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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 8

Chelsea ran down the stairs, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would crack a rib.

He knows. Or at least, he suspects.

That boy. Here. It was a variable she hadn't calculated. In her original timeline, she never broke the rules, never climbed to the roof. She was too busy following Brittany around. She had no idea he had been here.

What was his name? Hale. That's what the nurses had called him. A common enough name. But the way he looked at her... there was nothing common about him.

She reached the second-floor landing and leaned against the wall, gasping for air. She closed her eyes, trying to calm down.

Breathe, Chelsea. You are forty-three years old mentally. You are a trained fighter. He's just a man in his early twenties. And yet... the predatory stillness in him felt older than her own reincarnated soul. He wasn't a boy. He was a weapon in disguise.

But why was he hiding? That clinic in Switzerland catered to the children of the global elite. He wasn't some random kid. Was he in trouble?

Up on the roof, the man Chelsea knew as Hale watched the heavy iron door slam shut.

He waited a beat, then pulled a sleek, black phone from his pocket. It wasn't a standard smartphone; it was a custom prototype, encrypted military-grade tech.

He dialed a number.

"Speak," a distorted voice answered.

"I found her," he said. He walked to the edge of the roof, looking down at the students leaving the building. He spotted a figure with long brown hair hurrying toward the bus loop.

"Target confirmed?"

"Chelsea Molina. Senior. Get me everything on her. Not the school file-I want the real file. Medical history, family financials, the car crash. Everything."

"Copy that, Zero. Should we initiate protocol?"

"No," he said. He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, remembering the way she had looked at him. There was fear, yes, but there was recognition too. And steel. She hadn't flinched when he stepped close.

"I'll handle this personally," he said. "She's... interesting."

"Understood. Zero out."

He hung up. He lit another cigarette, ignoring the school policy he was supposedly paid to enforce.

He had come to Crestview to escape the sharks in his family's boardroom, to plan his next move in the shadows. He hadn't expected to find the only person who had ever made him feel human during those dark months in Switzerland.

She lied about not knowing him.

"Good," he murmured, exhaling a plume of smoke. "I like a challenge."

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