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 9
The morning sun poured through the massive glass walls of the talent agency's lobby. Karina strode through the doors wearing a black windbreaker and heavy tactical combat boots.
Her sleek black hair moved with her aggressive, ground-eating strides. Her bare face was half-hidden behind oversized black sunglasses, concealing her identity.
Trainees and staff members stopped in their tracks, captivated by the cold, lethal aura radiating from her. No one recognized her.
"Oh my god, is that a new top model the agency signed? That presence is insane!" two assistants whispered excitedly in the corner.
Karina walked straight to the front desk. She bent her long fingers and rapped her knuckles twice against the black marble counter. "What floor is Rachel Webb on?"
The receptionist jumped, startled by the freezing tone. "Uh... 12th floor, Section A. Do you have an appointment?"
Karina didn't bother answering. She turned on her heel and walked straight to the elevators, leaving the receptionist too intimidated to call security.
The elevator doors chimed open on the 12th floor. Several actors gossiping about Candice's trending topic instantly shut their mouths, watching with awe as Karina walked past.
She reached the door to Section A. Without knocking, she grabbed the handle and pushed her way in.
Inside, Rachel was screaming into her phone at a PR firm. "I don't care how you do it! You have to get Karina's assault hashtag off the trending list!"
Hearing the door open, Rachel snapped her head up, furious. "I told you not to just walk in-" Her voice died in her throat.
The phone slipped from Rachel's hand, slamming onto the desk. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the incredibly cool, intimidating woman standing in her office.
"Who... who are you looking for?" Rachel stammered, completely failing to connect this person to the aesthetic disaster that was Karina.
Karina pulled off her sunglasses and tossed them onto the sofa. She revealed those signature eyes, now completely devoid of warmth. "You."
"Jesus Christ! Karina? !" Rachel shrieked. She shot up from her chair and sprinted around the desk.
Rachel circled Karina like she was examining an alien, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch the black hair. "Did you... did you get plastic surgery? No, wait, you just took your makeup off? !"
"Stop screaming. I washed my face," Karina said, annoyed. She walked over to the water cooler and noticed the jug was empty.
She glanced down at the sealed, five-gallon water jug sitting on the floor-a solid forty pounds of dead weight.
Rachel was still rambling. "God, your bone structure is insane! If you had just shown this face to the world, Kole wouldn't mean shit! I swear-"
Rachel's words cut off abruptly. Her eyes widened in pure horror.
Karina had casually reached down and grabbed the plastic handle of the forty-pound jug with one hand.
Without bending her knees, without bracing herself, and without a single grimace of effort, Karina lifted the massive jug straight up into the air like it was an empty plastic bottle.
Thump.
She slammed the heavy jug perfectly onto the cooler. Water bubbled loudly into the reservoir.
Dead silence filled the office. Rachel's jaw was practically on the floor. She looked at the massive water jug, then at Karina's slender, pale wrist.
"Did you... did you just... with one hand..." Rachel pointed a shaking finger at the cooler, unable to form a coherent sentence. "My God... did you join a secret CrossFit cult? Where the hell did you get that kind of strength?"
Karina pulled a paper towel and wiped her hand, her face completely blank. "What? You've never seen someone change a water jug?" In the war zone, sprinting with fifty pounds of ammo was a daily routine. This was nothing.
"No... I haven't..." Rachel swallowed hard. Suddenly, she realized that when Karina said she was going to 'tear them to pieces' last night, she wasn't using a metaphor. She meant it physically.
Rachel took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. A fanatical light ignited in her eyes. "Karina, listen to me. Keep this exact energy!"
"As long as you don't do anything stupid on that show, with this face and this aura, I guarantee you'll make a massive comeback!" Rachel slammed her hands on the desk, hyped.
Karina had zero interest in her motivational speech. "Give me the contract and the itinerary. Is the car downstairs?"
Rachel immediately grabbed the documents with both hands, offering them up respectfully. She escorted Karina to the elevator like a servant sending a queen off to war. "The car is ready. Go give them a little shock."
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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.