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.
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Chapter 4
Thick black smoke billowed into the sky. Car alarms shrieked in a chaotic chorus. The pungent smell of burning rubber and gasoline seeped through the truck's vents.
Byron sat frozen in the driver's seat. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were bone-white. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths.
Slowly, mechanically, he turned his head to look at the passenger seat. His Adam's apple bobbed hard.
Alice's expression hadn't changed. She calmly picked up the three ancient coins from her lap and slipped them back into her pocket, as if she had just finished a crossword puzzle.
Byron's brain short-circuited. He was a man of logic, of concrete and steel. He tried to rationalize it. A coincidence. A blind spot. A lucky guess.
But he remembered the absolute certainty in her eyes when she threw those coins. The foundation of his materialism cracked.
Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Within seconds, cruisers and fire trucks swarmed the intersection.
A traffic cop walked up to the truck and rapped his knuckles against Byron's window.
Byron flinched. He rolled down the window, his hands shaking slightly.
"If you're witnesses, pull over and wait for a statement. If not, back up and clear the lane," the cop barked over the noise.
"We're leaving," Byron said, his voice hoarse.
He threw the truck into reverse, navigated around the shattered glass on the road, and turned down a quiet detour route.
The silence in the cabin was suffocating. Byron kept stealing glances at Alice, his mouth opening and closing, unable to form words.
Alice stared out the window at the passing trees. "It's just basic fortune telling," she said, breaking the silence.
Byron let out a shaky breath. "Where... where did you learn parlor tricks like that?"
"I had a lot of free time locked in the Wallace's attic," Alice said smoothly. "I read some old books."
The word attic hit Byron like a physical blow. The shock of the crash vanished, replaced instantly by a burning, protective rage.
"Nobody is ever locking you up again," Byron ground out, his jaw tight. "I swear it."
The truck pulled into an upscale, heavily wooded neighborhood. It stopped in front of an old, red-brick mansion. Byron cleared his throat, looking a bit sheepish as he killed the engine. "My older brother, Daryn, works as the live-in caretaker and property manager for this place. The owner is overseas for the year, so he lets us stay in the servant's quarters and use the main floor. Don't let the size intimidate you, we're just keeping the dust off." It looked unassuming, but Alice's trained eyes instantly spotted the military-grade security cameras hidden in the eaves. She noted the lie immediately-caretakers didn't usually have access to this level of security-but chose not to press him.
Byron grabbed her light canvas bag and pushed open the heavy oak front door.
The interior was classic, understated luxury. But the air inside was thick with tension.
An elderly man with sharp, intelligent eyes sat in a wheelchair near the fireplace. Horatio Morrow, the patriarch.
Beside him stood a tall man in a perfectly tailored bespoke suit. Daryn Morrow, her eldest uncle.
Daryn's eyes locked onto Alice. His brow furrowed into a deep, hostile knot. He didn't hide his disgust.
Horatio sighed heavily and struck the hardwood floor with his cane. "Bring her here, Byron."
Byron felt the hostility. He immediately stepped in front of Alice, shielding her. "What the hell is with that look, Daryn?"
Daryn sneered. He picked up a thick manila envelope from the coffee table and hurled it at Byron's chest.
The envelope burst open. Dozens of high-definition photographs scattered across the Persian rug.
The images were crystal clear. They showed Alice sitting in a dark room, viciously stabbing needles into voodoo dolls with the names of the Morrow family members written on them.
Byron stared at the photos. His pupils shrank. But he turned to look at Alice, his eyes still holding a desperate trust.
Daryn pointed a manicured finger at Alice. "She's a rabid dog raised by the Wallaces! She's been cursing her own blood!"
Alice looked down at the photos near her boots. The corners of her mouth twitched upward into a mocking smirk. A strange, unfamiliar word floated to the surface of her mind, pulled directly from the original Alice's fragmented memories of late-night internet scrolling. It took her a fraction of a second to grasp the concept, but it fit perfectly.
"Deepfake," she said softly.
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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.