Reborn To Love My Ruthless Billionaire
Jaclyn woke up in the sterile hospital room after falling down the stairs. The nurse delivered the devastating news: she had bled heavily and lost her baby.
But before she could even cry, her trusted cousins, Katelyn and Cherri, locked the door and revealed the horrifying truth.
"It wasn't an accident," Katelyn smirked, pinning Jaclyn's arm down. "The lubricant on the top step was a very deliberate choice."
They needed her broken and unstable. They had forged her signature, draining her massive trust fund to save their uncle's bankrupt business.
What shattered Jaclyn's world was the fresh hickey on Cherri's neck. Her lover, Bradford, had helped plan the entire murder.
When Jaclyn tried to scream, they smothered her with a pillow, framing her as a lunatic having a mental breakdown.
Two weeks later, when she confronted them, Bradford violently shoved her through a second-story glass window to silence her forever.
As she fell to her death, the husband she had spent her life hating—the ruthless billionaire Gaines—burst through the doors.
He threw himself forward, his face filled with pure terror, desperately trying to catch her.
When her body hit the stone patio, Gaines fell to his knees in her blood, weeping and begging her not to close her eyes.
Until her last breath, Jaclyn was consumed by suffocating regret. Why did she trust the monsters who killed her, and hate the only man who truly loved her?
Opening her eyes again, she was back in the penthouse, exactly one month into her marriage with Gaines.
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Chapter 8
Thirty minutes later, the doorbell of the penthouse chimed.
Dr. Alan, Gaines's highly paid private physician, arrived with his black medical bag.
Gaines stood at the end of the hallway. His face was an unreadable mask. He pointed a finger toward the master bedroom.
"Examine her," Gaines ordered flatly. "I'll be in the study."
Gaines walked into his dark, wood-paneled study. He sat down behind his massive desk and clicked a button on his laptop. The live feed from the hidden security camera in the master bedroom popped up on the screen.
Dr. Alan knocked softly and entered the bedroom.
He turned on the bedside lamp. The warm light illuminated Jaclyn. She was sitting up in bed, her knees pulled to her chest, her eyes red and swollen.
Dr. Alan checked her pupils with a penlight. He gently examined her swollen ankle.
"Mrs. Acevedo," Dr. Alan asked in a soothing voice. "Can you tell me what caused you to fall down the stairs?"
Jaclyn knew Gaines was watching. She could feel his eyes on her through the camera lens.
This was her chance.
She immediately dropped her gaze to her lap. Her fingers began to nervously twist and pull at the edge of the silk blanket. She made her breathing shallow and erratic.
"I... I had a nightmare," Jaclyn stammered, her voice trembling perfectly. "Everyone was trying to push me. They were trying to kill me. Gaines was the only one who caught me."
In the study, Gaines's hand froze halfway to his mouth. The unlit cigar slipped from his fingers and dropped onto the mahogany desk.
Dr. Alan frowned. He pulled out a small notepad and quickly jotted down: Suspected Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) with mild paranoia.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Alan walked into the study.
"Mr. Acevedo," the doctor said gravely. "The physical trauma from the fall, combined with extreme psychological stress, has caused her defense mechanisms to collapse."
Dr. Alan adjusted his glasses. "Her sudden attachment to you is... concerning. It could be a complex trauma response. Sometimes, under extreme stress, the brain latches onto a figure of authority or power as a source of safety, even if that same figure was previously perceived as a threat. We need to observe her carefully."
Gaines's face turned the color of granite. His stomach twisted into a painful knot.
He would rather she be acting than have her docility be a symptom of a broken brain.
Before Gaines could respond, the intercom on his desk buzzed.
"Sir," the head butler's voice crackled through the speaker. "Miss Cherri Lester is in the lobby. She insists on seeing her cousin."
Gaines's eyes darkened. He wanted to throw the girl out onto the street. But he looked at Dr. Alan's notes.
"Send her up," Gaines commanded. He needed to see how Jaclyn reacted to her family in this state.
A few minutes later, Cherri strutted into the master bedroom, carrying a ridiculously expensive fruit basket.
Jaclyn saw Cherri's face. The phantom feeling of the pillow pressing over her mouth suffocated her. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke.
But she forced her facial muscles to relax into a blank, vacant stare.
Cherri sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and grabbed Jaclyn's hand.
"Jackie," Cherri whispered, her eyes darting around the room. "Why were you so weird on the phone? Did that psycho force you to say that?"
Jaclyn violently flinched. She snatched her hand back and pressed herself against the headboard.
"My head hurts," Jaclyn whined, her eyes darting nervously. "I don't remember. I'm just scared."
A spark of gleeful triumph flashed in Cherri's eyes. The fall really had scrambled her stupid cousin's brain.
Cherri leaned in closer. "Listen to me. Gaines is a monster. Bradford loves you. You need to sign the new trust documents so we can get you out of here."
Jaclyn laughed internally. It was so easy to see the manipulation now.
She grabbed her own hair and pulled slightly, feigning distress.
"But..." Jaclyn said, her voice loud and slightly manic. "Gaines said if I'm a good girl, he will fix the piano for me."
Cherri froze. She stared at Jaclyn like she was looking at a rabid dog. The sentence made absolutely no sense in the context of their conversation.
In the study, Gaines stopped breathing.
He stared at the monitor. His heart slammed against his ribs. That sentence wasn't crazy. It was a direct, laser-guided message aimed straight at him.
Cherri stood up abruptly, smoothing down her skirt in disgust.
"You need rest," Cherri muttered, backing away toward the door.
The moment the door clicked shut behind Cherri, the vacant, crazy look vanished from Jaclyn's face.
She sat up straight. A cold, calculating smirk touched the corners of her lips.
The game was officially on.
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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.
9.2
Jacqueline Blackburn, a desperate Ivy League tutor, walked into the sleazy Veridian VIP club just to save her job.
But her billionaire client, the ruthless Christian Montgomery, mistook her for a cheap escort, blowing cigar smoke in her face and treating her like trash.
When she furiously turned to leave, a drunk former client attacked her in the hallway, tearing her white dress open and pinning her by the throat.
She fought back, stabbing the man's hand with a pen, only for Christian to emerge from the shadows and brutally crush the attacker's bleeding hand under his heel.
Instead of letting her go, Christian draped his heavy suit jacket over her exposed skin, trapped her in his dark suite, and forced her to sign a suffocating contract.
"You have exactly ninety days, or I will personally ensure you cease to exist in my city."
She thought she could just keep her head down, teach his nephew, and survive.
But she didn't understand why this terrifying underground tyrant was suddenly so fixated on her.
Why did he use his immense power to isolate her, publicly claim her at a billionaire gala, and track her every move?
When she received a chilling midnight text demanding she pack her bags and move into his sprawling estate by 8:00 AM, the terrifying reality set in.
She hadn't escaped the wolf. She had just walked directly into his cage.
8.7
Ada was eight months pregnant, sitting peacefully in her husband's Manhattan estate, looking at a baby nursery catalog.
Suddenly, her husband's mistress, Jacklyn, walked in, threw an ultrasound photo on the table, and locked the door.
Before Ada could process the betrayal, Jacklyn dragged her to the top of the marble staircase and threw herself backward just as Desmond walked through the front doors.
"She pushed me, Desmond! She tried to kill our baby!"
Desmond looked at Ada with absolute hatred.
He ignored Ada's breaking water and her agonizing screams for help, leaving her to miscarry on the freezing floor while he rushed Jacklyn to the hospital.
He sent Ada to a brutal federal prison for three years, where she was tortured and left with a body covered in horrific scars, mourning the baby she was told died at birth.
When Ada was finally released, Desmond destroyed her cousin's company to force her back to his estate as a lowly maid.
But when Ada saw Jacklyn's three-year-old son, her world stopped.
Right in the center of the little boy's palm was a faint crescent moon birthmark.
It was the exact same mark Ada had kissed on her own lifeless baby's tiny hand before the doctors took his body away.
How did her dead child become Jacklyn's little prince?
Looking at the woman who stole her life and the husband who threw her in hell, Ada clenched her scarred hands and swore she would tear their world apart to get her son back.
9.2
Lainey spent her last life destroying herself for Larry, only to become the woman he discarded most cruelly. He never loved her, never wanted her, and made no secret that his first love still owned his heart.
On their wedding day, he abandoned Lainey at the altar for that woman, then later used Lainey as nothing more than a stepping stone for his company's rise. In the end, he even had her kidney ripped from her.
Reborn at the very moment everything began, Lainey called off the wedding without hesitation. But after losing her, Larry begged desperately.
Lainey shot him a cold look, then turned and walked straight into the arms of a powerful, aloof man, who stared down at Larry with pure contempt. "She's my wife now."
9.5
Eda Roman clutched her father's diagnostic report, its sharp edge cutting her finger. His cancer had mutated, standard treatment failed, and a fifty thousand dollar deposit for experimental therapy was due by midnight. Fail to pay, and his hospital bed would be cleared.
Wife to Axel Foley, a multi-billion dollar CEO, Eda faced an impossible chasm. Her family trust, controlled by Keri Lane, offered a meager three hundred dollars.
An emergency fund request met a forty-eight-hour review—a death sentence. Keri's assistant denied expedite and blocked calls. Desperate, Eda called Axel, but his assistant dismissed her with lies, Axel's laughter echoing.
Humiliation and betrayal ignited cold fury. Wife to Seattle's wealthiest, yet begging on a hospital floor? Axel's indifference and Keri's games showed her: her father's life couldn't be left in their hands.
Wiping tears, the pleading girl vanished; her survival instinct roared. Red lipstick her war paint, Eda Roman marched to Foley Group Headquarters, ready to reclaim what was hers.
9.1
On our fourth wedding anniversary, I prepared a perfect home-cooked dinner for my husband, Carlisle.
But the moment he walked in, he threw a marital settlement agreement right onto the table.
"Sign it. Celine is back. There's no place for you here anymore."
His mother and sister immediately marched in to supervise my packing, calling me a barren gold-digger and trying to smash my late mother's only keepsake.
I signed the papers and walked out into the freezing night, thinking the nightmare was finally over.
But the next day, a heavily edited video of a childhood friend helping me into his car went viral online.
Carlisle's PR team released a public statement branding me a cheating wife, completely destroying my reputation.
He let the world tear me apart, using my ruined name to play the victim and justify bringing his first love home.
I had sacrificed my own dreams and endured his family's endless abuse for four years, only to be discarded like trash and framed for the exact emotional cheating he had been doing all along.
Watching the vile comments flood my screen, my heartbreak hardened into pure, unbreakable ice.
I calmly picked up my phone and dialed my father's number.
"Dad, it's time. I want to come home and take over Mcneil Industries."