Reborn To Swap Husbands With My Sister
The sensation of falling wasn't like flying; it was heavy, violent, and smelled of burning flesh. Above us, on the crumbling balcony of the Sears manor, Duke Cato Sears turned his back, shielding his cousin Bianca from the smoke as he walked away, leaving my sister Blossom and me to drop into the abyss.
As the darkness slammed shut like an iron door, I realized my entire life had been a cruel script written by the people I called family.
In my first life, I was the sacrificial lamb of the Dawson manor, sold to a man who eventually watched me die without blinking. My sister Blossom had pushed me into Cato's arms to avoid his rumors, only to laugh when the fire finally consumed us both. My father had measured my value like a piece of livestock, and my step-grandmother didn't even acknowledge my existence while I was being led to the slaughter.
I died in that fire, feeling the heat scorch my skin and the weight of a hatred so potent it tasted like bile. I spent twenty years being the weak, manipulated shadow of a girl, only to end up as nothing more than a phantom scorch mark on a "hero's" estate.
I couldn't understand why my own blood treated my life like a game they could discard. The injustice of it all burned hotter than the flames that took my last breath.
Then, I sat up, sucking in air that tasted of lavender and air conditioning, not smoke. I was back in my bedroom, three days before the engagement ball that ruined my life. Blossom stood at the door, her "sweet" mask slipping as she tried to manipulate me into the Duke's path again.
She thought she was the only one who had come back, but she didn't realize that this time, I was going to let her have exactly what she wanted: the Duke, the bankruptcy, and the living hell that awaited her in that house.
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Chapter 3
The air by the pool was cooler, heavy with the scent of chlorine and night-blooming jasmine.
Bianca Sears stood perilously close to the edge of the water. She was laughing at something one of her sycophants had said, swaying on her heels. She was drunk. Sloppy.
Andria stopped a few feet away.
Blossom marched up behind her, her heels clicking aggressively on the stone tiles. She grabbed Andria's arm, her nails digging into Andria's flesh.
"Go get Bianca's shawl," she hissed, pointing to a bench on the other side of the pool. "She's shivering. It's a good chance to show Cato how thoughtful we are."
We. As if she would ever share the credit.
"Okay," Andria said meekly.
She pulled her arm free and walked toward Bianca. She didn't head for the shawl. She headed for the space directly behind Bianca.
Blossom followed, hovering like a vulture, ready to push Andria or scold her if she messed up.
Andria timed it perfectly.
As she passed Bianca, Andria stumbled. It was a small, calculated misstep. Her shoulder bumped into Bianca's arm. Not hard. Just enough.
"Oh!" Andria gasped.
Bianca's center of gravity shifted. She flailed, her arms pinwheeling.
"Help!" she shrieked.
Her hand shot out, grasping for anything to anchor her. Her fingers tangled in the tulle of Blossom's pink skirt.
Blossom's eyes went wide. She tried to pull back, but the momentum was already against her.
Splash.
The sound was enormous. Water sprayed up onto the deck, soaking Andria's velvet shoes.
"My dress!" Blossom screamed, surfacing and spitting out water. Her wig was askew, revealing the dark roots underneath. Her mascara was already running down her cheeks in black rivulets.
Bianca was thrashing next to her, clearly too intoxicated to swim properly.
Andria fell back onto the dry tiles, landing gracefully on her hip. She pressed her hands to her mouth. "Help! Someone help! They fell in!"
The commotion drew everyone's attention. The French doors flew open.
Cato burst onto the terrace. He saw the two women in the water. He didn't hesitate. He dove in, uniform and all.
He swam past Blossom.
He wrapped his arm around Bianca, pulling her against his chest. "I've got you," he said, his voice thick with panic. "I've got you, B."
Blossom was left paddling like a drowning dog. "Cato! Cato, help me!"
Cato looked annoyed. He had one arm around his beloved cousin-lover, and now he had to deal with the nuisance. He reached out his other hand and grabbed Blossom's wrist, dragging her toward the steps.
It was a pathetic tableau. The Duke, soaking wet, clutching his cousin intimately while dragging Andria's sister like a sack of potatoes.
Cameras flashed. The paparazzi had found their way to the hedges.
Click. Click. Click.
This photo would be on every front page by morning. The Duke's Wet Threesome.
Andria sat on the ground, trembling. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing two perfect tears to roll down her cheeks.
But inside, she was laughing.
She looked up.
On the balcony above, Prince Cameron lowered the binoculars he had been holding. Even from this distance, she could see the pallor of his skin. He looked like a ghost.
He turned to the man standing beside his wheelchair-his head of security, Mason. He said something, then looked back down at Andria.
Their eyes locked.
He didn't look concerned. He looked... amused.
He knew.
He had seen the stumble. He had seen the setup.
Andria didn't look away. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her head in a deep, respectful nod. A bow.
I see you seeing me.
Cameron's lips quirked upward. He raised a hand in a mock salute, then wheeled himself back into the shadows.
Down below, Cato hauled the women onto the deck. Blossom threw herself at him, shivering violently. "Oh, Cato, I was so scared!"
She buried her face in his wet chest, sobbing.
Bianca, meanwhile, refused to let go of Cato's hand. She glared at Blossom with pure malice.
The crowd murmured. The scandal was palpable.
Andria stood up and grabbed two towels from a nearby cart. She walked over and handed one to Cato, and one to Bianca.
She left Blossom shivering in the cold.
"Are you alright, Your Grace?" Andria asked Cato, her voice soft.
Cato looked at Andria. He looked at the dry, elegant woman in black velvet, then down at the soggy, hysterical mess clinging to his jacket.
Regret flashed in his eyes.
"I'm fine," he grunted.
Andria turned and walked away, leaving them to their mess.
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7.9
June was an ordinary architect struggling to pay rent, completely estranged from her high-society mother.
But one night, she was kidnapped and beaten in an abandoned warehouse by Gage Becker, the city's most ruthless billionaire, who demanded payback for her mother's sins.
Gage pointed a high-definition camera at June's battered face and video-called her mother, threatening to release the footage and ruin her upcoming billion-dollar wedding.
"I will never throw away a billion-dollar marriage for a useless daughter."
Her mother's cold voice echoed through the warehouse before the line went dead.
From that moment, Gage systematically destroyed June's life. She was publicly humiliated and forced to hack off her own hair with a cigar cutter. She was blacklisted from every firm in the city, evicted by her landlord, and violently mugged in a freezing New York blizzard.
Curled up in an icy tunnel waiting to die, June felt a suffocating despair. She hadn't spoken to her mother in months. Why did she have to endure this hell for a woman who didn't even care if she lived or died? Why was a monster like Gage so obsessed with driving her to the grave?
When Gage's armored Maybach pulled up, he stepped into the snow to mock her, waiting for her to finally surrender and beg for his mercy.
But the absolute humiliation snapped the last thread of June's sanity.
Instead of crying, she lunged forward with feral energy and sank her teeth directly into the devil's flesh.
8.4
On the night before her wedding, Navia Harrison discovers her fiancé in bed with her step-sister-and worse, the two of them are already planning how to get rid of her after the marriage.
Humiliated and consumed by hatred, Navia exposes their affair during the wedding ceremony itself, destroying both families' reputations in a single move.
Then, she meets him.
Leonel Crawford - the cold and dangerously powerful head of the Crawford family. Untouchable. Ruthless. A man no woman has ever been able to keep close.
He's also her ex-fiancé's uncle.
One impulsive proposal changes everything.
"If you need a wife... marry me instead."
"Honestly... we'd make a pretty good match."
8.4
I stood in front of New York City Hall in my vintage lace wedding dress, my heart pounding with a nervous joy. I was minutes away from marrying Bradford Sterling, a move I thought would finally help me reclaim my mother’s legacy from my family’s crumbling empire.
But as I reached for his arm, he flinched. A black Lincoln Navigator screeched to the curb, and his mother, Victoria, stepped out, slamming a restructuring document against his chest. She didn't even look at me as she delivered the killing blow: my sister, Eden, had just seized every cent of my voting rights and family trust.
"Marrying her is a net negative yield," Victoria said coldly. Bradford didn't fight for me; he didn't even blink. He simply pushed my hand away and adjusted his tie as if I were a junk bond he was ready to offload. Seconds later, my sister Eden arrived in a red Ferrari, wearing her own bridal gown, and stepped into my place by his side.
I was standing on the pavement, humiliated in front of a crowd, while the man I loved for three years treated me like a failed transaction. My sister laughed in my face, calling me a "liability" while she stole my wedding and my life. The grief was instant, but the rage that followed was a white-hot rupture in my chest.
I didn't just walk away; I slapped the life out of Bradford and dove into the first black SUV I saw, desperate to escape. I didn't check the plates, and I didn't see the man in the wheelchair sitting in the shadows of the backseat.
I had just "carjacked" Jefferson Montgomery, the most dangerous billionaire in the city. To save him from a parole violation during a sudden police raid, I agreed to a fake marriage that very night. They wanted to treat me like a negative asset? Fine. They have no idea that they just handed a world-class hacker the keys to the Montgomery fortune, and I’m going to liquidate them all.
9.0
I had been a wife for exactly six hours when I woke up to the sound of my husband’s heavy breathing. In the dim moonlight of our bridal suite, I watched Hardin, the man I had adored for years, intertwined with my sister Carissa on the chaise lounge.
The betrayal didn't come with an apology. Hardin stood up, unashamed, and sneered at me. "You're awake? Get out, you frumpy mute." Carissa huddled under a throw, her fake tears already welling up as she played the victim. They didn't just want me gone; they wanted me erased to protect their reputations.
When I refused to move, my world collapsed. My father didn't offer a shoulder to cry on; he threatened to have me committed to a mental asylum to save his business merger. "You're a disgrace," he bellowed, while the guards stood ready to drag me away. They had spent my life treating me like a stuttering, submissive pawn, and now they were done with me.
I felt a blinding pain in my skull, a fracture that should have broken me. But instead of tears, something dormant and lethal flickered to life. The terrified girl who walked down the aisle earlier that day simply ceased to exist. In her place, a clinical system—the Valkyrie Protocol—booted up.
My racing heart plummeted to a steady sixty beats per minute. I didn't scream. I stood up, my spine straightening for the first time in twenty years, and looked at Hardin with the detachment of a surgeon looking at a tumor.
"Correction," I said, my voice stripped of its stutter. "You're in my light."
By dawn, I had drained my father's accounts, vanished into a storm, and found a bleeding Crown Prince in a hidden safehouse. They thought they had broken a mute girl. They didn't realize they had just activated their own destruction.
8.4
Kenzie, the former leader of the Aegis Alliance, opened her eyes to find herself reincarnated as a freezing, abandoned infant in a wet cardboard box.
She was rescued from the rain by Devin Ayers, a ruthless billionaire, and rushed to a private hospital, but a deadly threat was already waiting for her.
The ER doctor, Desiree Dillon, approached her with a syringe. Through a sudden burst of telepathy, Kenzie read the doctor's dark thoughts. Desiree wasn't trying to cure her fever. She deliberately ignored the safe dosage, drawing a lethal amount of Diazepam to permanently silence the crying baby and disguise it as sudden infant death.
"This will make it all go away," Desiree smiled gently, the needle glinting as it moved inches from Kenzie's arm.
Trapped in a weak, paralyzed three-month-old body, Kenzie couldn't run, fight, or even speak. She could only watch the poison inch closer.
How could she survive death only to be assassinated in a hospital bed by a corrupt doctor? She used to command armies. The sheer injustice and terror of dying completely helpless in this tiny body ignited a blinding rage inside her.
Refusing to be a victim again, Kenzie pushed her newborn brain to its absolute limit and unleashed a desperate telepathic scream directly into the billionaire's mind.
"Poison! She's trying to kill me!"
Devin, who had been looking away, suddenly froze, his icy gray eyes locking onto the doctor's wrist.
7.3
I was the daughter of a loyal Mafia Capo, arranged to marry the Underboss of the Moretti family. But I gave my heart to his brother, Marco, who promised to break the betrothal and protect me.
When I went into premature labor in a freezing, abandoned warehouse, Marco didn't come to save me. He sent my cousin, Caitlin.
With a mocking smile, she told me Marco despised my "filthy Irish blood" and that my pregnancy was just a temporary amusement.
Then, she pulled out a hunting knife.
She pinned me down, sliced my abdomen open, and smothered my newborn baby right in front of my eyes.
"He agreed that this inconvenience needs to be removed," she whispered.
She revealed that she and Marco had orchestrated my father's murder to secure Mafia shipping routes. Then, she casually knocked over a kerosene lantern, locking the heavy metal door to let me and my dead child burn to ash.
While they headed to a high-society gala to celebrate my "accidental" death and their new power, I lay in the roaring flames.
As the fire blistered my skin and I held my baby's lifeless body, my suffocating despair froze into a razor-sharp rage. My entire life, my family, and my love had been built on their calculated lies.
But they made one fatal mistake. I didn't die in that inferno.
I dragged my ruined body out of the ashes, wrapped myself in a blood-soaked coat, and walked straight into their celebration banquet to become their goddamn reckoning.