Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge
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I lay on a mildewed mattress in a run-down motel, my body trembling from withdrawal. Once the most feared "Gossip Queen" in Hollywood, I was now a forty-three-year-old ghost staring at a cracked mirror, waiting for the end.
The door clicked open, and Brittany Potts stepped in, looking immaculate in a beige trench coat that cost more than my life. She didn't come to help; she tossed a waiver of marital assets onto my bed and handed me a cup of coffee laced with something that smelled like bitter almonds.
She laughed, telling me my husband, Bennet, was already in the Bahamas celebrating my death. I froze when I saw the sapphire pendant around her neck—my mother’s necklace, which had vanished the day she died. As the poison began to burn through my chest, Brittany leaned in and whispered her final secret: she was the one who cut the brake lines on the car that killed my father when we were teenagers.
My entire life had been a lie. The pills, the scandal, the bankruptcy—it was all a masterpiece of betrayal orchestrated by the two people I trusted most. I died on that filthy floor, suffocating on my own rage and the taste of chemicals, praying for a single chance to make them pay.
But when I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. I was sitting in my old bedroom, the morning sun shining on a calendar that read September 15, 2024. My mother’s voice, warm and alive, called me for breakfast from downstairs. I was eighteen again, back in my senior year at Crestview Academy, and the monsters who destroyed me were still pretending to be my friends. This time, I’m the one who holds the shears.
Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge Chapter 1
The pain in her stomach wasn't a gradual ache. It was an explosion. It felt as if someone had detonated a grenade inside her gut, sending shrapnel tearing through her internal organs. Rain hammered against the thin glass of the motel window, sounding like handfuls of gravel being thrown by an angry god. It was a fitting soundtrack for the end of the world, or at least, the end of hers.
Chelsea lay curled on a mattress that smelled of mildew and other people's bad decisions. Her body was a cage of aches. Withdrawal was a living thing, clawing at the inside of her skin, demanding to be fed. Her hand trembled as she reached for the plastic bottle on the nightstand, but her fingers were clumsy, numb. The bottle tipped. Empty.
Just like her.
She caught her reflection in the cracked mirror bolted to the wall. At forty-three, she looked sixty. The woman staring back was a ghost of the "Gossip Queen" who once terrorized Hollywood. Her skin was gray, etched with lines that mapped out every mistake she had ever made. Her eyes were dull, two burnt-out cinders in a skull that felt too heavy for her neck.
A sharp, rhythmic clicking sound cut through the noise of the storm. It was the sound of expensive heels on cheap linoleum. It didn't belong here. Nothing expensive belonged here.
The electronic lock on the door beeped-a shrill, invasive chirp that spoke of a bribed front desk clerk. The door swung open.
Brittany Potts stepped into the room. She was wearing a trench coat that probably cost more than this entire building. It was a soft, buttery beige, immaculate and dry despite the storm outside. She held a handkerchief to her nose, her eyes scanning the room with a look of profound disgust.
Chelsea tried to sit up. Her muscles screamed in protest, and she collapsed back onto the lumpy pillows. She was a puppet with cut strings.
Brittany didn't say a word. She just gestured with a manicured hand. Two large men in dark suits squeezed past her, carrying a velvet armchair. They placed it in the center of the room, facing the bed. Brittany sat down, crossing her legs with a grace that made Chelsea's stomach turn. She looked at Chelsea the way one looks at roadkill-with a mix of pity and revulsion.
"You look terrible, Chelsea," she said. Her voice was light, airy, completely at odds with the stench of the room.
"Get out," Chelsea croaked. It came out as a whisper.
"Now, is that any way to treat an old friend?" She reached into her bag and pulled out a document. She tossed it onto the bed. It slid across the stained duvet and came to rest against Chelsea's hand.
Chelsea looked down. The bold letters at the top blurred, but she could make them out. Waiver of Marital Assets and Future Claims.
"Sign it," she said. "Bennet is in the Bahamas right now. We're celebrating. He wanted this done before the weekend."
Bennet. Her husband. The man she had bankrupted herself for. The man who had promised to love her in sickness and in health, but apparently, poverty was a dealbreaker.
"He... he wouldn't," Chelsea stammered.
"Oh, sweetie." Brittany laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. "He already has. He's been waiting for you to die for years. We both have."
Chelsea wanted to scream, to fly across the room and tear that smug look off Brittany's face. But she couldn't move. Her body had betrayed her long before Brittany did.
"You're shaking," Brittany noted. She snapped her fingers. One of the bodyguards stepped forward, holding a steaming paper cup. The logo was green and white. Starbucks.
The smell hit Chelsea instantly. Roasted coffee, caramel, sugar. It was the smell of her old life. The life before the pills, before the scandal, before the ruin. Her mouth watered, a physiological betrayal that made her hate herself.
"Drink," Brittany said softly. "It's your favorite. Caramel Macchiato, extra foam. Just like the old days."
She was offering it like a treat to a dog.
"If you sign the papers, I'll give you enough cash for a fix," she whispered, leaning forward. "But first, drink the coffee. You need the energy."
The hunger was a physical pain, a hollow pit in Chelsea's center. Her dignity had eroded years ago, washed away by addiction and desperation. She reached for the cup. The warmth of the paper against her freezing fingertips felt like salvation.
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room in a stark, blue-white strobe. For a split second, the light caught the necklace resting against Brittany's throat.
A sapphire pendant. Tear-shaped. Surrounded by diamonds.
Chelsea's hand froze.
That was her mother's necklace. The one that had vanished the day she died. The one she had searched for, wept for.
"Where did you get that?" Chelsea asked, her voice gaining a fraction of strength.
Brittany touched the stone, feigning surprise. "This? Oh, it was a gift. From Bennet. Years ago."
The timeline didn't make sense. Years ago? Bennet and Chelsea were married then.
"Drink the coffee, Chelsea," she said, her voice hardening. "Stop stalling."
Chelsea looked into the dark liquid. The steam rising from it didn't smell just like caramel anymore. There was something else underneath. Something bitter. Almonds?
Her survival instinct, dormant for so long, suddenly shrieked in her ear.
She looked up at Brittany. The mask was slipping. Her eyes weren't pitying anymore. They were impatient. Predatory.
"No," Chelsea said.
Brittany sighed. It was a sound of pure annoyance. She nodded to the guard.
The man moved fast. A heavy hand clamped onto Chelsea's jaw, forcing her mouth open. She tried to thrash, but she was nothing but bones and loose skin.
"Drink it!" Brittany shrieked.
The hot liquid poured into Chelsea's mouth. It scalded her tongue, her throat. She gagged, choking, sputtering. The taste was wrong. It was chemically wrong.
She coughed violently, spraying a mouthful of the coffee and saliva all over the front of Brittany's pristine trench coat.
Brittany screamed. It wasn't a scream of fear. It was the scream of a spoiled child whose toy had broken. She jumped up, her face twisted in a snarl.
"You filthy bitch!"
She slapped Chelsea. Her ring caught Chelsea's cheek, tearing skin. Chelsea's head snapped back, hitting the headboard.
She slid down the pillows, coffee and blood dribbling from her chin. The burning sensation in her throat was spreading downward, into her chest. It felt like she had swallowed a coal.
She looked at Brittany, really looked at her, through the haze of pain. And she knew.
This wasn't a negotiation. This was an execution.
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Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge of Contents
New Release Novels
8.2
Ten years as childhood friends and three as husband and wife ended in her husband's betrayal, and her brothers' indifference. Diagnosed with mid-stage stomach cancer, Roselyn saw the truth of her life.
She walked away from everything, rising from an overlooked office worker to a leading figure in the tech world.
She outplayed her husband into signing divorce papers. When they met again, he begged, "I was wrong... take me back. I'd give you my stomach if I could."
Her once arrogant brothers pleaded too, but she felt nothing. After all, love that arrived too late meant nothing to her now-she simply didn't care anymore.
As they stood desperate, a man stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. "Why waste time on them? Look at me instead."
8.4
Grace, after three years of silence from a crash that stole her voice and family, finally uttered a hoarse syllable. It was her first sound, a breakthrough she desperately wanted to share with Josiah, her childhood protector. Instead, through a slightly ajar door, she heard his careless chuckle, followed by a sharp, entitled voice.
Alexandria's voice sliced through the air: "Josiah, are you really planning to bring that little mute to the banquet? She's a walking trailer park tragedy. It's embarrassing." Grace froze, waiting for Josiah to defend her. He didn't. Instead, he sighed, calling her "a responsibility" and "a lifeless ghost," then pulled Alexandria closer.
The words were serrated blades. Her silent devotion, her self-erasure for his peace, had made her a punchline. He was relieved she was broken. The bitter realization of his betrayal ignited a cold, white-hot fury.
Wiping away tears, Grace met Josiah, feigning her usual submissive smile, and quietly refused his "hush money." As he walked away without a glance, her inner voice was clear, sharp, and resolute: "I'm done playing your game."
8.0
BLURB
She had fought so hard to be able to bear her husband a child for years but all her efforts proved abortive and just when she thought that all her problems were finally over.
She was faced with a brutal betrayal from her husband, taking away her family company, cheating on her and most especially tied her in the marriage.
But everything takes a drastic turn when she realizes the baby she is carrying doesn't belong to her husband, rather a cursed werewolf who could never have a child.
Thrown into the world of the werewolves, Daisy realizes she is more than she thinks, but will she be able to navigate the challenges that awaits her?
9.4
I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage.
But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death.
As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket.
Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her.
Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved.
I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies.
They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die.
I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred.
Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me?
Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12.
It was exactly three days before the world ended.
When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly.
"Just tell me where to send the money, Mom."
This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry.
9.6
In the two years after I married Daniel Carter, my private photos had gone viral nine times, and Daniel had been taken into custody ten times.
Because every time his mistress, Emily Morgan, was unhappy, she would leak my private photos all over the internet.
I, Claire Parker, never let it slide. I reported every shady business Daniel was involved in and personally sent him behind bars.
That lasted until an unexpected kidnapping. I took a bullet for him, one aimed straight at his heart, and he shielded me beneath his body, taking the brunt of the explosion for me.
After we survived, the man who had always been so cold-blooded knelt before me, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.
"Honey, let's leave the drama behind. I just want a peaceful life with you."
Right in front of me, he ordered his men to send his mistress out of Northhaven and never let her appear before him again.
In the third year after we reconciled, I carried my eight-month pregnant belly and brought him lunch.
But on the way there, I was hit by a car. The hospital issued three critical condition notices, yet they still could not save the baby.
Daniel rushed over, but he did not even spare me a glance. Instead, he pulled the woman who had hit me and her child into his arms, soothing her in a low voice.
"Don't be scared. I'll protect you and the child."
Only then did I realize that the woman who had hit me was the very mistress he had sent away three years ago.
When I demanded an explanation, Daniel brushed it off as if it were nothing. "She didn't do it on purpose. Don't take it out on her and her son. You can have a baby another time."
At that moment, I finally understood. They had gotten back together long ago.
I looked at him and nodded. "Don't worry, this will never happen again."
7.7
Not only was I drugged, blinded and assaulted. I was deceived into carrying a baby by a stranger I never knew. Then he appeared and took my child away.
I was sent to a militia by the father of my child. I thought I was rescued but I was recruited to be a weapon for killing. Who was manipulating me, I didn't know. The answers were far from what I knew.
Forced to blend into the world that I could never believe I would be to, a place where brutality reigned, kill or be killed was the only language. I have survived but he has to pay for everything he did to me, because I believed every phase of my life was set by him and him alone. Have I really survived?
Who would have thought, he existed twice in the same world? Do I really know who I should take revenge on? Him or the person I would sacrifice everything for?
Was my mother the one who orchestrated everything? What kind of pawn am I?
