The Burned Wife Reborn For Spectacular Revenge
I lived my entire life in a beautiful, naive bubble, completely trusting my husband and my best friend.
That was until they tied me to a chair, slit my vocal cords, and set my family's estate on fire.
As the flames crept closer, my husband Demarco calmly crushed my diamond wedding ring under his leather heel.
My best friend Cristin walked in, leaning against his shoulder and pouring her champagne onto the floorboards to fuel the fire.
"Your grandfather didn't just have a stroke. The medication swap was incredibly easy to arrange."
Looking down at my bleeding body, they casually confessed to murdering the only person who had ever truly protected me, all to swallow the Bridges empire.
I couldn't even scream. I could only suffocate in the thick black smoke as they turned their backs and locked the heavy oak door behind them.
Why was I so blind? How could the two people I loved most treat me like disposable garbage?
In my final moments of agonizing pain and pure, concentrated fury, I pulled out the detonator my grandfather had secretly left me.
I pressed the button, blowing the estate and all of us to hell.
But the burning stopped.
When I opened my eyes, I was staring up at a pristine crystal chandelier.
I was fifteen years old again, lying in my childhood bedroom, right before my treacherous uncle and those parasites started tearing my family apart.
And I didn't come back empty-handed.
This time, I am not the naive heiress.
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Chapter 3
Ava twisted the brass doorknob hard. The heavy mahogany door scraped against the floorboards with a loud, grating screech.
The voices in the hallway stopped instantly. Warren, Jocelyn, and Cristin turned their heads.
Ava stood in the doorway. She wore a thin silk nightgown. Her bare feet were planted firmly on the oak floorboards. A streak of fresh blood stained the back of her left hand. Her face was pale from the fever, but her eyes were entirely devoid of warmth.
"Ava!" Jocelyn gasped. She rushed forward, pulling a cashmere shawl from her own shoulders to wrap around Ava.
Ava raised her right hand and gently pushed her mother's arm away. She looked Jocelyn in the eye, her gaze steady and commanding. Jocelyn froze, her breath catching in her throat. A sudden, chilling wave of unfamiliarity washed over her. She stared into Ava's dark, unwavering pupils, her maternal instincts screaming in confusion. Is this really my Ava? Jocelyn thought, her heart pounding against her ribs. That look... she looks like a stranger. Like a predator. She was startled, deeply unnerved by the sheer weight in her daughter's stare.
"You are sick, Ava," Warren barked. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Get back in bed. This is adult business."
Cristin stepped forward. She stretched her lips into a wide, sweet smile. She reached out to grab Ava's forearm. "Oh, sweetie, you look terrible. Let me help you back to-"
"Don't touch me," Ava said. Her voice was low, flat, and completely steady.
Cristin's hand stopped in mid-air. Her smile faltered. She stared at Ava, her eyes wide with confusion.
Ava walked past her. She stepped up to the walnut console table. She picked up the thick stack of legal documents Warren had slammed down earlier.
She flipped through the first three pages. Her eyes scanned the dense legal text. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in a cold smirk.
She dropped the papers back onto the table.
"This contract is completely useless even if Mom signs it," Ava said. Her voice was devoid of the usual teenage insecurity, replaced by a razor-sharp clarity. "You know exactly how Grandpa set up the trust. No money moves without the permission of the first-in-line heir. That is me. My mother's signature on this document means absolutely nothing, right, Uncle Warren?"
Warren's face lost its color. His jaw went slack. He stared at the fifteen-year-old girl who was supposed to be failing her high school math classes.
"The liquidity issue isn't real," Ava continued, taking a step toward him. "You diverted fourteen million from the operational accounts to cover your losses in the Cayman Islands. You need this merger to fill the hole before the quarterly audit."
Warren's face flushed deep red. The veins in his neck bulged. "You are delirious! The fever has cooked your brain!"
Ava did not blink. She stepped closer, invading his personal space. "Force her to sign it. Do it. Tomorrow morning, I will personally hand-deliver a request for a full forensic audit to the SEC."
Warren let out a harsh, mocking laugh, though his eyes darted nervously. "You think the SEC will listen to a child's nonsense? You have no proof. This is defamation, Ava, and I won't stand for it!"
"August 12th, four million to a shell company in Grand Cayman," Ava recited, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "September 3rd, another six million masked as consulting fees. You want me to keep going?"
The specific dates and amounts hit Warren like a physical punch. His chest stopped heaving. He realized the girl standing in front of him was not guessing. She knew the exact numbers.
"Without the Texas capital, the family gala this weekend will be a humiliating disaster," Warren hissed through his teeth. "We have vendors threatening to walk."
Ava reached out, grabbed the stack of documents, and ripped them in half. The thick paper tore with a loud, satisfying rip. She dropped the pieces into the woven wastebasket next to the table.
"I will attend the gala," Ava said. "I will handle the vendors."
"You?" Warren sneered. "With what money?"
Ava tilted her chin up. "I don't need money. I need Grandpa Conrad. He will attend the gala with me."
Warren and Cristin both stiffened. The mention of Conrad Bridges shifted the power dynamic entirely.
"He is too ill to leave the sanatorium," Warren said quickly.
"If he doesn't show up, I call an emergency board meeting and initiate impeachment proceedings against you," Ava said.
Warren stared at her. He had no leverage left. The legal trap was locked. He spun around, his heavy footsteps pounding against the floorboards as he headed for the stairs. "You are playing with fire, Ava."
Ava smiled. "I know." She watched him disappear down the staircase.
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8.9
Seventeen-year-old Nina Storm has spent her life running from her tragic past, her dormant wolf, and the dreams of a mysterious man she can't escape.
Raised by her protective father after her mother's death, she has never stayed in one place long enough to call it home. But everything changed when they return to their home, the Moonlight Pack.
Nina discovers that her mate is Zane, the pack's Alpha... a bond that defies werewolf laws and the pack's expectations. Their undeniable attraction is dangerous, and their bond threatens to disrupt the fragile balance of power within the pack.
When an attack on the pack shatters her world, Nina loses everything, including her life. But death isn't the end.
Reborn, her dormant wolf awakens giving her a newfound strength and powers, Nina must navigate a world of betrayal, love, and vengeance as she unravels the truth about her family, her mate bond, and the danger threatening to destroy everything she holds dear.
9.2
For four years, I was the Silvercrest Pack's biggest joke—a scentless, wolfless Omega who somehow became the Alpha's Luna.
I thought I was just naturally defective, until our fourth anniversary, when I overheard my husband Adrian talking to his Beta.
"I’ve been having the kitchens slip a silver-based compound into her meals since the day I marked her."
He confessed the poison was meant to suppress my inner wolf and keep my womb permanently barren. He only married me as a power play to make his highborn mistress, Seraphina, jealous. While I wept over my empty cradle and apologized to his family for my broken body, he was using pack funds to buy her custom luxury goods, tossing me the leftover wrapping paper. When I finally confronted him about the silver and tried to leave, he flew into a feral rage. He violently smashed my head against the marble vanity, leaving me bleeding on the floor, and locked the bedroom door behind him.
I lay there in the cold, staring at the pool of my own blood. My entire life, my endless pain, and my unborn pups were nothing but a cruel, calculated joke to the man who was supposed to be my Mate.
But Adrian didn't know I wasn't just a brainless Omega.
I wiped the blood from my face, climbed down the balcony trellis into the freezing rain, and pulled out an encrypted burner phone.
"The cage is broken. Initiate Phase Two."
7.8
The moment I saw my husband massaging his dead brother's pregnant mistress's feet, I knew my marriage was over.
He moved her into our home under the guise of "family duty," forcing me to watch as he prioritized her comfort over our vows.
The final betrayal came when she stole and deliberately broke my mother's priceless necklace.
When I slapped her for the desecration, my husband struck me across the face to defend her.
He had violated a sacred honor code by putting his hands on the daughter of another Don-an act of war.
I looked him in the eye and swore on my mother's grave that I would bring a bloody revenge upon his entire family.
Then I made one phone call to my father, and the demolition of his empire began.
8.1
I died on an apocalyptic battlefield, only to wake up pinned down by a lead-lined blanket of my own fat.
A violent download of memories hit me. I had transmigrated into the body of an exiled, sadistic noblewoman who was three million coins in debt.
The original owner was an absolute monster. She had purchased beastman guards just to torture them for fun. In the corner of the filthy room, a golden retriever boy cowered, his back shredded by her barbed whip. In the basement, a snake guard was frozen and scarred from constant electro-shocks. When the white tiger guard returned from hard labor, he looked at me with pure, murderous hatred, ready to tear me apart to protect the others. Even the local elites kicked down my door to mock my pathetic life and try to steal my men.
I was a decorated commander who bled for humanity. Why was I trapped in this ruined vessel, bearing the sins of a degenerate abuser?
It was all a setup by her sweet-faced cousin, Debera, who stole her royal life and sent her to this outer-rim hellhole to rot.
I gritted my teeth and plunged a military-grade gene repair serum into my arm, letting the agony burn away the black filth and weakness.
"The crazy woman you knew before is dead."
I tossed a medical kit to the trembling guards, loaded my old electromagnetic pistol, and headed for the deadly Demon Hunting Zone to start my revenge.
8.6
Alia bought her four-million-dollar Manhattan townhouse in cash the day before she married Jerel.
For three years, she worked eighty-hour weeks as a top architect to build their life, until an anonymous text shattered her reality.
It was a high-definition photo of her husband kissing his junior partner, followed by an eight-week ultrasound.
Alia didn't scream. She went home, only to find her mother-in-law throwing IVF brochures at her, screaming that she was a selfish, barren workaholic for not giving the family an heir.
Jerel played the perfect, gentle husband, wrapping his arms around her and urging her to rest.
But later that night, Alia caught them on a secret call with a lawyer.
They were plotting to blindside her with a divorce, claiming his minor financial contributions entitled him to the property, aiming to kick her out with a measly fifty-thousand-dollar settlement.
They wanted to steal her hard-earned home to raise his pregnant mistress's child.
Alia's jaw tightened until her teeth ached. She had paid for every single inch of that estate.
Did they really think her dedication to her career made her blind, weak, and easy to destroy?
She didn't shed a single tear.
Instead, she walked into the office of the city's most ruthless private equity billionaire and struck a dangerous deal to lock away all her assets in an irrevocable trust.
Days later, when Jerel handed her the settlement with a fake, sympathetic smile, Alia poured cold black coffee directly over the ink.
"Tell Tiffany she is never stepping foot inside my house," Alia said smoothly. "I'll see you in court."
7.6
My baby daughter died in the cold hospital, and I agreed to donate her heart to save another pup. I brought her ashes home in a small wooden box, seeking comfort from my mate.
But when I returned to the packhouse, I found a massive celebration. My Alpha mate wasn't away on patrol; he was throwing a grand Naming Ceremony for his sister's newborn. He didn't even know our daughter was dead.
"Give Lyra the gift. Now."
He impatiently demanded I hand over the box in my arms. When his sister's son tried to snatch it, I pushed him away to protect my baby's ashes. His sister immediately screamed, accusing me of trying to hurt her children out of jealousy.
Without asking a single question, my mate grabbed my wrist, ready to smash the box to teach me a lesson. To save my daughter's remains, I had to drop to the floor, bare my neck in ultimate submission, and lie that it was just my late father's relics.
He was disgusted by my tears. Later, when I tried to jump off the balcony to end my pain, he pulled me back—not out of love, but because my suicide would ruin his perfect party. He locked me in my room and ordered the maids to force me into a bright red dress for the evening feast.
Looking at the red silk that mocked my bleeding heart, my despair finally died, replaced by a cold, venomous hatred. I tucked a white funeral flower into my hair and walked out the door. This time, I was going to turn their joyous celebration into a living hell.