Reborn To Ruin My Billionaire Husband

He came into the bedroom after one in the morning.

Kirsten lay perfectly still in the dark, feigning sleep. The scent of alcohol and Jasmin's cheap perfume clung to him, a foul combination that made her stomach churn. He moved through the room with a heavy, deliberate tread, shedding his clothes. He went into the bathroom, and she heard the shower turn on. Over the sound of the water, she could just make out the low murmur of his voice on the phone. She heard her name. Jasmin.

He emerged minutes later, a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from his hair onto the expensive rug. He didn't bother with his side of the king-sized bed. He pulled back the covers on hers and slid in beside her.

His skin was cold, and the touch of his leg against hers made her flinch. A wave of revulsion washed over her, so strong it was a physical force. This was the body that had held another woman just hours ago. This was the man who had signed her death warrant.

His hand settled on her waist, a proprietary gesture, devoid of any affection. It was the hand of a man checking his inventory.

"It's time we had a child," he said into the darkness.

The words were a death sentence.

Kirsten's body went rigid. She grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into his skin. "What did you say?"

He didn't pull away. He simply tightened his grip, his fingers wrapping around her wrist like a manacle. "The prenuptial agreement. Clause eight. My controlling interest in Cooper Holdings is provisional until a legitimate heir is produced."

He spoke as if he were discussing a quarterly report.

"This is business, Kirsten. You knew the terms when you married me. You're a member of this family now. You have obligations."

She stared at the shadowy outline of his face, trying to find a flicker of the man she thought she had married. There was nothing. Only a cold, calculating stranger. In her first life, she had been so desperate for his love that she had embraced this obligation. She had seen it as a way to secure her place in his life, in his heart.

What a fool she had been.

"And if I don't?" she asked, her voice tight.

He let go of her wrist and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Then the agreement is void. Your shares, your settlement, all of it. You'd leave with nothing. I don't think you want that."

It was a threat, delivered with the casual indifference of a man who knew he held all the cards. He didn't want a child with her. He wanted an heir. He needed her womb to secure his empire.

Nausea rose in her throat. She pushed herself into a sitting position, the silk sheets cool against her skin.

A question escaped her lips, a final, desperate test. "Damon... do you even love me?"

The silence that followed was absolute. It stretched for so long that the only sound in the room was the ticking of the antique clock on the mantelpiece. Each tick was a second of her old life dying.

Finally, he spoke, his voice flat. "Love is irrelevant. We're partners, Kirsten. This is part of the deal."

A sound bubbled up from her chest. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh. A hollow, brittle thing that sounded alien in the opulent bedroom.

The sound seemed to irritate him. He moved suddenly, pulling her back down against the pillows, his body pinning hers. He was all hard muscle and cold intent.

Kirsten didn't fight. She went limp, a corpse in his arms. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? A body. A vessel.

His mouth descended toward hers. She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a cold path to her hairline.

Just as his lips were about to touch hers, she spoke, her voice surprisingly clear. "I can't."

He paused, his breath hot against her cheek.

"I've been seeing a specialist," she lied, the words coming easily. "A naturopath. For my health. She has me on a regimen of Chinese herbs to... regulate my system. She said we shouldn't try for a few months. Until the treatment is complete."

He was still for a moment, his body tense with frustration. He was breathing heavily, the desire still thick in the air between them.

Then, with a curse, he rolled off her. He snatched his pillow from the bed and threw it with violent force toward the sofa across the room.

"Damn it," he snarled. "Get me the doctor's report tomorrow. I want to see it."

He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Kirsten lay in the darkness, her body trembling with the aftershock of his proximity. Her hand crept to the drawer of her nightstand. Her fingers closed around the small, plastic blister pack.

The emergency contraceptive. Her shield. Her secret.