Reborn with 10 Billion to Conquer the Apocalypse
She has thirty days. Ten billion dollars. And a quantum space that can swallow anything.
Kinsey Elliott died cold, starving, and betrayed—pushed into a frozen abyss by the uncle who stole her fortune.
Then she woke up.
Back in her penthouse. Back in her perfect body. Back with a silver mark on her wrist that lets her store entire warehouses of supplies in a dimension where time stands still.
The world has thirty days until a global ice age freezes everything.
Her family has thirty days to try to lock her away, steal her money, and have her killed.
And Kinsey? She has thirty days to turn ten billion dollars into an invisible fortress—and burn every last one of them to the ground.
She's not surviving the apocalypse.
She's building it.
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Chapter 5
The second orderly didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.
Crack-crack-crack.
Two electrified prongs shot out of the taser, trailing thin copper wires, flying straight toward Kinsey's chest.
Kinsey dropped. She executed a perfect, tight tactical roll across the Persian rug. The prongs hissed past her shoulder, embedding themselves into the drywall behind her. Blue sparks showered down onto the floor.
As Kinsey came out of the roll, her hand brushed against the glass coffee table. Her fingers locked around the base of a heavy, solid bronze replica of David's head.
She didn't even stand up fully. From a crouched position, she hurled the heavy bronze statue like a cannonball.
It flew across the room and smashed directly into the center of the orderly's face.
A sickening crunch of shattering cartilage echoed through the penthouse. The orderly screamed, dropping the taser. Blood exploded from his ruined nose, spraying across his white shirt. He collapsed backward, clutching his face, writhing on the floor.
The doctor screamed, his legs giving out. He fell to his knees, dropping the syringe, trembling violently.
Clemence's face turned purple with rage. He couldn't comprehend how his fragile niece had just dismantled two professional enforcers in five seconds. Blinded by anger, he charged at her, pulling his fist back to punch her in the face.
Kinsey didn't step back. She raised her left forearm, blocking his clumsy strike with bone-jarring force. At the exact same moment, she drove her right fist deep into his soft stomach.
Clemence's eyes bulged out of his skull. All the air left his lungs in a violent whoosh. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach, violently dry-heaving onto the expensive rug.
"You little bitch!" Loretta shrieked. She lunged at Kinsey, her long, manicured acrylic nails aimed straight for Kinsey's eyes.
Kinsey planted her feet. She swung her arm back and delivered a brutal, open-handed slap directly across Loretta's heavily contoured face.
The sound was like a gunshot.
The force of the blow spun Loretta around. She crashed face-first into the leather sofa. The side of her face swelled instantly, turning a dark, angry red. She spat a mouthful of blood and a chipped veneer tooth onto the cushions.
In the corner, Analia let out a terrified squeal. Her phone slipped from her shaking hands and shattered on the marble floor.
Kinsey slowly turned her head. She locked eyes with her cousin.
Kinsey took a step forward. The heavy soles of her tactical boots crunched over the broken glass of Analia's phone screen. The sound was deafening in the quiet room.
Analia backed up until her spine hit the wall. Tears streamed down her face, ruining her mascara. "P-please... Kinsey, please..."
Kinsey reached out. She grabbed Analia's jaw, her fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of her cheeks.
"Keep your mouth shut," Kinsey whispered, her breath cold against Analia's face. "Or I'll rip it off."
She let go, letting Analia slide down the wall in a sobbing heap.
Kinsey walked back to where Clemence was still gasping for air on the floor. She grabbed him by his expensive silk tie and hauled him halfway up. He gagged as the silk tightened around his throat.
Kinsey picked up the thick medical evaluation report from the table. She slapped the heavy stack of papers hard against Clemence's sweaty cheek.
"This penthouse, the trust fund, the assets-they are already gone, Clemence. Transferred offshore. You have nothing," Kinsey said, her voice dripping with venom. "If you ever step foot in my territory again, I won't just break your bones. I will end you."
She shoved him backward. Clemence scrambled away like a beaten dog.
Kinsey walked over to the crystal bar cart. She poured herself three fingers of neat whiskey. She took a sip, letting the alcohol burn down her throat, settling the adrenaline spikes in her blood.
"Take your trash and get out," Kinsey commanded, not looking at them.
Clemence, coughing and clutching his stomach, leaned heavily on a sobbing Loretta. The doctor dragged the bleeding orderly toward the door. They piled into the elevator, their faces pale with terror. None of them dared to say a word.
The elevator doors slid shut.
Kinsey downed the rest of the whiskey. She set the glass down with a hard clack. The physical war had started.
She pulled her phone out and opened a secure Tor browser. She dialed a number she had memorized from her past life-a top-tier private investigator operating on the dark web.
"I need a job done," Kinsey said when the line clicked open. "I want a sworn affidavit from the middleman who arranged the hit on my parents, along with offshore bank records showing the exact payment transfer from a shell company linked to Clemence. I need it in twenty-four hours."
She hung up. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the city. She needed to bleed Clemence dry before he could strike back.
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7.6
After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built.
Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant.
She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday.
Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite.
Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him.
The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note.
"Good Job."
For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM.
With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work.
She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal.
But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President.
Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train.
"You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.
9.0
Adaline Poole thought she had escaped her family's toxic corporate grip by moving to London and adopting a stray cat named Monty.
But when she returns to her empty apartment, her father delivers a chilling ultimatum: he has kidnapped the cat and will euthanize it by morning unless she accepts an arranged marriage with Barron Cooke, a notoriously elusive billionaire.
Her entire family becomes complicit in her sale. Her mother demands she secure their elite status, and her brother secretly spies on her social media to feed Barron her every move. Horrified to discover Barron is a thirty-three-year-old "fossil" twelve years her senior, Adaline resorts to sabotage. She goes to a Soho club, takes a scandalous photo with a frat boy, and sends it to the old billionaire to disgust him into canceling their upcoming dinner.
But her rebellion backfires horribly when the frat boy spikes her drink with a powerful narcotic. As her body burns with a terrifying, feverish heat, she collapses in a dark corridor. Stripped of her phone and betrayed by her bloodline, she is left utterly defenseless as a predator approaches to drag her away.
Suddenly, the heavy fire door is kicked open by a towering, terrifyingly handsome stranger who effortlessly neutralizes her attacker.
"Please... help me," Adaline begs, deliriously throwing her burning body into his arms.
She has absolutely no idea that the handsome savior she is clinging to is Barron Cooke himself.
8.1
Terminally ill.
Betrayed by her husband.
Abandoned by the only family she had.
Ariel died with nothing... and no one.
But fate gives her a second chance.
Reborn three years before her death, she walks away from the man who ruined her life-and takes back everything they stole.
Her love.
Her identity.
Her power.
Now, the cold billionaire who once ignored her can't take his eyes off her.
The brother who abandoned her starts to regret.
Too late.
Because this time, Ariel isn't the woman who begs.
She's the one who makes them kneel.
9.0
Once a pampered princess, Alaina now clutched a deactivated American Express card, staring out at Central Park. Her family’s fortune was gone, her life, over.
Her family's Hamptons estate, a four-generation legacy, was seized by Dyer Capital. The name hit her: Hardin Dyer, the poor boy she’d once scorned, had returned.
Hardin marched in, serving a divorce agreement. He'd orchestrated her family's downfall for revenge, giving her 24 hours to vacate his property. Penniless, her father faced prison, needing $50 million. Her mother forced her to beg Hardin, who sneered, offering the money for her body. Alaina ripped up the contract.
Hours later, her father had a heart attack. Desperate, she became "Lexi," a club girl enduring humiliation. In the Viper Room, Hardin's lackeys demanded she lick whiskey off his shoe for $10,000. Hardin watched. Outside, her brother Ashton's hand was threatened for a $3 million debt. Spirit shattered, Alaina returned, knelt on broken glass, offering to sign. But Hardin declared her family "dead," offering $10 million for her body, commanding her to use her mouth.
In a furious act of defiance, Alaina threw whiskey in his face, snatched the check, and fled. Yet, when he finally took her, a searing, foreign pain and blood on the sheets revealed a shocking truth: he had never touched her three years ago. Why had he let her believe such a monstrous lie?
8.2
Trapped in a deadly fire at my own engagement party, my lungs burned as I reached a shaking hand out to my fiancé for help.
He stopped and looked right at me through the thick smoke. But instead of saving me, he wrapped his jacket tightly around my stepsister and ran, leaving me to burn.
I barely survived. But when I woke up in the hospital, my father and stepmother didn't even ask about my injuries.
They threw a stack of legal documents right onto my bed.
"Sign the papers, Avah. Step aside. Jaclyn is far better suited to be Kain's wife."
My fiancé then stormed into the room, publicly humiliating me with false rumors of an illegitimate child and threatening to bankrupt my company.
Four years of swallowing my pride to be the perfect, obedient pawn for our family business, all for nothing.
They threw me to the wolves without a single second of hesitation, expecting me to just lower my head and cry like I always did.
But the fire had burned that pathetic version of me away.
I ripped out my IV, letting the blood drip onto the sheets, and tore their contracts straight down the middle.
"The engagement is over."
I threw my million-dollar ring right at my ex's chest, then picked up the phone to call my trust lawyer. They wanted to take everything from me, so I was going to make them bleed.
7.2
Dr. Kylee Mcdonald was a brilliant medical examiner whose life was defined by cold, mechanical precision.
But that perfect control shattered when her phone rang in the middle of an autopsy.
It was her best friend, Dana, whispering their old college distress code.
"Curtain call."
By the time Kylee and Detective Justice kicked down Dana's door, she lay dead on her couch, her skin a horrifying cherry-red from cyanide.
The crime scene was clumsily staged to frame a billionaire suitor, but soon, every single suspect linked to Dana turned up violently dead.
Internal Affairs pointed the finger at Kylee, accusing her of using her medical expertise to become a vigilante serial killer.
But the encrypted truth Kylee uncovered was far more chilling.
Dana had been severely abused by her boyfriend, and driven to the edge, she manipulated him into murdering their tormentors before executing him and taking her own life.
To avoid a public scandal, the police chief buried Dana's brilliant, terrifying manifesto.
Kylee's flawless mind short-circuited. She was a genius at reading the dead, so why had she been completely blind to the living hell her best friend endured right in front of her?
Three days later, while attending a formal gala to numb her grief, a nearby apartment building exploded in flames.
As Kylee examined the charred bodies pulled from the rubble, she realized the male victim was strangled long before the fire started.
She looked at the surviving mother, whose baby had just died in the blast, but the woman's eyes were completely, terrifyingly empty.
The alarm bells in Kylee's meticulously ordered brain began to chime, signaling that a new, deadly script had just begun.