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 4
The sound of Warren's footsteps faded into the silence of the massive house. The air in the hallway remained tight and heavy.
Cristin shifted her weight. She looked at the empty staircase, then back at Ava. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. Her lower lip trembled.
"Ava," Cristin whimpered. "Why did you speak to me like that? You broke my heart just now."
Jocelyn took a step forward, her natural empathy kicking in. "Ava, maybe you should-"
Ava held up her hand, silencing her mother. She kept her eyes locked on Cristin. She watched the tears spill over Cristin's cheeks. It was a flawless performance.
"Your fever is making you act crazy," Cristin sniffled, reaching into her pocket for a tissue. "I'm just trying to look out for you."
Ava looked at Cristin's left wrist. "Take off the bracelet."
Cristin froze. She quickly pulled her sleeve down over her wrist, hiding the gold metal. "What?"
"The Cartier Love bracelet," Ava said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "You bought it last Tuesday. You used the black card attached to my account. Take it off."
Cristin's face turned stark white. She stammered, "You... you told me I could borrow it for the gala."
Ava took a slow step forward. The physical distance between them vanished. "You claim you don't understand business. You claim you were just listening to Warren's advice." Ava tilted her head. "Your father was the executive secretary to the board for twenty years. He drafted the trust bylaws. You knew exactly what that contract meant."
The tears stopped falling from Cristin's eyes. The soft, victimized expression melted away, replaced by a hard, ugly glare.
"You don't deserve any of this," Cristin spat, dropping the tissue. "You are a stupid, spoiled brat who just happened to be born in the right bed."
Ava nodded slowly. "I was stupid. I was blind."
Ava reached out. Her hand moved fast. She grabbed the thin silver chain resting against Cristin's collarbone. It was a cheap friendship necklace they had bought at a boardwalk kiosk three years ago.
Ava closed her fist around the metal. She yanked her hand back.
The clasp snapped. The metal dug into Cristin's neck, leaving a thin red scratch before giving way. The cheap plastic beads strung along the chain scattered. They hit the hardwood floor, bouncing and rolling in every direction.
Cristin gasped, her hands flying to her neck. She dropped to her knees, instinctively reaching for the rolling beads.
Ava lifted her bare foot and brought her heel down hard on one of the blue plastic beads. It cracked into pieces under her weight.
Ava looked down at the top of Cristin's head. "Get out."
Heavy, measured footsteps echoed from the upper floor, descending toward the foyer. Sam Jones, the estate's head butler, was making his usual rounds to report on the evening's dinner preparations. He stopped as the tension in the hallway hit him, standing silently on the landing.
"Sam," Ava said. "Escort Miss Kerr off the property."
Sam stepped forward immediately. He did not ask questions. He extended his arm toward the stairs, his posture rigid and uncompromising. "This way, Miss."
Cristin stood up. Her face burned red with supreme humiliation. She looked at Ava, her chest heaving. She grabbed her designer purse from the floor and marched toward the stairs.
Ava leaned against the wooden railing of the hallway. She looked down into the grand foyer below, where three maids were dusting the chandelier.
"If she ever steps foot on this estate again," Ava said, her voice echoing loudly off the marble walls below, "call the police and have her arrested for trespassing."
The maids stopped working. They stared up at the stairs. Cristin's shoulders jerked. She practically ran out the front doors.
Ava watched the heavy doors close. She let out a long, slow breath. Her shoulders finally dropped.
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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.