Vows of Vengeance: A Bride Reborn
She thought she was happily married - until she was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer.
Then came the truth: her "devoted" husband Lucien had been poisoning her for years, all to avenge a dead lover.
On her deathbed, Calliope made a vow:
If life gave her one more chance, she'd rewrite every ending-starting with his.
Now reborn seven years earlier, she tears off the wedding dress and walks away from Lucien's lies.
To protect her family and reclaim her stolen legacy, Calliope proposes a marriage of convenience to Conrad: a cold, enigmatic firefighter with more power-and more secrets-than anyone realizes.
But Lucien is also reborn. And just as cruel.
But this time, she's not the naïve bride.
She's a tech genius. A business queen. A woman with nothing to lose.
And Conrad?
He's not just fire and steel-he's the weapon she never knew she needed.
They're not here to survive.
They're here to win.
Chapters
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Chapter 1
Late-stage stomach cancer.
Calliope Godfrey never imagined that death would knock this early-she was only twenty-eight.
She used to be the envy of all of Riverbend, the Mrs. Sterling, married to Lucien Sterling-handsome, wealthy, and famous for being deeply devoted to his wife.
Seven years of marriage, and he treated her like day one. He remembered all her quirks, put up with her temper, kissed her good morning without fail, and every night, without missing a beat, warmed up a glass of milk to help her sleep.
He didn't have women hovering around. It really felt like his world had room for only one person-her.
She used to think she was the luckiest woman alive. Until twenty-eight hit her with a cancer diagnosis like a punch to the gut.
It happened fast. Her once healthy, radiant face sank in; she shed weight like crazy. The pain? Constant. Unrelenting.
Lucien seemed even more devastated than anyone else. He dropped all his non-urgent work, stuck to her like glue, held her hand, and kept telling her, "Don't be scared, Calliope. I'll do everything I can-everything."
He was calling up top-tier specialists, splurging on the best meds money could buy. When the chemo made her throw up, he held her and patted her back. When she cried over losing her hair, he told her every version of her was still beautiful.
The doctors, the nurses, friends who came to visit-everyone said he was the definition of loyal and loving.
Calliope was completely wrapped up in it. She leaned on that love to survive the endless rounds of treatment. Sometimes, she even felt guilty-like she was dragging him down.
Then Alice Hughes, her best friend from med school, came to see her. She stood by the bedside, staring at the empty glass of milk with a frown. "Calliope, your cancer's progressing way too fast. This doesn't add up."
Alice worked at a top hospital. Sharp as ever. "I looked into the meds Lucien's been giving you. All legit and gentle. Nothing that matches what you're going through..."
A strange chill ran down Calliope's back. At Alice's urging, she kept half a glass of milk the next night and didn't say anything.
Three days later, Alice returned, looking more pale and shaken than Calliope had ever seen. She handed her a report, voice trembling. "There's something hidden in the milk-a compound that slowly erodes the stomach lining. Long-term exposure can cause cancer. Calliope... this isn't illness, it's poisoning."
Poisoning.
This one word hit like bullets straight through her chest.
Her brain shut down. Everything went silent, except for the buzz in her ears. She couldn't even make out what Alice said next. All she could see was Lucien's loving face, flashing in her mind like a ghost.
It couldn't be him. No way. No freaking way!
Like someone losing control, she combed through seven years of memories over and over, trying to catch some flaw, some clue. But all she could see was affection, attention-love.
Why? What had she done that made him hate her enough to pull off a seven-year-long plan just to kill her?
Once the seed of doubt took root, it grew like wildfire.
One afternoon, when Lucien was out of town, she pushed herself out of bed and used a code she'd happened to learn long ago to unlock a drawer in his study-one he'd always kept locked.
No business docs. Just a navy leather journal.
Hands shaking, she took a deep breath and flipped it open.
Normal stuff at first. Then, right around the time they were planning their wedding seven years ago, the handwriting turned messy. Angry. Dark.
[October 2018, rainy day. My Angelina is gone. If it hadn't been for Calliope nagging me non-stop to go try on some stupid wedding dress, I might've answered her call in time. She must've been so scared... It's all my fault. I failed to protect her.]
[November 2018, overcast. Calliope was laughing so brightly in that wedding dress, and honestly, it made me sick. Why does she get to smile like that? She's the one who got Angelina killed. She took away the love of my life. So now, she'll spend her life paying it back.]
[December 2018, sunny. The wedding's done. And now, the game begins. I'll drown her in sweet lies, make her fall for me completely. Then, right when she's happiest? I'll take it all away. Death is easy. I want her to rot slowly in despair. The doctor said that drug works slow, over several years... Perfect. I've got time.]
...
[May 2025. She said her stomach hurt today. Looks like the meds are finally kicking in. Saw her pale face and for a second? I felt... satisfaction. Angelina, are you watching? I'm getting justice for you.]
...
Each page, each word, struck her heart like a searing brand, burning pain into her soul.
Seven years-what she thought was love turned out to be a carefully planned murder!
His nightly tenderness, the loving glass of milk he'd bring her-it was poison. Poison with a smile.
It all came crashing back. That day they tried on wedding outfits, she vaguely remembered the news reporting a violent crime in the west side of town. A woman had been murdered.
That woman... was Angelina Miller. And Lucien blamed her, blamed her hopeful little phone calls, for it all.
The grief, the absurdity of it all-it hit her like a tidal wave. She collapsed onto the cold floor, clutching that diary to her chest, feeling completely hollowed out.
The truth hurt far worse than the cancer ever did. Just knowing the reason behind it all was killing her faster than the disease.
When Lucien came home and saw the diary in her hands, his eyes flickered-panic, then a strange sense of relief, before it all faded to cold indifference.
He didn't even try to make up an excuse.
As the last moments of her life ticked away, she looked at the man she'd loved for seven years... the same man who had hated her for just as long. With her dying breath, she forced out the final words from her cracked lips: "Lucien... If there's a next life, I swear I won't marry you."
Then, everything went black.
*****
When she came to again, it was a mess of voices and harsh sunlight that brought her back.
"Mrs. Sterling, do these shoes fit? They're handcrafted crystal heels from an renowned designer, limited edition-they'll match your dress perfectly!"
Calliope's eyes flew open and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Bright lights, mirrored walls, designer gowns... She was in the VIP fitting room of a bridal boutique.
And staring back at her in the full-length mirror-was her 22-year-old self.
She was alive.
Back in that moment, seven years ago, the very day she and Lucien were trying on wedding outfits.
The memory of her cancer, of his betrayal, of all that unbearable pain-it surged up, almost drowning her. But tangled in that ocean of emotion was also a burning wave of fury and the wild thrill of getting a second chance.
Lucien... you never saw this coming, did you?
The universe handed me a do-over.
This time around, I won't be the love-blind idiot I once was.
What you owe me-I'll make sure you pay it back, every bit of it. With interest.
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7.2
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.
7.2
Clifton, the god of esports, was secretly battling a career-ending wrist injury to protect his team.
A year ago, he kissed his duo partner, Justice, only to be met with violent disgust. Justice shoved him away and dry-heaved in the rain, looking at him like a monster.
Humiliated by the straight man's raw revulsion, Clifton cut him out of his life.
But now, Justice suddenly appeared at Clifton's club as a rookie tryout.
Instead of an ambitious climber, Justice played the perfect, pathetic victim. He cowered, trembled, and acted terrified whenever Clifton was near.
He even signed a bloodsucking contract with a toxic teammate, sparking rumors he was brought in to replace Clifton as captain.
During a scrimmage, Clifton hesitated to shoot because he remembered Justice had just severely burned his hand.
Justice showed no mercy. He ruthlessly gunned Clifton down, humiliating the captain in front of the entire coaching staff.
Clifton was consumed by blinding rage and betrayal.
If Justice was so disgusted by him, why did he fake his devotion for six months just to use him?
Why was he acting like helpless prey now, after trampling all over Clifton's pride?
Determined to rip off the liar's disguise, Clifton dragged Justice into a live stream in front of sixty thousand viewers.
"He's asking if you are in love with me."
Clifton smiled cruelly, waiting for the public execution. But just as the trap snapped shut, a choked, terrified gasp came through the headset.
7.8
On my fifth wedding anniversary, I wasn't arranging flowers; I was staging my own death.
My husband, Graham, treated me like a prized accessory, but the antique watch on his nightstand revealed the brutal truth.
It was engraved "Forever, Elia"-proof that his heart belonged to his business partner, not me.
So I vanished into the ocean, letting the world believe I had drowned.
For two years, I lived as "Anna," finding peace in a small coastal town and rediscovering my art.
But the past has a way of clawing its way back.
Elia tracked me down, storming into my pottery studio with a weapon, screaming that my "death" had ruined Graham.
She lunged, and I took the blow to protect a child.
That' s when the door burst open.
Graham stood there, frozen, staring at his "late" wife bleeding on the floor.
He fell to his knees, sobbing, begging to destroy his empire just to have me back.
I looked at the man I once worshipped and felt nothing but cold indifference.
"I loved the man you pretended to be," I told him.
"But that man never existed."
7.5
For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big.
On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe."
Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero."
Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends.
"She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy."
Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder.
I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number.
"Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married."
7.2
I went to the bank to set up a trust fund for my twins, only to have the manager look at me with pity.
"Mrs. Dunlap, the trust requires the *biological* mother's signature."
I froze. I *was* their mother. Or so I thought.
That day, I learned my husband, the most powerful Mafia Don on the coast, had used his ex-lover’s frozen eggs.
For six years, I wasn't his wife. I was just the incubator.
When his "true love," Iliana, returned from exile, my life disintegrated.
My children, poisoned by her lies, pushed me down the stairs and called me "just the nanny."
Gavyn didn't help me up. He stepped over my bleeding body to take his "real family" out for ice cream.
But the ultimate betrayal happened on a windswept cliff.
Staged by Iliana, we were both tied up, allegedly rigged to explode.
Forced to choose who to save, Gavyn didn't hesitate.
He cut Iliana loose.
"You did this to yourself, Alex," he said, driving away with the children, leaving me to die.
He thought he was leaving behind a corpse.
He didn't know I had skimmed ten million dollars from the household accounts.
"Cut me loose," I told the hitman, transferring the money. "And tell him the ocean took me."
Two years later, the Don is on his knees in my garden, begging for a second chance.
Too bad he has to get through my new fiancé first—the head of the rival cartel.
8.6
"Her blood type is a match. It’s the only option."
I froze outside the conference room door, the quarterly reports digging into my ribs.
I knew that voice. It was Ben, my husband’s best friend and doctor. But the next voice, cold and devoid of warmth, shattered my world.
"Then we do it," my husband Ethan said. "Chloe cannot wait any longer. If Ava is the match, then Ava is the solution."
For the past month, Ethan had been obsessed with my health, insisting on daily "vitamins" and endless checkups. He called it love.
Standing in that hallway, I realized he was actually shopping for spare parts.
"She is your wife, Ethan," Ben argued weakly. "You can't just harvest her like a crop."
"She became my wife because she was useful," Ethan replied, his indifference cutting deeper than any scalpel. "Now, she can be useful for this."
The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The nausea I’d been feeling wasn't stress.
I was pregnant.
And those "vitamins" he fed me every morning? They weren't supplements. They were poisons designed to ensure I remained a viable donor.
He was killing his own child to save his mistress.
To him, I wasn't a partner. I was livestock. An asset to be liquidated for parts.
I didn't burst into the room. I didn't scream.
I walked away in silence, my hand hovering over my stomach.
He wanted my kidney? He wanted to carve me up?
I decided right then. I wouldn't just leave.
I would terminate the pregnancy, fake my death, and burn his entire world to the ground.