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Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge
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Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge Novel Cover

Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge

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.
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Chapter 10

Principal Henderson was sweating. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, looking at the man sitting in the guest chair.

"Mr. Hale," Henderson stammered, his voice hushed despite them being alone. "I... I really don't think this is necessary. Your... benefactor was very clear, of course, but a man of your... background... working security?"

Blaze sat comfortably, one leg crossed over the other. He looked entirely at home in the plush office, perhaps more so than the principal.

"It's what I want," Blaze said simply. "And you will pay me the standard wage. Minimum wage. The paperwork needs to look clean."

"But... the Board..."

"The Board answers to its donors," Blaze interrupted smoothly. "And some of your largest anonymous donors appreciate my desire for a... quieter life. Let's just say the people who fund your new stadium are friends of mine."

The encrypted burner phone on Henderson's desk buzzed. He jumped.

He picked it up. "Principal Henderson."

He listened for a moment, his face paling. "Yes. Understood. Full cooperation. Whatever he wants. Yes."

He hung up, his hands shaking.

"The message was clear," Henderson whispered. "You are to be given full access."

Blaze nodded. "Good. I want the personnel files. All of them. And the student records."

"That's highly irregular..."

Blaze just looked at him.

"Right away," Henderson squeaked. He turned to his computer and typed furiously. "Here. It's all on the server. I'll give you admin clearance."

Blaze stood up. "One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Chelsea Molina. Grade 12. Move her locker."

"Move it?"

"To the main hallway. Directly under Camera 4. The blind spot by the gym is... unacceptable."

Henderson blinked. "Okay. I'll have maintenance do it during second period."

"And Henderson?" Blaze paused at the door.

"Yes, Mr. Hale?"

"If anyone finds out why I'm really here... your friends with the stadium funding might find your offshore accounts. Clear?"

"Crystal," Henderson choked out.

Blaze walked out of the office. He pulled a file from his inside pocket-a paper copy he had swiped from the desk when Henderson wasn't looking.

It was Chelsea's file.

He opened it. A school photo stared back at him. She was smiling, but her eyes were sad.

He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb.

"I've got you," he whispered. "No one hurts you this time."

He closed the folder and walked down the hall, the heavy boots of his uniform echoing like a war drum.

The game had changed. And he was the one making the rules now.

Continue to next part

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