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 5
The living room fell dead silent.
Daryn's frown deepened. He clearly thought the word Deepfake was just a pathetic excuse.
Byron bent down, his knees popping, and snatched one of the photos off the rug. He squinted at it. "The lighting is wrong on her face. Alice wouldn't do this."
"They were sent to my private, encrypted email server," Daryn said, his voice cold and clinical. "A normal person can't do that. It's premeditated."
Horatio sat in his wheelchair, his wrinkled hands gripping the armrests. He looked at Alice, his eyes filled with a heavy, exhausting sadness. "Do you have anything else to say, child?"
Alice didn't rush to defend herself. She walked slowly to the coffee table and picked up the clearest photograph.
She tapped her finger against the image of the girl holding the voodoo doll.
"Look at the right hand," Alice said, her tone completely flat. "The fingers are smooth. The nails have a fresh French manicure."
Daryn leaned in, his eyes tracking her finger. He saw the manicured nails. He scoffed. "So what? That proves nothing."
Alice didn't argue. She simply raised her right hand to the buttons of her hospital gown.
Slowly, deliberately, she unbuttoned the cuff. She rolled the sleeve up past her elbow. The fabric felt heavy, sliding over her skin.
Under the warm glow of the floor lamp, her arm was exposed.
It was a landscape of horrors. Jagged, raised burn scars overlapped with dark, purple whip marks. Her wrist bone protruded at an unnatural angle from an old fracture that had healed wrong. The skin was rough, calloused, and broken.
The silence in the room became absolute. The air stopped moving.
Horatio's pupils dilated. His pale lips trembled violently. A choked, agonizing whimper escaped his throat.
Daryn's cold, CEO facade shattered. His face froze. He stared at the mangled flesh, his eyes wide with a shock so profound it looked like physical pain.
Byron, who had seen glimpses of the bruises earlier, now saw the full extent. He let out a roar of anguish and slammed his fist into the wooden load-bearing pillar next to him. The wood cracked. Blood instantly seeped from his split knuckles.
Alice held her arm up, standing perfectly still.
"The Wallaces never let me keep my nails long," she said quietly. "It made scrubbing the floors too difficult."
Daryn stumbled backward. His heel caught the edge of the rug. A tidal wave of guilt crashed over him, suffocating him.
Horatio struggled, trying to push himself out of the wheelchair. His hands reached out, shaking violently, wanting to touch her but terrified of causing her pain.
Alice walked over and knelt beside the wheelchair. She let the old man's trembling fingers gently stroke a small, unscarred patch of skin near her elbow. His tears dripped onto her arm.
Daryn spun around. He ripped his phone from his pocket. His voice was hoarse, raw with fury. "Trace the IP address of that email. I don't care what it costs. Find them."
Byron walked over, his chest heaving. He picked up a heavy cashmere coat from the sofa and draped it over Alice's shoulders, carefully hiding the scars from the cold air.
Daryn hung up the phone. The ruthless corporate emperor walked over to Alice and bowed his head deeply.
"I am so sorry," Daryn choked out. "I let my prejudice blind me. I will make the Wallaces pay in blood."
Alice shook her head. "I'll handle my own revenge. I just wanted to come home."
The word home shattered the last of the men's defenses.
Daryn reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a thick, slightly crumpled paper envelope. He pressed it firmly into Alice's hand. "For clothes. Pocket money."
Alice looked down. Inside was a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills, easily five thousand dollars.
She raised an eyebrow, looking at Byron. Weren't they a poor, blue-collar family?
Byron didn't miss a beat. He kept a straight face. "Daryn just got his year-end bonus from the property management company. And I chipped in some overtime pay. We've been saving up for when we finally found you."
Daryn nodded firmly, his eyes filled with a desperate earnestness. "Yes. It's just a little spare cash. Take it."
Alice looked at the two grown men, clumsily lying to protect her feelings. Her mind, sharpened by decades of surviving the occult underworld, easily cataloged the glaring inconsistencies: the military-grade cameras outside, the impeccably tailored suit Daryn wore, and the sheer amount of disposable cash they handed over without a second thought. They were hiding something massive. Yet, as she looked at their anxious, hopeful faces, she recognized the raw, unfiltered protective instinct underneath the deception. They weren't trying to harm her; they were terrified of losing her again. For the first time since she woke up in this body, a real, relaxed smile touched her lips. She slipped the envelope into her pocket, deciding to let them keep their secrets for now. She would uncover the truth on her own terms.
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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.