The Scumbag's Regret: My Lethal Comeback
When Karina opened her eyes, she had transmigrated from a blood-soaked war zone into the body of a despised, D-list Hollywood "vase."
Before she could even process the glaring lights, the lead actress went entirely off-script, swinging a vicious slap right at her face.
Karina's muscle memory took over, nearly crushing the woman's wrist in a steel grip, but a much harsher reality was waiting for her back home.
The original owner had maxed out every credit card to buy a Ferrari and Rolexes for a scumbag idol named Kole, leaving Karina buried under a staggering three million dollar debt.
To make matters worse, Kole and the lead actress were teaming up as the main couple on a hit wilderness dating show.
Her agent told her she was contractually obligated to join the cast as their pathetic, obsessed ex-girlfriend, while millions of rabid fans spammed death threats online, waiting to watch her cry and break.
To a warlord who had crawled out of mass graves, this cyberbullying was a joke, but the crushing capitalist debt was a real threat.
"I'd like to see how hard the bones of these greenhouse flowers really are."
Karina chopped off her cheap blonde hair, scrubbed off the hideous makeup to reveal a lethal, flawless face, and packed her tactical survival gear.
If they wanted to use her as a stepping stone, she was going to show them what a real massacre looked like—while a certain untouchable A-list actor secretly listened to every bloodthirsty thought echoing in her mind.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
Jefferson walked out the main gates of the studio lot, surrounded by his wall of bodyguards. The dying sunlight of the Los Angeles evening hit his cold, aristocratic face.
A black, bulletproof Maybach was already idling at the curb. The driver respectfully pulled open the heavy rear door.
Arthur came jogging out after them, his face plastered with a desperate, fawning smile, trying to secure Jefferson for a cameo in his next film.
Jefferson stopped. He shoved one hand into the pocket of his tailored trousers. His tone was flat, but the oppressive weight of his authority was undeniable. "Arthur, your set is too loud today."
Arthur froze. Cold sweat instantly beaded on his forehead. Everyone in the industry knew the second son of the Stein family despised unprofessionalism and noise.
"That actress, Candice. She spends too much energy spraying perfume and socializing in the hallways," Jefferson said, casually adjusting his cufflink. It was a lethal, precise strike.
Arthur understood immediately. The apex predator was expressing extreme dissatisfaction with Candice. He nodded frantically. "I understand completely, Jeff. I won't let her ruin the atmosphere of the set again."
Jefferson gave a curt nod and bent down, sliding into the spacious leather backseat of the Maybach. The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the outside world.
Inside the car, Julian sat in the passenger seat. He turned around, staring at his boss in absolute shock. "Were you... were you just standing up for that Karina girl?"
Jefferson leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. His voice was lazy. "I was simply stating a fact that affects Hollywood's industrial standards."
Julian rolled his eyes, mentally calling bullshit. But he didn't dare cross the man who paid his salary, so he kept his mouth shut.
Just as the Maybach began to pull away from the curb, Jefferson's eyes snapped open. He caught a faint, static-like frequency buzzing in his brain.
[Hey! Taxi! Stop right there! My legs are going to fall off! I need to go home and lay down! ]
Jefferson turned his head and looked out the tinted window.
Karina was standing on the sidewalk, wearing a cheap, faded windbreaker and a battered backpack, waving frantically at a yellow cab.
She had scrubbed her face clean of makeup. In the sunset, her bare face possessed a breathtaking, fragile beauty, but her movements were as rough and aggressive as a construction worker's.
The cab pulled over, and Karina slid into the back seat like a slippery eel. The car sped off down the street.
As the taxi drove further away, the crisp voice in Jefferson's head grew fainter and fainter, until it completely disappeared into silence.
Jefferson's long fingers began a slow, rhythmic tapping against the leather armrest. His eyes darkened, turning dangerous. He had just confirmed the physical rules of his telepathy: it had a distance limit.
"Julian," Jefferson said suddenly. His voice filled the quiet cabin.
"Yes, boss. What do you need?" Julian straightened his spine immediately.
"That reality dating show pitch deck Leland Finch sent over. Heartbeat Weekly. Send it to my tablet."
Julian's hand jerked, nearly dropping his own tablet onto the gearshift. He whipped his head around, his face pale. "Excuse me? ! That trashy, scripted dating show? !"
"You are an A-list actor with zero scandals! If you go on a show like that, your fans will literally riot!" Julian protested, his voice rising in panic.
Jefferson didn't raise his voice. He simply turned his head, his cold, amber eyes fixing on his agent with an eerie, unblinking stillness. The silence stretched for a suffocating second. "Just send it, Julian," he said softly, the quiet authority in his tone far more terrifying than a shout.
The crushing weight of Jefferson's dominance slammed Julian's mouth shut. Gritting his teeth, Julian tapped his screen and forwarded the file.
Jefferson looked down at the glowing screen. He scrolled to the cast list. Karina Abbott's name was right there, highlighted in red ink with the note: Controversial Foil.
His fingertip slowly traced over her name on the glass. A dark, predatory smirk curled the corner of his mouth.
He was going to find out exactly what secrets this woman was hiding-the woman whose thoughts had violently forced their way into his silent world.
At that exact moment, Julian's phone rang. It was the head of the PR department. "Julian! The data you asked for on Karina just exploded! The whole internet is ripping her apart for assaulting Candice on set!"
Hearing the panicked voice through the phone, a terrifying, icy glint flashed in Jefferson's eyes.
Someone was trying to touch his prey. They were asking for death.
You may also like
8.3
My husband watched as my skin melted, scalded by boiling soup, yet his hands were busy comforting my attacker. Five years of marriage, built on a foundation of my family's power, crumbled with a single, brutal act of betrayal. He bought me off with a penthouse and a trust fund, but I tore out my IV and threw his charity back in his face.
It was our fifth anniversary, but my husband, Ethan, remained distant, avoiding any talk of Chicago or the mafia protection my family once offered him. He then pushed a black velvet box across the table.
Inside was a Separation and Property Division Agreement, not a diamond. He told me to sign for Ilene's security, offering millions. When I refused, Ilene hurled boiling soup. Ethan shielded her, not me, as the scalding liquid melted my dress.
With second-degree burns, he blamed me, ordering me from our home for Ilene’s comfort. My family saved him, yet he sacrificed my body and marriage for another woman.
The love I felt turned to ash. What kind of debt demanded my flesh and marriage?
I ripped the IV from my arm, hurling his "charity" keys back. My diamond ring placed on the agreement, I walked away. From today on, Ethan, you and I are dead to each other.
7.2
Allie Patterson poured fifteen years into her husband Grayson’s tech startup, living in a cramped San Jose apartment. Every penny, every late night coding session, was for their shared future, built on his constant claims the company struggled, always on the verge of its big break.
Then, a grant deed arrived: a stunning $4.2 million Atherton villa, paid in full, listing Grayson and an unknown Kacey Schmidt as joint tenants.
Her coffee mug shattered as Allie’s world imploded. Driving to the mansion, she found Kacey in silk pajamas, flaunting a massive pink diamond and, beneath it, Grayson’s grandmother’s heirloom ring – the one he’d tearfully claimed to have lost years ago.
Kacey purred, "He's in the shower. We were so tired last night."
The words were a serrated knife, twisting, confirming years of lies.
Humiliation and rage burned out, leaving a terrifying, absolute silence. All her sacrifice and trust were a cruel, elaborate joke, orchestrated by the man she loved.
Allie calmly took photos, then gave herself one minute in her beat-up car to mourn. When it passed, her tears stopped, replaced by cold, calculated murder in her eyes. She typed a text to Grayson:
"Come home early tonight. I have a surprise for you."
9.6
My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend.
From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down."
That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny.
But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded.
I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said."
Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off."
My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers.
I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal.
Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing.
As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury.
In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho."
How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me?
Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault?
Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred?
I would not be his victim.
Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done.
I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties.
This was not an escape; this was my rebirth.
Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.
8.9
The mangled car teetered on the cliff's edge, my leg crushed, gasoline fumes thick in the air. My husband, Holden, stood safe on the highway, directing the rescue – but not for me. He was saving her, the woman in the passenger seat, leaving me and our unborn child to the ocean below.
I woke trapped in the crushed Maybach, leg pinned. The cliff loomed; the driver's seat was empty.
Holden, safe outside, directed paramedics past me to Giana, his "most valuable asset," ordering her rescue first.
I watched him comfort Giana, oblivious, as the car slid. My baby barely viable. Holden offered a black card for silence; Giana gloated.
Ten years of devotion, a cruel lie. Rage fueled me: how could he abandon his wife and child?
I swore a venomous oath: never again an accessory. I flicked his card away, shielded my pregnancy, and promised my baby escape.
7.5
I was Nyx, a top-tier covert operative. But when I opened my eyes, I was trapped in the unfamiliar, overweight body of a bullied girl named Eliza.
Before I could even process the body swap, the bedroom door splintered open. I was in bed with Julian Malone, a wealthy military heir, both of us heavily drugged. Cameras flashed wildly. It was a vicious setup to ruin his career, and I was the bait.
To save his family's reputation, Julian was forced to marry me. But the moment the wedding was over, he abandoned me. His elite family treated me like a disease. His mother froze my only bank account, trying to starve me into submission.
I even intercepted a private conversation between his parents.
"Once she's in a private facility, she loses all legal standing. We can sign anything we want on her behalf."
They planned to lock me up in a mental asylum and erase my existence entirely to get rid of the "trailer park trash."
To them, I was just a weak, pathetic pawn they could crush without a second thought. They thought they had backed a helpless girl into a corner.
They had no idea they had just declared war on a lethal weapon.
I didn't cry or beg. Instead, I bypassed their state-of-the-art security, cracked their safe, and stole the financial secrets that could destroy their entire empire.
"I want five hundred thousand dollars, or these files go to the IRS."
This time, I was playing by my own rules.
8.9
Aubree Hamilton was the top-tier executive assistant to Wall Street's most ruthless titan, Beck Franco. A month ago, she made a catastrophic mistake and spent the night in his bed.
Thinking she had erased the mistake with a morning-after pill, she panicked upon his return and lied about being engaged to push him away.
But Beck, a man who despised disloyalty above all else, immediately suspended her and ordered her escorted out of the building. Her nightmare only escalated when her toxic ex-boyfriend attacked her on the street, tearing her purse open and exposing the empty morning-after pill box to the public—and to Beck, who was watching from his penthouse. After having his security rescue her, Beck trapped her in his car, ruthlessly tearing apart her fake engagement. Later in her apartment, the suffocating tension between them almost ignited into a kiss, but a violent wave of nausea suddenly hit Aubree.
She shoved him away with all her strength and violently threw up in the bathroom.
Beck took it as the ultimate physical disgust. He walked out, deeply humiliated and dangerously obsessed, unleashing his resources to investigate her every move.
Left alone and trembling, Aubree finally checked the crushed white box. The pill she took had expired a month ago.
Staring at the two bright pink lines on the pregnancy test, she made a desperate vow: Beck Franco could never know she was carrying his child, and she had to disappear before he found out.