Reborn Heiress: The Tyrant's Secret Obsession

The icy rain of the Seattle storm sliced through the night, but Bryn Callahan couldn't feel the cold. She hovered in the air, a translucent soul staring down at the fresh granite tombstone. It had only been three days since they put her in the ground. She reached out. She tried to trace the carved letters of her own name on the wet stone. Her pale, see-through fingertips passed right through the solid granite, grasping nothing but empty air. A violent wave of resentment twisted in her nonexistent stomach. She felt an overwhelming surge of helplessness, a bitter realization that she was nothing more than a powerless spectator to her own tragic aftermath. She closed her eyes and saw the edge of the cliff. She felt Keifer's hands-the hands she had held a thousand times-shoving her hard against the chest. She clutched her chest now, her breathing ragged even though she had no lungs. Fabiola's mocking laughter echoed in her ears, the sound of her adopted sister standing on that cliff, telling Bryn she died with absolutely nothing. A heavy engine roared in the distance. Two blinding beams of light tore through the darkness of the cemetery. Bryn's head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed through the thick curtain of rain. A black Maybach idled aggressively outside the wrought-iron gates. The driver's door flew open. A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped straight into the thick mud. He didn't even bother with an umbrella. Lightning flashed. The harsh white light illuminated his sharp jawline and his bloodshot, furious eyes. Dominic Hutchinson. Bryn floated backward, her mind spinning. Dominic was the tyrant of her high school, the boy who made it his mission to make her life a living hell. Why was he here? Dominic marched straight toward her grave. He didn't pause to mourn. He didn't bow his head. He walked to the trunk of his car and pulled out a heavy steel shovel. Bryn screamed at him. She demanded to know if he hated her so much that he had to desecrate her grave. A crack of thunder drowned out her voice entirely. Dominic raised the shovel high above his head. He drove the metal blade violently into the fresh turf in front of her headstone. Mud splattered across his expensive, custom-tailored suit. He dug like a madman. He didn't speak. His chest heaved with every brutal thrust of the shovel into the earth. Bryn threw herself at him. She tried to grab the wooden handle of the shovel, but her body phased right through his solid forearms. She could only watch as he destroyed her final resting place. Rainwater poured down Dominic's pale face. His perfectly styled black hair was plastered to his forehead in a messy, chaotic tangle. He looked completely feral. The metal shovel struck the concrete burial vault with a sickening scrape. Dominic threw the shovel aside. He dropped to his knees in the pooling water. He didn't care about the filth. He used his bare hands to claw at the sharp rocks and heavy dirt burying the edges of the vault. The jagged stones tore at his cuticles. Blood seeped from under his fingernails, dripping into the muddy water on top of the concrete. Bryn stopped fighting. She floated in the air, completely paralyzed by the sight of his self-mutilation. A strange, creeping confusion settled in her chest. Dominic locked his jaw. The veins in his thick forearms bulged against his skin. With a guttural grunt, he ripped the heavy concrete cover off the vault. Freezing rain instantly flooded into the dark hole, soaking the cold metal urn resting at the bottom. Dominic froze. His broad shoulders stopped moving. He stared down at the metal container, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow jerks. Bryn hovered above him, her arms crossed. She waited for him to grab the urn and dump her ashes into the mud just to spite her. Instead, Dominic's knees gave out. He slumped forward, his body hitting the edge of the muddy grave. His bleeding, trembling hands reached down into the dark water. He touched the metal urn with a sickeningly gentle hesitation, as if he were handling a fragile piece of glass. He pulled the heavy urn out of the water and slammed it against his chest. He wrapped his arms around the cold metal, hugging it so tightly his knuckles turned completely white. A raw, animalistic sob ripped its way out of his throat. The sound was so broken it cut straight through the noise of the storm. Bryn flinched. Her soul physically shook. She stared in absolute disbelief at the arrogant, untouchable boy who ruled their school. Was he crying tears of joy? Did he hate her so deeply that her death brought him this much overwhelming relief? The thought that he would go to such lengths just to celebrate his ultimate victory over her made her nonexistent stomach churn. Dominic buried his face against the wet metal. Hot, thick tears poured from his eyes, mixing with the rain and falling directly onto the brass nameplate that read Bryn Callahan. He slowly lifted his head. His dark eyes, usually so full of cruel mockery, were now hollowed out by a world-ending despair. He stared blankly into the empty night.