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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 9

The next morning, Chelsea tried to convince herself that she had hallucinated the intensity of the encounter on the roof.

She dressed carefully. The uniform skirt, the blazer, the knee socks. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She needed to look harmless.

She walked toward the school entrance, scanning for the security booth. Usually, Old Man Miller sat there, asleep.

But today, the booth was empty.

Instead, a figure was leaning against the gate.

Hale.

He was wearing the uniform again, but he had tailored it. The shirt fit his broad chest perfectly, the sleeves strained against his biceps. He wore aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes, but Chelsea felt his gaze lock onto her the moment she stepped off the bus.

He was holding a clipboard, looking like the gatekeeper of hell.

Chelsea put her head down, trying to blend into a group of freshmen.

"Molina," his voice cut through the chatter.

She froze. Students parted around her like water around a stone.

She looked up. He beckoned her over with a single finger.

She walked over, hugging her books to her chest. "Is there a problem, Officer?"

He lowered his sunglasses, looking over the rim. "Your collar is crooked."

"What?"

Before Chelsea could react, he reached out. His fingers brushed the skin of her neck-warm, rough, electric. He adjusted the collar of her blouse, smoothing it down.

The intimacy of the gesture was shocking. It was something a lover would do, not a security guard.

Chelsea's breath hitched.

"There," he said, his voice low. "Much better."

"Get your hands off her!"

Bennet's voice.

Chelsea turned. Bennet and Brittany were standing there. Bennet looked furious, his face red. Brittany looked confused, looking back and forth between the guard and Chelsea.

"Who do you think you are touching a student like that?" Bennet demanded, stepping forward, puffing out his chest.

The guard slowly turned his head. He didn't take off the sunglasses. He just stared at Bennet.

The silence stretched. It became heavy, suffocating. He didn't say a word. He just radiated an aura of absolute, terrifying authority.

Bennet faltered. He stopped walking. His bravado evaporated. He looked like a poodle barking at a wolf.

"Is there an issue... son?" the guard asked. The word "son" was an insult, a reminder of the hierarchy.

Bennet swallowed hard. "I... she's my... friend."

"She didn't look like she needed your help," he said. He turned back to Chelsea. "Did you?"

Chelsea looked at Bennet, then at the guard.

"No," she said clearly. "I didn't."

He smirked. "Run along, children. Bell's ringing."

Bennet grabbed Brittany's hand and practically dragged her away, casting fearful glances over his shoulder.

Chelsea looked at the guard. "You enjoy scaring them."

"I enjoy order," he said, putting his sunglasses back up. "And I don't like pests."

He leaned in close to her ear. "Stop hiding, Chelsea. It doesn't suit you."

He tapped the clipboard against her shoulder and walked away, beginning his patrol.

Chelsea stood there, her skin burning where he had touched her.

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