Reborn Mother: The Billionaire's Ruthless Bride
In my past life, I was the naive surrogate who fell desperately in love with Karson King, an untouchable Wall Street billionaire.
I thought my blind devotion would earn me a place in his family. Instead, his cruel mother forced me to sign away my parental rights to my three-year-old daughter.
I was locked in a dark, freezing basement. I watched helplessly as his arrogant relatives tormented my child, pushing her down a flight of marble stairs and shattering her tiny arm.
When we finally died in a horrific car crash, my face covered in blood amidst the shattered glass, Karson didn't shed a single tear. To him, my death was just the convenient erasure of a cheap mistake.
I sacrificed my dignity for his approval, but they treated us worse than stray dogs. Why did my innocent daughter have to pay the ultimate price for their ruthless arrogance?
Opening my eyes again, the harsh glare of a massive crystal chandelier pierced my vision. I was back in the grand foyer of the King estate, exactly five years ago.
"Sign it. You are nothing but a gold digger."
My soon-to-be mother-in-law slammed the thick legal contract onto the marble table, demanding I give up my daughter.
This time, the paralyzing fear evaporated, replaced by absolute, icy clarity.
I didn't cower. I picked up the pen, looked right at the billionaire who despised me, and prepared to manipulate his entire empire.
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Chapter 5
The convoy of black vehicles slowed to a crawl as they approached the Manhattan City Clerk's office.
Outside the window, a sea of bodies surged against the barricades. Dozens of camera lenses flashed aggressively, reflecting off the tinted glass of the cars.
Arthur's voice crackled through the intercom. "Mr. King, there are at least fifty media outlets out here. It's a mob."
In the lead car, Karson pinched the bridge of his nose. He despised this. He hated the cheap, vulgar spectacle of his private life being consumed by the masses.
In the back of the Lincoln, Hazel took a deep breath. She smoothed the fabric of her skirt, ensuring not a single crease was out of place.
She reached her hand down under her skirt and pinched the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She pinched hard, twisting the flesh until a sharp, burning pain shot through her nervous system.
Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, pooling perfectly along her lower lashes.
The bodyguards stepped out first, using their massive frames to physically shove a narrow path through the screaming crowd toward the marble steps.
The Maybach door opened. Karson stepped out.
The noise was deafening. Flashes erupted like a strobe light, blinding and relentless.
Reporters shoved microphones attached to long poles over the bodyguards' shoulders. "Mr. King! Is it true she trapped you with a baby?" "How much did the surrogacy cost?"
A second later, the door to the Lincoln opened. The roar of the crowd hit Hazel like a physical wave. Serena screamed, burying her face in Hazel's chest.
Hazel didn't hesitate. She ripped off her beige trench coat and threw it over Serena, completely covering the child's head and face. She hunched over, wrapping her arms protectively around the bundle, and stepped out into the chaos.
A particularly aggressive paparazzi broke through the line. He shoved a camera inches from Hazel's face. "Hey gold digger! Enjoying the billionaire's money?"
Karson stopped on the steps. His eyes darkened. He raised a hand, ready to signal his security to throw the man onto the pavement.
But Hazel moved first.
She didn't flinch away from the lens. She slowly raised her head. A single, perfect tear slipped down her cheek, catching the light of the flashes.
She leaned toward the nearest cluster of microphones. Her voice trembled, thick with raw emotion. "I don't want his money. I don't want any of this. I just... I just wanted my daughter to have her father."
The screaming crowd went dead silent for a fraction of a second. The camera shutters went into overdrive.
Hazel turned her tear-streaked face toward Karson, who was standing a few feet away. "Falling in love with someone you can't have is a punishment," she choked out, her voice breaking perfectly. "But I would do it all again for her."
It was a masterclass in manipulation. In ten seconds, she had rewritten the narrative from a sleazy corporate scandal to a heartbreaking, modern-day Cinderella tragedy.
A female reporter in the front row lowered her microphone, her eyes softening with genuine pity.
Karson stood frozen on the steps. His dark eyes locked onto Hazel. He saw the tears. He heard the tremor in her voice.
And he knew it was entirely, one hundred percent fake.
He remembered the feral, violent look in her eyes back at the estate. This woman was a chameleon.
But his analytical brain immediately recognized the genius of the move. She was handing him the perfect PR victory on a silver platter.
Karson didn't expose her. Instead, he turned around. He walked back down the steps, moving against the flow of his security detail, straight toward Hazel.
The crowd parted for him, gasping as the icy Wall Street titan approached the crying mother.
Karson stopped right in front of her. His broad chest blocked the worst of the blinding flashes. He looked down at her teary face.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing near her ear. "Good acting," he whispered, his voice dripping with absolute ice.
Hazel smiled under the cover of her coat. She leaned forward, pressing her body against his chest, playing the part of the exhausted, relieved lover.
Karson's muscles instantly locked. His entire body went rigid at the contact, but with fifty cameras firing, he forced his arm to lift. He loosely wrapped his hand around her shoulder.
The image of the billionaire shielding his fragile, crying fiancé was immortalized in a thousand photographs.
The bodyguards pushed forward, rushing the couple up the remaining stairs.
They stepped inside the City Clerk's office. The heavy brass doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off the flashes and the screams instantly.
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9.7
I ran through the freezing rain, desperate to escape the Pennington estate. My adoptive family had raised me for one purpose: to be sold off as a bargaining chip in a wealthy arranged marriage.
But before I could reach the highway, I was cornered. Not just by my family's cruel guards, but by Hollis Wall—a terrifying, ruthless billionaire who snapped my tormentor's wrist and dragged me into his car. He didn't want a ransom. He threw a prenuptial agreement in my lap.
I thought he was insane until he took a scalpel to his own arm, and a burning agony ripped across my flawless skin. Because of a near-drowning accident three years ago, our nervous systems were linked. Every time I bled, he felt the agony. He locked me in his fortress to keep me safe, but when I finally escaped back to my adoptive parents, they didn't protect me. Instead, my adoptive father smiled and showed me a live video of my biological father on life support, a guard's hand hovering over the plug.
"You will marry Douglas Cherry tomorrow, or your father dies," he sneered.
My own family was willing to murder my only real flesh and blood just to secure their wealth. I collapsed onto the cold marble floor, my heart crushed in a vice of absolute, suffocating despair.
"I'll marry him," I sobbed, surrendering to the darkness.
But miles away, in his dark study, the ruthless Hollis Wall violently collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as my severe panic attack bled directly into his chest. Our twisted bond was killing him, and I knew he would tear the city apart to find me.
7.8
Elie Joyce’s entire life was controlled by Ebert Ewing, a ruthless billionaire who held her sick grandmother's survival and her family's freedom in his hands.
But on a freezing, stormy night, he forced her into a scandalous scrap of red silk and handed her over to a notorious, disgusting predator.
"You aren't an escort. You're just a free gift."
Ebert mocked her, using her as a disposable bargaining chip to secure a corporate funding round.
When the predator humiliated her, forced high-proof vodka down her throat, and violently pinned her to the floor, Ebert simply watched with dead eyes.
And when Ebert finally intervened to brutally beat the man, it wasn't out of mercy.
"She is my property. Even if she is trash that I threw away, a filthy pig like you doesn't get to touch her."
Afterward, he dragged her battered, barefoot body into his car, only to kick her out into the torrential rain, leaving her on the dark streets to die.
Standing in the storm, shivering and bleeding from broken glass, the last shred of Elie's hope shattered.
She had sacrificed her dignity and soul, enduring his violent bites and cruel control, just to keep her family alive.
Why did she have to suffer this endless, twisted humiliation for a psychopath who only saw her as trash?
But she didn't break.
Tearing a strip of his expensive shirt to bandage her bleeding foot, Elie gripped her broken stiletto like a knife.
With her eyes turning cold and calculating, she limped out of the shadows.
She was going to survive, and Ebert Ewing would soon realize she was no longer his obedient prey.
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."
8.2
Justine abandoned her career as a top trauma surgeon to marry Congressman Carl McConnell. She did it to fulfill her dying sister's last wish: to protect her son, Leo, from this ruthless political family.
But the seven-year-old boy she swore to protect shoved her into a freezing koi pond, then cried to his father that Justine tried to drown him.
Carl didn't even check the security cameras. He hugged his precious heir and looked at his freezing wife with pure disgust.
"Are you out of your mind? Trying to hurt the heir to the McConnell family!"
He locked Justine in a 55-degree wine cellar while she was burning with a 102-degree fever. When she finally told him the truth, Carl flew into a rage and hurled a heavy brass-cornered book at her face, slicing her cheekbone wide open.
His mother even ordered the staff to starve her for seven days to reflect on her sins.
Justine stood in the dark, blood dripping down her face, her heart completely dead. She had sacrificed her brilliant future and her pride for this family, only to be tortured and discarded like garbage. How could they be so utterly devoid of humanity?
She pulled out her old medical kit and stitched up her own face.
Then, she signed the legal documents to permanently relinquish her stepparent rights, threw them at the housekeeper, and calmly looked at her abusive husband.
"I am divorcing you, Carl."
9.7
I was a top cardiac surgeon, trapped in a dead marriage with a ruthless billionaire.
One afternoon, he brought his mistress to my hospital, ordering me to perform her high-risk heart surgery.
When I refused and handed him our divorce papers, he violently tore them up and threatened to erase my name from the medical community.
Worse, I discovered they had a five-year-old surrogate son—bought and born the exact same year I bled out on an operating table, losing our baby.
The mistress mocked my trauma, calling me a barren piece of trash who couldn't give him an heir.
I slapped her across the face.
The next morning, the NYPD publicly handcuffed me in my own hospital.
She had framed me for attempted murder, claiming I injected her IV with a lethal dose of potassium.
My husband cornered me in the interrogation room.
"Just confess to me. I will throw enough money at the DA to make this entirely disappear."
I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but raw, unfiltered suspicion.
He actually believed I was a jealous murderer.
I swore I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to them.
Just as my childhood savior miraculously appeared to bail me out, my phone rang.
The mistress had gone into full cardiac arrest.
Only I had the surgical skill to save her.
I turned around, deciding whether to let the woman who ruined my life die, or pick up my scalpel.
7.6
Elliana Lewis lay dying on the freezing concrete of a federal penitentiary, her ribs shattered by a guard's heavy boot.
She had been flawlessly framed for murder by the one person she trusted with her life: her sweet, innocent stepsister, Jovita.
During her final prison visit, Jovita wore their mother's diamonds and smiled cruelly behind the glass. She revealed she had liquidated the family company, caused their father's stroke, and paid the guards to ensure Elliana suffered a grueling, agonizing death.
"Your marriage was a joke from day one, Ellie. You have nothing left."
As her lungs stopped, the tragic truth finally dawned on Elliana. She had spent months screaming for a divorce and publicly humiliating her billionaire husband, Damon Stirling, believing his silence was weakness. She didn't realize until it was too late that his endless tolerance was the deepest form of protection. She had pushed away the only man who would have burned the world down to keep her safe.
Why had she been so incredibly stupid? Why did she blindly trust a monster and destroy the only person who truly loved her?
Then, a blinding light pierced her retinas. Elliana bolted upright, gasping for air on a massive, king-sized bed.
There was no pain. No broken bones. The digital clock on the nightstand flashed a date from exactly ten years ago.
It was the morning after her disastrous wedding night.
This time, she would tear Jovita's life apart piece by piece. And she would hold onto Damon so tightly that nothing could ever pry them apart.