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 7
Karina slammed the cold can of cola down onto the coffee table. The carbonated bubbles hissed violently in protest. She picked up the thick stack of bills and flipped through them, page by page.
A Rolex Submariner. A limited-edition Hermès men's bag. The down payment on a Ferrari. Every single staggering purchase had the same name on the receipt: Kole Caldwell.
The original owner's memories flooded her brain like toxic sludge. Standing in the freezing rain at midnight to bring Kole hot soup. Getting cornered and screamed at by Kole's rabid fans. The immediate, cold-blooded ghosting the second Kole got famous.
Karina's eyes grew colder by the second. The temperature in the room plummeted as the raw, suffocating killing intent of a survivor leaked out of her pores.
Sitting across from her, Rachel shivered, instinctively shrinking back into the corner of the sofa. She felt like she was looking at a terrifying stranger.
"This parasite named Kole... he's a guest on Heartbeat Weekly too?" Karina tapped her long finger against the bills. Her voice was so calm it made the hairs on Rachel's arms stand up.
"Yes... he and Candice are the show's main couple. Your current role is just to be the vicious, obsessed ex-girlfriend they use as a stepping stone," Rachel swallowed hard, explaining the reality.
A bloodthirsty smirk curled the corners of Karina's mouth. She tossed the bills back onto the table. "Fine. I'll do the show."
Rachel's eyes widened. She thought she had misheard. "Are you sure? You just publicly insulted Candice! If you go in there, their fans will tear you to pieces!"
"Tear me to pieces?" Karina stood up, looking down at Rachel with absolute disdain. "I'd like to see how hard the bones of these greenhouse flowers really are."
"Also, scan and back up every single one of these receipts. I'm going to make that freeloading parasite vomit up every last cent, with interest." Karina issued the order with military precision.
Rachel was completely dominated by her aura. She found herself nodding obediently, feeling as if she were taking orders from a ruthless general.
"How much is the appearance fee? Is it enough to cover this debt?" Karina immediately pivoted to the practical economics.
"The upfront fee is only five hundred thousand. But if you survive until the final episode without getting voted out, there's a two million dollar grand prize. It would barely cover the hole," Rachel said, quickly flipping through the contract.
"Deal. When do we shoot? What do I need to prepare?" Karina was already in combat mode.
Rachel let out a long breath of relief and pulled out an itinerary. "Tomorrow morning at 8 AM, the production team will send a car. The first stop is the wilderness villa."
"To create hype, the producers want all the female guests dressed to the nines. You need to outshine everyone. Where's that sequined mini-dress you bought?"
Karina pictured the tacky, cheap sequined dress in the closet that barely covered her ass. A look of intense physical disgust crossed her face.
"I threw it away," Karina answered without hesitation. "Wearing that into the wilderness... am I trying to feed the mosquitoes, or am I just trying to die faster?"
Rachel panicked. "But you don't have any sponsors! All the brands are avoiding you! What are you going to wear to outshine Candice? !"
"Playing dress-up is a game for people with no real power." Karina walked to the entryway and grabbed a black windbreaker.
"I have my own methods. Go finalize the contract. Have the driver waiting downstairs at exactly 8 AM." Karina opened the door, dismissing her.
Though full of doubt, Rachel looked at Karina's unquestionable gaze and had no choice but to grab her briefcase and leave.
Once the door clicked shut, Karina walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the massive mirror.
Under the harsh fluorescent light, she stared at the woman looking back at her. Bleached, dead blonde hair. Eyeliner smudged like a raccoon. Lips painted a horrific shade of neon pink.
Her pragmatist war-zone aesthetics suffered a critical hit. She felt physically sick looking at this cheap, vulnerable disguise.
That long hair was a fatal weakness in close-quarters combat. That heavy makeup would cause severe skin infections in extreme environments.
Karina spun around, bolted out of the bathroom, grabbed her wallet and keys, and marched out of the apartment.
Before the cameras rolled tomorrow, she was going to eradicate every single trace of the 'cheap vase' from this body.
Out on the dark streets of Los Angeles, Karina hailed a cab and headed straight for a high-end, late-night salon near Beverly Hills.
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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.