monster I thought he was. He was the boy I had saved at the orphanage years ago, and he had been protecting me in silence while my own family plotted my murder. I reached out to touch him, but the world exploded into a blinding white light. When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in a casket. I was back in our bedroom, feeling the heavy weight of Hiram’s arm across my waist. The calendar on the nightstand read September 14, 2023—exactly one year before the crash. I looked at the silver mask resting on the table and felt a cold, hard determination settle in my chest. This time, I wasn't going to be the victim. I was going to be the villain in their story and burn their world to the ground.
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Chapter 5

Delina descended the last few steps slowly. She maintained eye contact with Stone, letting the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable.

"Did she?" Delina asked coolly. "What exactly did Florene want?"

Stone's smile faltered for a microsecond at the use of the first name. Delina always called her 'Mother'.

"Just checking on your health, Ma'am. She worries."

Delina remembered the champagne toast. To the end of the nuisance.

Anger flared in her chest. The headache returned, sharper this time, focusing behind her eyes like a laser.

She stared at Mrs. Stone's polished black shoes near the edge of the Persian rug.

An intrusive thought formed in Delina's mind. It wasn't a wish. It was a command.

She will trip.

The thought pushed out of her forehead with physical force. The air around them seemed to vibrate with a low, electric hum.

Mrs. Stone turned to walk away, dismissing Delina with a subtle roll of her shoulders.

It was a flicker of mental static, a momentary lapse in coordination. Stone's brain, for a fraction of a second, forgot the simple command to lift her foot. Her polished shoe dragged, catching on the plush fibers of the perfectly flat rug, tangling with her other foot.

Her arms windmilled wildly. She pitched forward, gravity taking her with brutal speed.

She crashed onto the marble floor with a sickening thud. Her momentum carried her sliding forward, colliding with a heavy decorative pedestal.

The expensive Ming vase atop the pedestal wobbled.

Delina watched, time seeming to slow down. Fall.

The vase tipped. It fell, shattering right next to Stone's head. Shards of blue and white porcelain exploded, slicing into Stone's arm.

Mrs. Stone screamed. She clutched her bleeding arm, wailing in shock and pain.

Delina stood frozen. Her heart raced. I did that.

The maid from the hallway ran down the stairs, gasping. "Mrs. Stone! Oh my god! The floor must be slippery!"

Delina looked at the floor. It was bone dry.

She realized then. It wasn't just a headache. It was Suggestion. She could manipulate probability. She could plant thoughts.

A sense of dark satisfaction filled her. It was cold and heavy, but it felt better than fear. No more victimhood.

She composed her face into a mask of concern.

"Oh my goodness! Call 911!" Delina commanded the maid, her voice sharp and authoritative.

She knelt beside the sobbing housekeeper. She leaned close to Stone's ear, her voice dropping to a whisper only they could hear.

"You really should be more careful, Creola," Delina said.

Stone looked up at her. Her eyes were wide with a primal fear she couldn't explain. She saw something in Delina's eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. A predator.

Delina stood up, feeling drained but powerful.

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