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.
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Chapter 6
Night fell over Los Angeles. Karina sat cross-legged on the lumpy, faded sofa in her run-down apartment. A massive, greasy Hawaiian pizza sat in an open cardboard box on the coffee table.
She took a huge bite, the hot, stringy cheese burning her tongue in the best way possible. She let out a sigh of pure contentment and swiped her thumb across her phone screen, opening Twitter.
The trending topics were a bloodbath.
KarinaAbbottSetBully, CancelKarina, and GetOutOfHollywood dominated the top three spots, accompanied by glaring red 'Hot' tags.
Candice's troll farms had done their job. They released a blurry, heavily edited video that cut out Candice's initial slap. It only showed Karina violently grabbing Candice's wrist and throwing her to the floor.
The comment section was a cesspool of slut-shaming and death threats. Candice's rabid fans were spamming the feed, demanding Karina be permanently blacklisted.
Karina stared at the vicious curses with a completely blank face. Her heart rate didn't even spike. Honestly, she thought the pineapple on this pizza was roasted to perfection.
To a survivor who had crawled out of mass graves in a war zone, this bloodless, cyber-bullying felt like the impotent rage of kindergarteners.
She clicked on Candice's latest tweet. It was a masterclass in manipulation: "I had a little scare on set today, but my senior taught me a valuable lesson. I'll keep working hard. [Crying selfie]"
Karina let out a cold, sharp laugh. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She didn't use a burner account. She quote-tweeted Candice directly from her official, verified page.
[Caption: If your skin is that thick, why didn't you get your chin implant fixed while you were at it? You're welcome. Just doing my job as your senior. ]
She hit send, tossed the phone into the corner of the sofa, and went back to systematically destroying the rest of the pizza.
Within ten minutes of that unapologetic tweet going live, it had been retweeted over a hundred thousand times, causing the app to lag and momentarily crash for some users. The internet lost its collective mind.
Miles away, in the penthouse office of the Stein Media Group, Jefferson stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the glittering grid of Los Angeles.
Julian burst through the heavy oak doors, sweating profusely and waving a tablet. "Boss! Karina has lost her damn mind! She just publicly accused Candice of plastic surgery on her main account!"
Jefferson turned around. He took the tablet and read the arrogant, ruthless response. A deep, genuine wave of amusement washed through his amber eyes.
This was the feral cat he had heard in his head, threatening roundhouse kicks. She didn't back down. Her claws were razor-sharp.
"Tell the PR department to buy the full, unedited security footage from the set. But do not release it. Keep it locked down," Jefferson ordered, his voice cool and calculated.
"Why not release it now? ! It would instantly clear her name and destroy Candice!" Julian yelled, completely baffled.
"Releasing it now is boring." Jefferson tossed the tablet onto his mahogany desk. His tone was pure, dark manipulation. "I want to let this fire burn until the exact moment the reality show goes live. Then, we turn it into a nuclear bomb."
Julian looked at his boss's ruthless expression and felt a chill run down his spine. He silently prayed for Candice's soul.
Meanwhile, the doorbell to Karina's apartment buzzed frantically. Her agent, Rachel Webb, was pounding on the door like a maniac.
Karina walked over, chewing on a piece of pizza crust, and yanked open the heavy security door.
"Karina Abbott! Do you have a death wish? ! Who told you to post that tweet? !" Rachel screamed, storming into the apartment and tearing at her own hair.
Karina handed her a paper towel. Her tone was as detached as a bystander's. "I was just stating a fact. She definitely has a chin implant. I felt it when I grabbed her."
Rachel choked, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She collapsed onto the sofa. "The whole internet is boycotting your appearance on Heartbeat Weekly! The producers are under massive pressure to drop you!"
"Then cancel the contract. I didn't want to go anyway." Karina shrugged, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a cold can of cola.
"Cancel? ! Do you think you can afford the breach of contract fee? !" Rachel leaped up, unzipping her briefcase and slamming a thick stack of bills onto the coffee table.
"Look at these! The original Karina maxed out every single credit card in your name to buy that scumbag Kole limited-edition watches and sports cars! You are currently three million dollars in debt! I've been trying to negotiate with the banks for months, hoping to keep this quiet, but with this new scandal blowing up, they're panicking and calling in all your debts at once! We're completely out of time, Karina!"
Karina's hand froze on the pop-tab of the cola can. The lazy indifference vanished from her eyes, replaced by a shock and fury so intense it made the air in the room drop ten degrees.
"Three... million... dollars?" she ground out through clenched teeth, staring at the stack of paper.
The impenetrable defenses of a war zone warlord had just been brutally shattered by the crushing weight of capitalist debt.
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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.