The Jilted Heiress And Her Karmic Revenge
I woke up in a sweltering attic, my body covered in overlapping whip scars.
I was Alice Morrow, a top-tier occultist, but now I was trapped in the body of a girl who served as a human punching bag for the wealthy Wallace family.
Before I could even catch my breath, my adoptive sister Britney Wallace kicked the door open.
She pointed a silver revolver right at my forehead.
She had been siphoning my luck through a parasitic karmic tether, using me as a sink for all her misfortune.
"Go to hell, you useless freak," she screamed, pulling the trigger.
But she didn't know the absolute rule of the tether: any malicious attack reflects back to the sender.
The massive recoil blasted backward, snapping her wrist in half.
I walked out of that hellhole and was found by my biological family, the incredibly powerful Morrows.
But Britney wasn't done. She sent them deepfake photos to frame me for cursing them, and even planted a deadly amulet to kill my biological grandfather.
My own uncle threw the photos at me, his eyes full of disgust.
"She's a rabid dog raised by the Wallaces! She's been cursing her own blood!"
I didn't argue. I simply rolled up my sleeves to reveal the mangled flesh, burn marks, and protruding bones the Wallaces had left me with.
As my real family broke down in tears of agonizing guilt, I smiled and gripped my ancient copper coin.
It was time to show the Wallaces what real karma looked like.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 3
The truck rumbled down the interstate. Alice kept her eyes locked on the writhing black mass clinging to the back of Byron's neck. The curse was feeding on his vitality, thick and aggressive. Her eyes grew cold.
Byron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of her stare. He cleared his throat, desperate to fill the silence.
"So," he started, his voice gruff. "What subjects do you like at school?"
"History. Philosophy," Alice lied smoothly, leaning her body slightly forward. She closed the physical distance between them.
Byron's fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. His knuckles turned white.
"Those bastards probably didn't let you study properly," he said, his voice thick with suppressed anger. "Don't worry. Even if I have to sell scrap metal, I'll put you through college."
A genuine pang of warmth hit Alice's chest. She reached out her right hand.
"You have some dust here," she said softly, brushing her fingers against the shoulder of his flannel shirt.
The moment her skin made contact with the fabric, Alice silently chanted an ancient exorcism syllable in her mind.
A surge of invisible, razor-sharp arcane energy shot from her fingertips. It pierced directly into the core of the black curse.
The dark energy let out a silent, agonizing shriek. It dissolved instantly, melting away like snow hit by boiling water.
Byron suddenly gasped. He rolled his shoulders. The chronic, crushing migraine that had plagued him for months vanished in a split second. The heavy weight on his spine was just gone.
He cracked his neck, looking confused. He figured slamming that guard onto the hood must have popped a kink out of his back.
Alice pulled her hand back, leaning into the worn seat. She took another small bite of the dry sandwich.
Byron glanced at her in the rearview mirror. His eyes were soft. "Like I said, we might be poor, but I swear to God, you'll never suffer again."
Alice smiled and nodded. In her head, she was already calculating how many high-paying exorcism jobs she needed to take to buy her uncle a better truck.
The Ford exited the highway, merging onto a tree-lined boulevard on the outskirts of Boston. The traffic began to thicken.
Suddenly, a metallic scent flooded Alice's nose.
It wasn't physical blood. It was the scent of a fate line snapping.
She dropped the sandwich. Her hand dove into her pocket, pulling out three ancient copper coins covered in green patina.
Byron caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He thought she was playing with a toy. "I'll buy you the newest game console when we get home," he chuckled.
Alice didn't answer. She cupped the coins in her hands and shook them violently three times.
She tossed them onto the rough denim of her jeans.
The coins settled. The hexagram was absolute. Absolute death. A bloodbath.
Alice's head snapped up. Her eyes locked onto the massive intersection a hundred meters ahead.
The traffic light was green. Byron's foot shifted, pressing down on the gas pedal to speed through.
"Brake!" Alice screamed, her voice cracking like a whip. "Now!"
Byron jumped in his seat. The sheer authority in her voice shocked him. He turned his head, his mouth opening to ask why.
Alice didn't wait. She lunged across the console, her hands clamping onto the steering wheel. She violently jerked it to the right, aiming the truck toward the shoulder.
Byron panicked. Fearing the truck would flip and hurt her, he slammed his heavy work boot down on the brake pedal with all his strength.
The tires shrieked against the asphalt. The massive truck violently lurched forward, stopping less than three feet from the intersection's white line.
Horns blared behind them. Drivers screamed curses out their windows.
Byron's heart hammered against his ribs. He turned to Alice, his face red with anger, ready to scold her for grabbing the wheel.
He opened his mouth.
A massive, heavily loaded dump truck blew through the red light from the left. It was doing speeds well over the legal limit, its engine roaring with an unnatural, mechanical fury.
It didn't even brake.
The truck plowed directly into the intersection, violently T-boning three sedans that were crossing perfectly legally.
The sound of tearing metal was deafening. One of the sedans was pushed sideways, its gas tank rupturing as it scraped against the asphalt, sending a shower of sparks into the air that ignited a terrifying fireball.
Right in the exact spot where Byron's truck would have been.
You may also like
7.7
My fiancé always told me he loved me. But not long after our engagement, I woke up suffocating in the dark.
He was pressing a pillow over my face, his eyes cold and dead, while my half-sister stood by watching with fake pity.
They had orchestrated everything just to steal my trust fund.
It all started with a massive hotel scandal. They had drugged me, thrown a cheap escort into my bed, and brought a mob of paparazzi to ruin my reputation.
When my fiancé broke through the crowd, playing the heartbroken victim, he knelt down with a massive diamond ring.
"I know things have been hard, but I love you. If you come home with me, I will forgive all of this."
In my past life, I cried tears of gratitude and let him slide that ring onto my finger.
That ring sealed my death warrant. I lost my company, my dignity, and eventually, my life.
Until my lungs burned and my heart stopped, I didn't understand.
How could the people I trusted most plot my murder so ruthlessly?
Why did they have to tear my entire life apart?
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the morning of the hotel scandal, exactly one year ago.
But the man lying bare-backed in my bed wasn't a random escort.
It was Johnathan Chase, my family's biggest corporate rival and the most ruthless predator on Wall Street.
Listening to the paparazzi pounding on the door, I smiled coldly.
9.6
Areli was the hardest-working medic in the Blackridge Clan, but her efforts only earned her the title of a useless burden.
Her supposed lover, Eugene, and her senior mentor, Gloria, lured her to the edge of the deadly Blackwind Cliff and shoved her straight into the abyss.
She miraculously survived the freefall, only to return and find Gloria standing before the entire clan, wearing a mask of fake sorrow.
"Look! The traitor is back! She eloped with wild males!" Gloria shrieked.
Eugene stepped up, looking heartbroken, and publicly accused her of betraying his love.
The crowd erupted, raining hisses and boos upon her, completely ignoring the horrific, life-threatening bruises that covered her battered body.
They blindly believed the lies, treating her like garbage while Gloria secretly plotted to poison her water and destroy her completely.
Areli felt a chilling sense of betrayal. How could the man who claimed to love her watch her fall with such cold eyes?
To make matters worse, her modern biochemist instincts revealed a terrifying truth: she was unexpectedly pregnant with the child of a savage Warlord she had encountered in the wild.
In this brutal, primitive world, showing any weakness was an absolute death sentence.
But she wasn't going to cower or run away.
Refusing the Warlord's offer to simply rescue her, Areli calmly placed a highly toxic herb on her drying rack and left her tent flap open.
The bait was set. Now, she just had to wait for the screams.
9.4
Michael Carter is an undercover FBI agent on a mission to take down ruthless mafia king Fernando Ramírez-the man he believes killed his sister. But getting close to Fernando means playing a dangerous game, one where seduction and power blur the lines between enemy and lover.
When Michael uncovers a shocking truth, his thirst for revenge turns into a fight for something far more dangerous-his own heart. Now, torn between duty and desire, he must decide: destroy the man he swore to take down or surrender to the one thing he never saw coming.
Love has never been more lethal.
7.5
Kaitlyn Barton POV:
After three years building my family's hotel empire abroad, I came home to New York, expecting a warm embrace from my childhood fiancé, Edwin.
Instead, he greeted me with a warning. He told me to be gentle with his new girlfriend, Kacy, painting me as a villain before I even knew her name.
At my own welcome-home party, he let her stage a dramatic fall and then publicly blamed me for it, his eyes burning with a hatred I'd never seen.
He cradled her in his arms as if she were a fragile doll I had broken.
"Happy now, Kaitlyn?" he snarled, shattering twenty years of our shared history in front of everyone we knew.
In his eyes, I was no longer his love, but a monster he needed to protect his new flame from.
As he stormed out, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Everett Rowe, the man who had quietly loved me for five years.
"If you are truly ready, I will marry you. Right now. Just say the word."
My fingers moved on their own.
"Yes," I typed. "I'll marry you."
The moment I stepped back onto New York soil, a city I had once shared completely with Edwin, he greeted me not with a hug, but with a warning about his new girlfriend, painting me as the villain before I even knew her name. Three years abroad, cultivating my family's hotel empire, had prepared me for many business battles, but nothing for the cold, calculated betrayal that awaited me at home. He had replaced me, and then twisted our shared history, turning me into the aggressor he now needed protection from. This was not the reunion I had envisioned, nor the Edwin I remembered. My heart, which had swelled with anticipation, now froze into a solid block of ice.
8.7
I was dying in a cold hospital bed, listening to the monitor count down my final seconds.
As a ghost, I watched my own funeral. My popular friends and wealthy family soon moved on, but one person stayed.
Cas Riley. The invisible outcast from the back of my history class.
He brought a white rose to my grave every single day, withering away until he collapsed on the frozen ground, dying of a broken heart for a girl who barely knew his name.
Opening my eyes again, the hospital smell was gone. I was reborn back in my high school classroom.
I immediately tracked him down, only to witness the brutal hell he was trapped in.
He was humiliated by a cruel foreman for pennies, violently slapped by his uncle over his sick mother's medical money, and forced into bloody street fights.
He was starving, covered in bruises, and completely alone.
When I tried to buy him medicine and step into his life to protect him, he violently pushed me away in the pouring rain.
"Stay out of my life! To protect you, I have to fight, and when I fight, I lose everything!"
He wasn't rejecting me out of hate. He was terrified that his dark, violent reality would drag me down with him.
Standing soaked in the rain, my resolve hardened like steel.
Gentle kindness wasn't going to save him from this hell.
To protect the boy who died for me, I had to become ruthless enough to tear down his entire rotten world and build him a new one.
7.0
My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child.
Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby.
To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner.
They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his.
The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused.
But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.