Reborn To Claim My CEO Husband
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.
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Chapter 6
Damon stared at her. The proximity was maddening. He could see the faint pulse beating at the base of her throat, right above the collar of her beige dress.
He forced his eyes back to hers, his expression hardening. He wasn't going to fall into whatever trap she was setting.
"I have a business dinner tonight," Damon said flatly.
It was a lie. His schedule was clear after six. He just needed to put a wall between them before she completely dismantled his sanity.
Elliana didn't flinch. The rejection didn't wipe the smile off her face. Instead, her smile grew softer, more understanding.
"That's okay," she said, standing up straight. "I'll wait up for you."
She turned around, walked back to the sofa, picked up the club sandwich she had brought for him, and took a delicate bite. She chewed slowly, looking around the office as if she owned the place, completely unbothered by his coldness.
Damon watched her back, a surge of intense, irrational irritation flaring in his chest. She wasn't following the rules. She wasn't throwing a tantrum. She was just... sitting there, eating the food he rejected.
He snatched the receiver off his desk phone and hit the speed dial for his assistant. "Campbell. Bring a hot milk to my office."
Two minutes later, Campbell knocked and entered, carrying a steaming mug of milk. He placed it on the coffee table in front of Elliana, casting a bewildered glance at his boss before practically fleeing the room.
Damon glared at Elliana. "Drink it and leave."
Elliana picked up the mug. She brought it to her lips, took a small sip, and then, with a subtle flick of her wrist, tilted the mug just enough.
"Ah!" she gasped.
A splash of hot milk spilled over the rim, landing directly on the front of her beige dress. A dark, wet stain immediately spread across the fabric over her thigh.
Damon's head snapped up. His brow furrowed deeply.
Elliana looked down at the stain, her eyes wide with exaggerated dismay. "Oh no. I spilled it." She looked up at Damon, biting her lower lip. "This dress is a limited edition. It's dry-clean only. I can't walk out of the building looking like this."
Damon saw right through it. The spill was too perfectly timed, too deliberate. But he couldn't exactly call her a liar and throw her out in a stained dress.
Elliana stood up. She looked around the office, her eyes landing on the sleek, unmarked door to the left of his desk.
"That's the executive lounge, right?" she asked innocently. "Do you mind if I use the bathroom to clean up?"
Without waiting for his permission, she walked past his desk, pushed the door open, and disappeared into his private suite.
Damon stared at the closed door, a muscle ticking violently in his jaw. He pinched the bridge of his nose. She was infuriating. She was an absolute menace.
Thirty minutes passed. Damon had aggressively signed his way through a stack of contracts, but the door to the lounge remained shut.
He threw his pen down. He was just about to get up and pound on the door when the handle clicked.
Elliana stepped out.
Damon's breath caught in his throat. The air in his lungs vanished.
She had taken a shower. Her long hair was damp, hanging in loose, dark waves over her shoulders. But it was what she was wearing that paralyzed him.
She was wearing one of his spare white dress shirts.
It swallowed her small frame. The hem barely reached the middle of her thighs, leaving her long, bare legs completely exposed to the cool air of the office. She hadn't buttoned it all the way up; the top three buttons were undone, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbones and the deep shadow of her cleavage.
She walked toward him, barefoot, her toes sinking into the plush carpet.
"My dress is completely soaked," Elliana said, her voice light and airy. She held up the damp beige fabric in one hand. "I had to borrow your shirt. You don't mind, do you?"
Elliana watched as Damon's eyes involuntarily tracked the movement of her bare legs. She saw his Adam's apple bob sharply as he swallowed hard, a clear sign that his throat had gone bone dry. The veins in his neck seemed to pulse with a sudden, violent intensity, revealing the internal battle he was fighting.
He gripped the armrests of his chair so hard the leather creaked. His knuckles turned stark white under the pressure. "Who told you to touch my things?" he growled, his voice an octave lower than normal.
Elliana stopped in front of his desk. She tilted her head, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes that completely contradicted the sinful picture she painted.
"But I didn't have any clothes to wear," she pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. "Damon, you wouldn't expect me to walk out of here naked, would you?"
She took the final step, rounding the desk. She reached out and lightly grabbed the cuff of his suit jacket, tugging on it gently.
"Since I look like this," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his, "you have to take me home now."
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7.9
One night of deception.
A lifetime of consequences.
A bond that cannot be broken.
Nadia Williams is an Omega living in the shadows of the pack she once called home.
Since her father's death, she and her mother, Estelle, have been treated as outcasts by her ruthless uncle, Alpha Edwards. When her mother is framed for theft, Nadia is forced into a deal with the devil.
To save her mother's life, she must become a virgin substitute for her cousin, Danielle.
Her aunt, Katerina, offers a devil's bargain to set her mother free: Nadia must spend one night in the bed of the most powerful man in the country, the billionaire; Alpha Conrad Bradley.
The catch?
She must swap places with her spiteful cousin.
Conrad demands a virgin bride to secure his royal bloodline, and Danielle, Nadia's cruel cousin, has already forfeited her purity.
What begins as a desperate night of passion in the dark spirals into a web of hidden identities and betrayal.
Nadia survives the night and disappears, hoping to bury the shame of the encounter forever.
But fate has a different plan.
Desperate for a fresh start away from her uncle's shadow, Nadia secures a high-level position at Bradley Group of Industries.
As Alpha Conrad unknowingly hires Nadia at his company, an undeniable connection sparks between them.
Conrad is haunted by the scent of the woman from that night-a scent that doesn't match his fiancée, Danielle, but seems to cling to his new, brilliant employee.
As they work side-by-side, Nadia finds an unexpected and beautiful second chance at a life she thought was lost.
Yet, buried secrets threaten to destroy everything.
When the Alpha discovers the woman he truly bonded with, the fallout will be legendary.
9.7
For three years, I was the dutiful wife of billionaire Ervin Valdez.
On our third wedding anniversary, he came home smelling of his mistress's perfume, pinned me down, and brutally mocked me.
His mistress, Sylvia, had even sent me a fake ultrasound report to force me out of the picture.
In Ervin's eyes, I was just a vicious, calculating liar who used a pregnancy to trap him into marriage.
He didn't care that I had actually lost that baby, nor did he know the trauma of my gambling father selling me to a dark club where I was assaulted by a stranger.
When I finally handed him the signed divorce papers, giving up all assets, and left the penthouse with nothing but an old suitcase, he just sneered.
"She is playing a game of hard to get. She won't last three days before she comes crying back."
He froze all my bank accounts, let his mistress humiliate me in public, and waited coldly for me to starve and beg.
He thought my entire existence relied on his wealth, completely confident that I would inevitably surrender to his control.
But he was wrong.
I calmly opened my old laptop, bypassed the complex encryptions, and looked at the dozens of unread emails from top-tier global brands begging for my return.
I resurrected my hidden identity as the legendary jewelry designer "R," and walked straight into the top design firm in Manhattan.
"It is time to find myself again."
7.2
Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest.
When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal—the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago.
But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member.
Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died.
Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring.
When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes.
"Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now."
The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion?
Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer.
"Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."
9.8
When I woke up on the muddy bank of the freezing river, I unlocked a brutal, unfiltered preview of my actual future.
For the past six months, I had been the town's ultimate joke, chasing after a city boy who looked at me like a diseased insect. Everyone thought I jumped into the river because he rejected me.
But the nightmare didn't stop there. In the future I foresaw, my entire family was destroyed. My eldest brother was handcuffed and dragged into a squad car. My second brother died in a pool of blood on the asphalt. My parents passed away from sheer grief and humiliation, and our farm was foreclosed.
Meanwhile, Bart Hawkins—my family's sworn enemy, the boy everyone accused of pushing me, but who actually jumped in to save my life—became a billionaire tech mogul. I ended up starving to death in a damp, moldy basement, completely alone.
I finally understood that I was just a pathetic, tragic side character meant to drag my family into hell. My own sister-in-law, Felicie, had been stealing our food and money, laughing at my misery behind my back.
But right now, my mother was still alive, my brothers were safe, and the farm was ours.
When Felicie walked into my bedroom, playing the devoted sister-in-law with a bowl of clear, meatless broth while a stolen roasted chicken thigh leaked grease through her apron pocket, I didn't play along.
"What's in your pocket, Felicie?"
This time, I was going to tear that horrific future apart with my bare hands.
7.9
I woke up in a burning warehouse, twelve years after my supposed death. My body had been reset to its physical prime, the deep burn scar on my wrist completely gone.
Through the smoke, my eldest son, Kennard, rushed blindly into the flames. He was screaming the name of the very woman who had orchestrated this trap—Brittnie.
When I tackled him out of the way of a falling steel beam, he didn't recognize my youthful face. Instead, he pinned me to the concrete and nearly crushed my windpipe.
"How much did she pay you to carve up your face to look like a dead woman?"
He hissed the words at me, treating me like a sick corporate spy. For a decade, a bizarre narrative "script" had brainwashed my son, forcing him into pathetic devotion to Brittnie. She had drained his wealth, turned my daughter against him, and hollowed out our family empire.
Whenever Kennard tried to resist her, the mind control punished him with agonizing migraines, driving him to smash his own hands against the wall just to cope with the pain.
Hearing him quietly sobbing outside my locked door, my heart shattered. How could this invisible force torture my brilliant son and turn my family into puppets for a D-list actress?
I dragged him to the hospital for a DNA test.
When the results confirmed my maternity at 99.999%, the cold billionaire collapsed to the floor, weeping in my arms like a lost child.
I wiped his tears and smiled ruthlessly. It was time to take back my empire and burn Brittnie's life to the ground.
8.4
After being kidnapped for years and finally rescued, five-year-old Izzy thought she was going home to her wealthy biological family.
But when the social worker brought her to the freezing bus station, her biological father, Conrad, didn't even get out of his Mercedes. He took one look at her tangled hair and worn-out shoes, his lip curling in disgust.
"I have a real family now. I'm not disrupting my life for this."
He drove away, leaving her choking on his exhaust fumes. When her rough, grease-stained uncle Bryan forcefully brought her to the family mansion, things only got worse. Her biological mother refused to touch her, complaining that she smelled like a dumpster. Her half-sister Katelynn pushed her to the ground, making her bleed, and framed her for stealing. Instead of helping, Conrad roared at Izzy, calling her a wild animal and threatening to throw her back onto the streets.
Izzy stood there shivering in her oversized rags, watching them stand together in a perfect, unbroken circle. She didn't understand why her own blood looked at her like she was a monster, or why they were so eager to throw a traumatized child back into the dark.
But what her wealthy family didn't know was that Izzy had a secret: she could hear plants talking. And the greenhouse orchids were screaming at their cruelty. So, she climbed onto their expensive coffee table, pointed at her mechanic uncle, and made her choice.
"I don't want Conrad to be my daddy. I want Uncle Bryan."
She walked out of that loveless mansion forever, ready to follow the whispers of an old apple tree in her new backyard—a tree that was about to guide her to a buried fortune of gold.