Reborn To The Wife of a Billionaire with Disabilities
Eileen woke up in a trashed hotel room, her head pounding with the pathetic memories of a despised Hollywood actress.
Outside the window, paparazzi were already screaming about her manufactured cheating scandal, but the real nightmare was waiting at her door.
Her paralyzed, billionaire husband, Carlisle Vinson, looked at her with pure disgust while his butler shoved a divorce settlement at her chest.
"Mr. Vinson is offering a severance package of fifty million dollars, provided you sign immediately and vacate the premises."
The original owner had left her an absolute mess.
Her trusted assistant had sold her room number to the press to frame her, and a playboy had scammed her out of her entire two million dollar life savings.
If she signed those papers and lost the Vinson family's protection, the breach of contract fees and her enemies in the industry would swallow her alive in days.
Eileen felt a cold fury override the original owner's lingering panic.
Why should she take the fall and be thrown out on the streets while the parasites who set her up lived out their wealthy fantasies?
She had died once, and she wasn't about to waste her second chance playing the victim.
Eileen slammed the heavy divorce folder shut right against the butler's chest.
"I'm not signing," she said with a terrifying, absolute calm.
She stepped behind her husband's wheelchair, ready to shield him from the cameras, secretly cure his dead legs, and make everyone who betrayed her bleed.
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Chapter 3
The second the call connected, a shrill scream filled the Maybach's cabin.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" Gwen's voice was so loud the phone's speaker crackled. "Do you know what you've done? You were photographed in a hotel stairwell! A stairwell, Eileen!"
Eileen winced. She picked the phone up by the edges and moved it a few inches away from her knee, trying to save her eardrums.
She glanced sideways.
Carlisle was leaning back against the plush leather seat. His hands were steepled over his stomach. He was staring at the phone with a predatory stillness, waiting for her to break down, waiting for the tears and the frantic, stupid excuses she always made.
Eileen waited for Gwen to pause for a breath.
"Gwen," Eileen said. Her voice was completely flat. It held zero inflection. "Take a breath. Shut your mouth. And listen to me."
A sharp intake of air hissed through the speaker. The aggressive, high-powered manager was stunned into silence by the sheer authority in Eileen's tone.
"The photos are garbage," Eileen stated, her words clipped and precise. "They show a blurry back and a dark corner. There is no facial recognition. There is no hard proof."
"The internet doesn't need hard proof!" Gwen snapped back, recovering her panic. "If we don't issue a statement in the next ten minutes, the sponsors are going to pull your contracts. The studio will recast your role!"
"If we issue a statement, we validate the rumor," Eileen countered instantly. "People will tear apart every word, looking for guilt. It makes us look desperate."
"So what do we do? Just bleed out?"
"We freeze it," Eileen commanded. "Total blackout. Turn off the comment sections on all my social media accounts immediately. Do not answer calls from any media outlets. You are unreachable."
Carlisle's steepled fingers twitched. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Second," Eileen continued, her brain working at lightning speed. A fragment of the original Eileen's petty gossip collection surfaced in her mind. Seraphina. The director. Of course. She smirked. "Call the PR team. Tell them to dig into Seraphina's files. I know she's been having an affair with her director. Leak it. Buy the trending spots. Bury my name under hers."
The cabin was dead silent except for the hum of the tires.
Carlisle's gaze shifted from the phone to Eileen's face. His jaw unclenched. The woman sitting next to him was executing a flawless, ruthless crisis management strategy. It was textbook diversion and suppression.
Gwen was quiet for a long ten seconds.
"Fine," the manager finally said, her voice tight but compliant. "Where are you right now? Do I need to send a secure car?"
Eileen turned her head. She looked directly into Carlisle's icy eyes.
"No," Eileen said into the phone, holding his gaze. "I'm with my husband. We are on our way home."
"You're with-what?!" Gwen gasped.
Eileen pressed her thumb down on the red icon. The call ended.
She held the power button until the screen went black, then tossed the phone into her leather handbag. She leaned back against the headrest and let out a long, slow exhale.
"What game are you playing?"
Carlisle's voice was a low rumble in the quiet car. It was thick with suspicion.
Eileen rolled her head on the headrest to look at him. His face was a perfect, emotionless mask, but the tension in his neck betrayed him.
She smiled. It was a bright, genuine curve of her lips.
"I died once," she said softly. "I woke up and realized being a vain, stupid girl wasn't worth the energy. I decided to use my brain."
The words 'died once' made Carlisle's eyelids flutter. A strange, heavy weight settled in his chest. He heard the exhaustion beneath her words, a kind of ancient fatigue that didn't belong to a twenty-four-year-old actress.
Eileen didn't elaborate.
Her eyes drifted down. She noticed the air conditioning vents pointing toward the back seat. The air blowing out was crisp and cool. Carlisle was wearing a wool suit, but his legs were motionless. Paralyzed limbs couldn't regulate temperature.
Eileen leaned forward, her leather shoes pressing into the floor mats.
She reached into the storage compartment behind the passenger seat. Her fingers brushed against a folded cashmere blanket. She pulled it out.
Carlisle watched her every move, his body tensing, ready to reject whatever she was doing.
Eileen shook the blanket out with a quick snap of her wrists. Without asking, without hesitating, she draped the soft cashmere over his thighs and knees. She tucked the edges in slightly to trap the heat.
Carlisle's hands jerked upward, a reflex to push her away.
But Eileen was already retreating. She slid back into her seat, her hands resting quietly in her lap. She didn't linger. She didn't look for gratitude.
Carlisle stared at the blanket covering his dead legs. His fingers curled inward, hovering an inch above the fabric. He slowly lowered his hands, letting them rest on the cashmere. He didn't throw it off.
The Maybach glided out of the city traffic.
The concrete skyline gave way to towering palm trees and lush, manicured hedges. The car slowed down as it approached a massive set of wrought-iron gates. The gold crest of the Vinson family gleamed in the afternoon sun.
The security guards snapped to attention and the gates swung open silently.
The car rolled up the long, winding driveway, the tires crunching softly against the gravel. The sprawling, classical architecture of the Bel Air estate loomed ahead.
The car came to a smooth stop under the grand portico.
Mr. Ainsworth stepped out of the front seat immediately. He walked around to the back and pulled the heavy door open, bowing his head slightly.
"We have arrived, sir. Madam."
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7.2
Blaire woke up in a Manhattan penthouse, her body covered in bruises and her innocence stolen.
Before she could process the terror, her adoptive sister Danita burst in, acting heartbroken and accusing Blaire of shamelessly seducing the powerful Kamryn Lane. Kamryn threw a one-million-dollar check at Blaire's bleeding face, calling her a calculating gold digger.
That night, Blaire overheard a conversation in the family study that shattered her entire reality.
"Once she gives birth to the Lane family's seed, we'll stage an accident, drain her blood, and transplant her healthy heart into your chest."
Her adoptive mother and Danita were celebrating the success of their trap. She wasn't an adopted daughter; she was a living organ bank and a disposable surrogate. Even her adoptive brother, Calhoun, knew everything, trapping her in the dark hallways with a sick, possessive obsession to ensure she never escaped.
The horrific truth suffocated her. The family that had taken her in had raised her like livestock for slaughter. How could they smile at her every day while planning to carve out her heart?
Terrified but burning with a desperate will to survive, Blaire swallowed a Plan B pill to ruin their surrogate plot and fled the estate. To get the money and power she needed to crush her adoptive family, she pulled out Kamryn Lane's business card. This time, she would make a deal with the devil.
7.3
Eloise was the untouchable Brandt family heiress, just one audition away from landing a lead movie role and escaping her golden cage.
But overnight, her family's empire completely collapsed.
With her father dying of heart failure, her mother forced her to beg the only man who could save them: Christian Clarke.
Christian was the ruthless billionaire who had publicly humiliated Eloise in college, ripping up her love letter in front of a laughing crowd.
Now, he tossed a fifty-million-dollar acquisition contract on the table.
"What exactly is the Brandt heiress putting up for sale today?"
To secure her father's medical care, Eloise was forced to sign a suffocating marriage contract, selling herself as a corporate tax shield.
He moved her into his freezing penthouse and treated her like a purchased asset. He mocked her attempts to cook him dinner, yet pinned her against the wall with punishing, possessive kisses whenever she tried to pull away.
Eloise's pride was entirely shattered.
She didn't understand why he was doing this. If he hated her so much and only wanted revenge, why did his touch carry such an agonizing, desperate heat?
Determined to survive, she went to her final audition and miraculously won the lead role, crying tears of joy because she had finally earned something on her own.
She had no idea that the cold-blooded monster sleeping beside her had just secretly threatened to destroy all of Hollywood to give it to her.
8.4
Everly spent four years playing the perfect, accommodating wife to Carson Moss, swallowing every grievance just to secure medical treatments for their sick daughter.
But at a high-society banquet she exhausted herself organizing, Carson's pregnant mistress crashed the party.
The woman shoved an ultrasound of Carson's "real heir" directly into Everly's frail grandfather's face.
The shock triggered a massive heart attack.
Carson refused to use his private helicopter to save the dying old man, choosing to protect his mistress and his company's IPO instead. Her grandfather died on the hospital table.
Instead of remorse, her mother-in-law demanded Everly publicly cover up the murder.
"You will do exactly as I say, or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."
When a battered Everly returned to the estate, she discovered her three-year-old daughter covered in dark bruises and pinch marks. Her in-laws were deliberately torturing her disabled child.
Everly couldn't comprehend how a family could be so utterly heartless. Her only family was murdered, her child was abused, and her husband threw a five-million-dollar check at her face as hush money.
They thought she would just break and quietly disappear.
But when a terrifyingly powerful billionaire unexpectedly blocked Carson's security team from locking her up, Everly finally saw her window.
She grabbed her sleeping daughter and ran out into the freezing storm, making a blood-bound vow to make the entire Moss family bleed.
9.3
Grace finally decided to end her toxic, one-sided relationship with Adelbert, the arrogant heir to a global empire, by texting him to terminate their family trust.
His response was a single, freezing word: "Done."
When they accidentally bumped into each other in a law firm elevator, Adelbert looked right through her.
"I don't know her," he stated coldly to his frat brothers, treating her like invisible trash.
Humiliated and completely exhausted, Grace sought an escape in a brutal shooter game called PUBG.
But by a sick twist of fate, the random matchmaking threw her into a squad with Adelbert's frat brothers and a god-tier, toxic player named 'Ø'.
'Ø' relentlessly mocked her terrible skills, humiliating her and calling her a "pig" over the voice chat.
Yet, during the final shootout, this ruthless player suddenly threw his character in front of hers, taking a fatal barrage of bullets just to keep her alive.
Grace soon uncovered the terrifying truth: the top-ranked 'Ø' was actually Adelbert himself.
She was utterly confused and furious.
Why would the untouchable billionaire who ignored her legal texts and publicly humiliated her suddenly sacrifice himself for her in a cheap video game?
Refusing to swallow her pride in both the real and digital worlds, Grace sent a direct challenge to his gaming profile.
"I'll prove I'm not a pig."
Across the city, Adelbert stared at the notification, a dark smirk curling his lips, and clicked accept.
7.5
I am the biological daughter of the wealthy Fitzpatrick family, but I spent my childhood eating out of dumpsters.
When I was finally brought back to the estate at age seven, I thought I would experience my parents' love.
Instead, my biological parents looked at my dirty clothes with raw disgust. They only cared about Hallie, the fake daughter who lived like a princess.
The moment I walked in, Hallie hurled a heavy ceramic cup at my head, slicing my hand open.
"Get out of my house!"
My father didn't even look at the blood. He raised his hand to strike me, accusing me of bringing trailer park rules into his home.
In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged for their forgiveness. I endured their abuse, hoping they would eventually love me.
But they let the maids humiliate me, let Hallie steal my identity, and eventually threw me back onto the streets to die. Even my playboy Uncle Byron, the only person who ever showed me mercy, was driven to suicide by them.
I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much, or why a vicious liar deserved everything while I was treated like a jinx.
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the exact day I first returned to the estate.
As my father raised his hand to hit me, I didn't cower.
Instead, I looked at the family patriarch and pointed directly at my notorious, alcoholic uncle.
"I want him to be my new guardian."
7.0
I was the Stanton family heiress, engaged to the President's son to secure a vital military alliance.
But he cornered me in the White House sitting room, slamming a thick manila folder onto the marble table.
"I said, sign the annulment agreement, Hester."
He looked at me like I was dirt, demanding I step aside so he could be with a manipulative intern named Tricia.
In my past life, I was a naive lamb. I cried and begged him not to end it. My devotion was rewarded with absolute cruelty. He ordered my bones broken and my reputation completely shredded. My trusted assistant forced poison down my throat, and I was left to die with a rope burning my neck.
Until my last breath, I didn't understand. I had done everything perfectly for the family. Why did my unwavering loyalty only bring me a gruesome death? Why did the monsters who tortured me get to live happily in the highest seats of power?
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating terror of the noose suddenly washed away. I was sixteen again, staring at the exact same annulment papers.
"Hester, please. Just let us be happy," Tricia whimpered, reaching out her trembling hand.
This time, I didn't cry. I picked up the solid gold fountain pen, stabbed it violently through the center of the contract, and prepared to drag the entire First Family straight to hell.