The Reborn Duchess's Ruthless Revenge
I stood in the Royal Hall, clutching a glass of warm champagne while watching Senator Levine laugh. To the crowd, he was a pillar of the community; to me, he was the parasite who had already destroyed my life once.
In my past life, this gala was the night the monarchy began to bleed. Levine successfully planted his cameras, the Vance empire funded a coup, and the kingdom I loved was sold off to the highest bidder.
I lived through the consequences of my silence. I watched my sister, Seraphina, die in childbirth because the medical supplies were intercepted by traitors. I watched the man I loved, Duke Elliot, stripped of his titles and branded a criminal. I spent my final days in a damp, freezing cell, listening to the executioner sharpen his blade while the people cheered for our demise.
The injustice burned in my throat like lye. I died wondering how I could have been so naive, how I could have let these monsters walk among us while I played the part of a perfect, quiet wife.
Why did the gods let the wicked prosper while my family’s blood watered the palace gardens? What would I have given for just one chance to strike first?
Then, the world shifted. I opened my eyes to find myself back at the gala, the scent of sandalwood and rain surrounding me as Elliot rested a possessive hand on my back. I wasn't just a Duchess anymore; I was a ghost from a future that would never happen, and I was ready to erase every name on my list.
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Chapter 2
While Isolde was setting fire to a senator's life in the capital, hundreds of miles away, on the sun-scorched border of the Karyan Desert, the sand was everywhere. It was in the water, in the food, in the folds of the bedsheets. It coated the back of the throat like a second skin.
Dr. Julian Harris stepped out of the surgical tent and pulled his mask down. He took a deep, ragged breath, but the air at the Forward Operating Base wasn't fresh. It smelled of diesel fuel and dried blood.
He was exhausted. His hands, usually steady as a rock, had a faint tremor. Twelve hours. He had been stitching bodies back together for twelve hours straight.
He walked toward the water station, his boots crunching on the gravel. That's when he saw her.
Lady Imogen Sterling.
She shouldn't be here. She belonged in a drawing room in the capital, wearing silk and drinking tea. Instead, she was kneeling in the dirt next to a wounded corporal, wrapping a bandage around his leg.
She was wearing oversized scrubs that swallowed her small frame. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy knot, strands escaping to stick to her sweaty forehead.
Julian felt a physical ache in his chest. It wasn't the fatigue. It was love. A terrifying, overwhelming love that had no place in a war zone.
He walked over and gently took the gauze from her hands. "Let me."
Imogen looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but clear. "I had it, Julian. I'm not helpless."
"I know," he said softly. He finished the wrap with efficient, practiced movements. "But your hands are shaking."
He took her hand. Her skin was rough. The expensive lotions she used to use were a distant memory. Her fingernails were cut short, dirt embedded under the rims.
"You look terrible," he said, smiling.
"You look worse," she countered, but she didn't pull her hand away.
They walked to the edge of the perimeter, leaning against Julian's dusty jeep. The sun was setting, painting the desert in violent shades of orange and purple. For a moment, it was beautiful.
"General Stone says we might rotate out next week," Julian said. He unscrewed a water bottle and handed it to her. "Back to civilization."
Imogen took a sip. "I don't know if I remember how to be civilized."
"I have a plan for that," Julian said. He turned to face her. The impulse hit him hard. He didn't have a ring. He didn't have a speech. But he needed to say it. "When we get back... I'm going to speak to your father."
Imogen froze. The water bottle paused halfway to her lips. "Julian..."
"I'm serious, Imogen. I'm done waiting. I'm done pretending that we're just 'childhood friends'. I'm going to ask for your hand."
Imogen lowered the bottle. Her eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, to say yes, to say he was crazy.
Thump.
The sound was dull. Distant. Like a heavy book dropped on a carpet.
Then the siren screamed.
It cut through the air, a high-pitched wail that made teeth ache.
"Incoming!" someone roared.
The first mortar shell hit the supply depot, fifty yards away. The ground heaved. The shockwave hit Julian like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of him.
He grabbed Imogen, throwing them both to the ground behind the jeep. Debris rained down on the metal hood-clods of dirt, shrapnel, burning pieces of crate.
"Stay down!" Julian yelled over the ringing in his ears.
"The patients!" Imogen screamed, trying to scramble up.
"No!" Julian pinned her down. "Wait for the lull!"
Gunfire erupted at the perimeter. It wasn't just shelling. It was a breach.
General Stone came running out of the command tent, his sidearm drawn. He was shouting orders, his voice booming over the chaos. "Secure the medical tent! Protect the wounded!"
A figure lunged from the shadows near the generator. He was dressed in the rags of a local villager, but he moved with the precision of a trained killer. He held a knife. A long, serrated blade that glinted in the flickering light of the fires.
He was heading straight for Stone's exposed back.
Stone was distracted, firing at a target near the gate. He didn't see him.
Julian didn't think. He didn't calculate the odds. He just moved.
He pushed off the ground, sprinting across the open space.
"General!" Julian screamed.
Stone turned, but it was too late to fire.
Julian threw himself between the assassin and the General. He felt the impact before the pain. It felt like being punched by a sledgehammer.
The knife sank into his side, just below the ribs.
The assassin snarled, twisting the blade.
Stone fired. One shot. The assassin's head snapped back, and he collapsed.
Julian fell to his knees. He looked down. The handle of the knife was sticking out of his abdomen.
He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt heavy.
Imogen was screaming his name. It sounded like she was underwater.
Julian pulled the knife out. It was a mistake. Blood gushed out, soaking his scrubs. But the blood...
The blood wasn't red.
In the light of the burning depot, Julian stared at his hands. The blood was dark. Almost black. And it carried a sharp, corrosive reek, like sulfur and burnt metal.
Poison.
His legs gave out, and the desert sky spun above him, turning into a blur of smoke and stars.
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7.4
In a world ruled by dominance and desire, being an Omega is a curse, especially when you're mine.
On his eighteenth birthday, Luca wakes to a nightmare, his wolf has chosen the lowest rank of all. An Omega. The scent of submission, the mark of shame and the kind of wolf others own, use, and discard.
But Luca isn't broken, he's burning and the only one who's ever made him feel safe is Rafe, his best friend, his protector and his temptation.
Then Rafe shifts and becomes an Alpha and their wolves recognize each other, the bond between them is instant, magnetic, and utterly forbidden.
Because an Alpha claiming a Male Omega?
That's forbidden, but this Omega? He's different
Now their connection is more than a secret, It's a sin to their world, a deadly craving, slow, delicious and primal to fall into.
And when one bite can seal a bond or spark a war, how long can they resist it?
He's not supposed to want him.
But gods, he does.
And once an Alpha touches what's his... he never lets go.
8.4
I worked three double shifts at the garage just to buy a velvet-boxed cake for my wealthy girlfriend, Arleen.
But when I pushed open the VIP room door, I saw her lover kissing her bare leg.
She didn't push him away. Instead, she laughed and swirled her martini.
"I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay. He is a poor boy from Queens who follows me around like a loyal dog."
Later that night, her lover intentionally crashed a Porsche to scare me, sending a piece of jagged metal into my skull.
Lying in a growing pool of my own blood, I watched Arleen crawl out of the wreckage.
She didn't even look at me. She threw herself at her uninjured lover, screaming for a medic.
"He just got scraped by a piece of plastic. He is faking it. Deal with Jaquez first!"
When I woke up, I wasn't free. Arleen had locked me in a private hospital wing with 24-hour security, planning to isolate me and keep me as her broken, captive toy forever.
My blind, pathetic devotion finally froze into absolute disgust.
I looked at the heart monitor next to my bed and grabbed an IV needle.
I severed the sensor wire to trigger a flatline, slipped out the fire stairs while the nurses panicked, and burned my identity to ashes.
This time, I was going to disappear to London, build my own empire, and watch hers burn.
9.3
Born into privilege, Eleanor never imagined her life could shatter in a single night. Then her father disappeared with his mistress, her mother fell from a building and slipped into a coma, and everything she once owned turned to dust.
Determined not to ruin Jonathan's future with her family's disgrace, she ended their relationship and became the bride of a man trapped in a vegetative state.
She believed that was the last time their paths would cross. But two years later, Jonathan pinned her in the dark and whispered, "Long time no see, my sister-in-law."
7.5
Raven Noir, stolen and sold at birth, a lethal assassin scarred by a decade-old rape, infiltrates billionaire Damien Blackwood's elite nightclub empire as stripper, her cover to get close enough to torture and kill the man who unknowingly fathered her daughter. Damien, captivated by her icy control and commanding presence, pulls her deeper with lucrative nights and charged intimacy. But when he encounters her identical twin, the buried memories flood back. Mistaking the twin for his victim, guilt drives him to propose marriage. Devastated, Raven faces an impossible choice: expose the truth, seize her revenge, or let obsession destroy them all in a dark, slow-burn thriller of betrayal and forbidden desire.
8.4
"Are you going to treat me like the enemy?" Raffaele asked, hovering over me like a predator.
"You are the enemy," I sneered.
He smiled. "Careful. You're hurting my feelings."
"I hope I can hurt much more than that."
His eyes darkened. "You forget-I'm the one who can break you."
I vowed never to give my heart to a man. Never let one bend me. Never let one own me.
Then a single night changed everything.
When my best friend became a target, I took her place and caught the attention of the most dangerous man in the city. Raffaele, My friend's older brother, wasn't supposed to see me. We were never meant to meet but the moment his eyes locked on mine, I became his new obsession.
I don't bend and he doesn't let go.
Suddenly caught up in a world of blood and power, resisting a man like Raffaele might cost me everything...heart, body, and soul.
He wants me, dead or alive.
7.1
For ten years, my family kept me locked away, forcing me to play the part of a broken, mentally unstable girl. They controlled me with sedatives and treated me like a ghost in my own home, a prisoner in a gilded cage.
But I had a secret. I was a world-famous anonymous artist with a hidden fortune, and I had an escape plan. On the day of my cousin's wedding, my rebellion was accidentally witnessed by a dangerous stranger who saw the predator beneath my fragile mask.
To silence him, I dragged him into a dark closet. The encounter turned raw and reckless, a violent collision I used as the perfect cover for my escape. I vanished with a new name and a one-way ticket to a new life, leaving him with nothing but a bloodstain and the bitter taste of betrayal.
I thought I was free, that I had successfully buried the girl I was forced to be and the man I was forced to use.
Three months later, on a superyacht in Monaco, he found me. He wasn't just some wealthy guest; he was the ruthless head of a powerful crime syndicate, and I was trapped in his private penthouse. He locked the door, his eyes black with possessive rage.
"The game is over," he whispered. "This time, you're not running."