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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 7

Delina sat in her car in the studio parking lot. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, ensuring the dark circles under her eyes were hidden.

She needed to reinforce the lie she told Florene. If Florene checked with Hiram, the whole charade would collapse.

She stared at Hiram's contact info on her screen. "H. Tyson (Do Not Call)."

She took a deep breath and hit dial.

It rang four times. She almost hung up.

"Speak," Hiram's voice answered. Low, impatient.

Background noise suggested he was in a boardroom. Papers shuffling, low murmurs.

"Hi... Honey," Delina forced the word out. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Dead silence on the other end. The background noise in the boardroom stopped abruptly.

There was a long pause on the other end, so charged with silence that Delina could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. "Delina," he finally said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "What game are you playing?"

Delina suppressed a nervous laugh. "It's your wife, Delina."

"I know who it is," he countered, his voice dropping. "I don't know what this is."

"I just wanted to let you know I fired Mrs. Stone. She broke the Ming vase."

"You called my private line during a merger meeting to discuss a vase?"

"I also wanted to hear your voice," she added. She was testing the waters, pushing the boundaries of their cold war.

She heard a sharp snap on his end. A pen breaking?

"Are you in trouble?" His tone shifted instantly to alert. "Is someone with you?"

He assumed she was being coerced. He couldn't imagine she would call him affectionately of her own free will.

"No. I just... I'm changing things. Starting today," she said softly.

"We'll discuss this 'change' tonight," he said. His voice was dark, promising an interrogation.

"Don't wait up. I have an audition," she said breezily.

"Delina," he warned.

"Bye, Honey." She hung up. Her cheeks were burning.

She leaned back against the headrest, exhaling a long breath. She had poked the bear. But she needed him to be confused. Confusion meant he was paying attention.

She checked the time. The casting call for "Shadows of the City" was in twenty minutes.

She stepped out of the car, adjusting her sunglasses. Paparazzi were camping near the entrance, looking for scandals.

She walked past them, chin up, ignoring their shouts.

Inside the lobby, she spotted Monica Star. Her arch-rival was preening near the elevator, checking her reflection in the brass doors.

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