Reborn Heiress: The Wall Street Titan's Bride
Alaia Dudley spent her life playing the devoted partner, completely unaware that her fiancé Austen was sleeping with another woman.
She thought the worst he could do was break her heart, until she found herself pinned to a cold operating table.
Austen held her down with a cruel smirk while a scalpel sliced through her sternum.
They cracked her chest open while she was still fully conscious.
The agonizing pain of her heart being cut out burned into her nerve endings.
She realized then that to him, she was never a lover—just a spare organ, a boring piece of wood to be discarded the second his true love needed it.
She died in excruciating agony, choking on her own blood while the man she loved walked away with her heart.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand why she had to suffer so brutally.
Why did she waste her life begging for a monster's attention? Why did they get a happy ending while she was carved up like an animal?
But then, ice-cold water flooded her lungs, and Alaia violently broke the surface of her bathwater.
Her trembling fingers touched her smooth, flawless chest. No scars. Her heart was still beating.
The date on her phone glared back at her: it was exactly five years ago.
Tonight was the exact night Austen first took his mistress to a hotel room.
This time, she wouldn't just expose them. She would use Wall Street's most terrifying tyrant as her personal weapon to strip them of everything they had.
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Chapter 4
Gabriel pulled his gaze away from Alaia and looked back down at Evelyn. The mockery in his eyes was absolute.
"Your family begged for a capital injection from the Alvarado Group," Gabriel stated, his voice a slow, lethal drawl. "They offered you up like cheap takeout to secure the deal. And this is how you repay the investment?"
Evelyn's face turned the color of ash. She had spent months convincing Austen she was the heir to a pristine, old-money dynasty. Gabriel had just ripped her clothes off in public, exposing her as a desperate pawn.
Austen stumbled backward, putting distance between himself and Evelyn. He pointed a shaking finger at her. "You... you lied to me?" His face contorted with a mix of humiliation and rage.
Evelyn scrambled forward on her knees, reaching for Austen's pant leg. "Austen, no, let me explain-"
Austen kicked his leg out, violently shaking her off. "Get off me!" he spat. Evelyn fell hard onto the floor, one of her designer heels snapping off in the struggle.
Gabriel stood with his hands casually shoved into his suit pockets. He watched the two of them tear each other apart with the detached amusement of a man watching monkeys in a cage. A cruel smirk played on his lips.
Alaia watched Gabriel. She saw the dark entertainment in his eyes. Her mind raced. He wasn't just here to break off an engagement; he was here to watch the Montgomery family burn. He was the perfect weapon.
She stood up straight, intentionally sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. She reached around and pressed her hand against her lower back, right where Austen had slammed her into the marble.
Her voice cut through the pathetic sobbing on the floor. It was cold and sharp.
"Austen," Alaia said, staring dead into his eyes. "That was assault."
Austen snapped his head toward her, his chest heaving. Habit took over. He opened his mouth to scream at her, to force her into submission like he always did.
Alaia didn't back down. She took a step toward him. "There are fifty reporters right outside those doors. If I walk out there right now and call the police for a medical exam, you won't just be a cheater. You'll be a domestic abuser."
Austen's face went from pale to a sickly green. His public image was his entire life. The threat hit him right in the jugular.
Gabriel raised a single, dark eyebrow. He looked at Alaia, a spark of genuine interest igniting in his cold eyes. He liked her bloodless, transactional approach. No screaming. No tears. Just leverage.
Alaia turned her head and met Gabriel's gaze. Her tone shifted, becoming the calm, measured voice of a negotiator.
"Mr. Alvarado," Alaia said softly. "Do you mind if I collect a personal debt first?"
Gabriel didn't say a word. He simply took one step to the side, clearing her path to Austen. His silence was a heavy, undeniable permission. It was an indulgence.
Alaia turned back to Austen. "You hurt my back. You're going to pay for it with your own body."
Austen let out a breathless, hysterical laugh. "You're insane! I'll blackball you in this industry! You'll never work again!"
Alaia smirked. She pointed a manicured finger at Evelyn, who was weeping on the floor. "If you don't satisfy my terms right now, I will walk out there and tell the press that your little true love is a corporate bargaining chip for the Alvarado Group."
Evelyn shrieked. "No! Austen, please!" She wrapped her arms around Austen's calves, sobbing hysterically.
Austen looked down at the crying woman, then up at Gabriel, who was watching him with dead eyes. Austen knew if he didn't submit, these two would bury him alive.
Every muscle in Austen's body shook. He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth ground together. "Fine," he growled. "Do it."
Alaia looked at his pathetic, trembling form. The hatred in her chest demanded blood, but she didn't want to break her own hand on his face.
She looked down at her expensive silk gown and her stiletto heels. She frowned slightly. Hitting him herself would be messy.
She turned her head. Her eyes landed on Gabriel's large, powerful hands. A reckless, brilliant idea formed in her mind.
She walked right up to Gabriel. She tilted her head back to look into his eyes, lowering her voice so only he could hear.
"Would you do it for me?" she whispered.
Gabriel stared down at the audacious woman in front of him. A dangerous, thrilling light flared in his blue eyes. No one had ever dared to use him as a weapon before.
Alaia held his gaze. She didn't flinch. Her eyes sent a clear message: Help me, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
The air between them went dead silent for three agonizing seconds.
Then, Gabriel let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound was deep and magnetic, vibrating straight through Alaia's chest.
He slowly reached up and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He slid it off his broad shoulders and tossed it carelessly onto a nearby wicker chair.
Gabriel rolled up the crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing thick, corded forearms. He turned and took a slow, deliberate step toward Austen.
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7.9
I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my head split open from a horrific car crash.
But the pain in my skull was nothing compared to the memory burned into my retinas just before the impact: my billionaire husband, Dawson, walking into a luxury hotel with a woman who looked exactly like his dead first love.
When Dawson finally arrived at the ward, there was no panic or relief in his eyes. He just coldly looked at my bloody bandages.
"Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting."
Even our seven-year-old son, who I almost died giving birth to, didn't spare me a single glance. He kicked my hospital bed in annoyance.
"The Wi-Fi here is garbage. You're a bad mom! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living with us!"
My blood turned to ice. For five years, I had bent over backward, wearing the hideous pale dresses he picked, starving myself to maintain a fragile figure, all to be a perfect, obedient substitute for a ghost.
And this was what I got. An unfaithful husband who would rather bury me in debt than grant me a divorce, and a son who wished I was dead.
The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt.
When the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, I looked at my husband with a hollow, defensive stare.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
Using retrograde amnesia as my shield, I was going to tear their perfect world apart.
8.3
Ayleen Ramirez sat in the sterile Hope Hill Fertility Clinic, her heart shattering as Dr. Finch delivered the crushing news: her third IVF cycle had failed.
Eavesdropping outside a supply closet, she overheard her husband Don on the phone, laughing cruelly. "She's a defective incubator," he sneered to his mistress Alessandra. "I never used my sperm—just cheap bank donation. No trailer trash carries a Bradley heir."
Betrayed, Ayleen confronted him, but her adoptive family ambushed her at home. Her parents and brother sided with Alessandra, now pregnant by Don, demanding Ayleen sign divorce papers to secure family investments. "You're an embarrassment," her mother snapped, threatening to cut her trust fund. Ayleen tossed back their heirloom necklace and walked out.
She stormed the Bradley mansion, slapped divorce papers on Don, packed her bags amid his aunt's insults, and fled into the night.
Drunk in a trendy bar, she stumbled into a powerful stranger—Burdette Guerrero—spilling whiskey on his crotch, then accidentally grabbed a napkin to his trousers. He shoved her away in rage.
Worse, she mistook his penthouse suite for her hotel room, bursting in on his shower, smashing a mirror in panic. He pinned her to the wall, snarling accusations.
How did this arrogant man know her name? Why demand she sign a mysterious contract at 9 a.m.? Devastated and clueless she's actually pregnant—with his stolen heir—Ayleen sobbed alone, the world crumbling.
The next morning, she straightened her spine in the Grand Guerrero lobby, ready to face him and demand answers—no matter the cost.
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.
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.
7.6
My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Damien Paul, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through.
That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Eve—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister.
But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Fellows talking in the library.
They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Damien.
Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Eve.
I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen.
This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Damien over.
"No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Hunter Beach."
8.7
I woke up from a coma in the hospital, universally condemned as the vicious daughter who pushed the beloved fake heiress, Georgina, down the stairs.
My ruthless billionaire brother, Angelo, stood over my bed with cold eyes, ready to destroy me for hurting his precious sister.
But as I looked at him, a terrifying prophecy from my coma flooded my brain. Our entire family was doomed.
In the original timeline, Georgina would team up with corporate rivals to bankrupt the company, frame Angelo, and send him to federal prison, while our parents would abandon me to die miserably.
Lying there, I didn't dare speak. I just desperately cursed my idiot brother in my head.
"This stupid brother is still yelling at me for that fake heiress. He doesn't even know he's going to be framed and sent to prison next month!"
I just wanted to stay quiet, let them ruin themselves, and run away from this toxic family.
But strangely, Angelo didn't strangle me. Instead, his attitude took a shocking turn.
He abruptly fired the driver plotting to kill him, destroyed the abusive fiancé of a family ally, and publicly humiliated Georgina at a high-society gala.
He even shielded me from our abusive parents, declaring to the world that I was the only sister he would ever protect.
I was completely terrified and confused. Why was the tyrant brother suddenly acting like a protective beast?
It wasn't until he flawlessly crushed a massive corporate attack using the exact financial secrets I had just complained about in my mind that a horrifying realization hit me.
He could hear my inner thoughts!