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.
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Chapter 4
Calliope hadn't told her mom everything.
In her previous life, after losing both parents, she uncovered something chilling while sorting through their belongings-her dad, Jonathan Godfrey, had started quietly moving a huge chunk of assets overseas six months before he passed.
But how could she possibly explain that back then, buried beneath all the financial mess and missing funds, she'd traced the trail to an unexpected name: Rosemary Miller. Her mother's so-called best friend, the one she always spoke of with fondness, believing she'd died years ago from illness.
The worst part? Before she could dig any deeper, Angelina perished in a fire, and Jonathan died not long after in a so-called accident. Calliope never did figure out where all that money really went.
That's why now, before she pieced everything together, she had to throw up a red flag-make her mom start questioning things.
With that in mind, she looped her arm through Eleanor's and headed back to the Godfrey estate.
And the moment they stepped into the living room, what she saw made her stomach drop.
There was her dad, lounging way too comfortably on the main sofa, slightly leaning toward the side, smiling-a genuine, relaxed kind of smile she hadn't seen in ages.
But that smile wasn't for her or her mom. It was directed toward Lucien and Angelina, who were sitting right across from him.
Angelina wore a soft-toned dress, face pale with puffy eyes like she'd just cried her heart out. She looked shaken and helpless, leaning gently against Lucien's arm for support.
Lucien, meanwhile, had his arm resting behind her on the couch in a way that felt too protective for comfort. His gaze stayed locked on Jonathan, nodding along, as if every word held weight.
Then Angelina spoke up, her voice trembling: "Mr. Godfrey, it's all my fault. I'm the useless one who ended up coming between Calliope and Lucien... I don't blame anyone but myself."
Jonathan barely frowned, just a twitch at the brow. "Angelina, none of this is on you. You were only targeted because of work. As for Calliope-if she hadn't kept nagging Lucien with all those calls, he wouldn't have been so late, and you wouldn't have nearly gotten hurt. That whole broken engagement thing? She brought that on herself..."
"What the hell are you saying?"
Calliope felt her mom's hand squeeze hers tighter-fingernails nearly breaking the skin.
At Eleanor's sharp voice, the three in the room whipped their heads around.
Angelina instantly sat up straight like someone had slapped her. Her face lit up with guilt and panic as she stammered and stepped forward, voice thick with tears. "Mrs. Carmody, Calliope... you're home?"
She took another hesitant step forward, teardrops clinging to her lashes. "I'm so sorry! It's my fault-I didn't mean to ruin your dress fitting, Calliope."
When Calliope didn't answer, Angelina ramped it up, laying it on thick. "Yell at me! Slap me if you want! I shouldn't have called Lucien for help, I really didn't mean to cause so much trouble..."
She let her voice crack perfectly on cue, shoulders trembling like she was carrying the whole world's guilt.
And sure enough, Jonathan's face darkened in response.
"Calliope, what is wrong with you? You know how swamped Lucien is right now! We're smack in the middle of a critical project, everyone's watching our every move-and you decide to play dress-up now of all times? What's more important, your little wedding fantasy or this family's legacy?"
"If Lucien hadn't stopped by work and heard about the incident in time, Angelina could've been seriously hurt. But you? You're throwing a tantrum in a bridal shop? With that spoiled attitude of yours, do you really think you're fit to be anyone's wife? Honestly, Lucien ending the engagement was probably the smartest thing he did."
Every word hit Calliope like a slap. She stared at her father in disbelief, stunned that he could say these things without a hint of shame.
The man who once treated her like treasure was now trampling all over her dignity just to defend an outsider.
"Jonathan!" Eleanor couldn't take it anymore. She yanked her daughter behind her, shielding her. "Do you even hear yourself right now? It was Lucien who betrayed her, ditched our daughter for another woman right before the wedding! And you're not comforting Calliope, but joining sides with someone else to blame her? What kind of father are you supposed to be?!"
She stared at him, her voice shaking with disbelief and rage. "Are you out of your mind? What spell did that Angelina girl put on you? Enough to make you turn your back on your own daughter?"
"Oh, I'm the crazy one now?" Jonathan suddenly stood up from the couch. His tall frame cast a heavy, tense shadow in the brightly lit room. He didn't even glance at his daughter. All his fury was now aimed straight at Eleanor, like a storm about to break.
"Eleanor, think about it. Since you married into the Godfrey family, besides tending to flowers and hosting those trivial afternoon teas, what real contribution have you made to this household?"
"When Godfrey Group hit rough patches, who was the one holding it together? Me! I'm the one who carried that weight! And where were you? Other than telling me to 'take care of myself' and 'don't overwork,' did you actually lift a finger to help?"
Eleanor stared at him, wide-eyed, as if seeing a stranger for the first time.
Everything she thought was a part of their bond-those small caring words, the quiet efforts-now sounded worthless dripping from his mouth. All her hard work keeping the household and social circles running, dismissed like it meant absolutely nothing.
"How could you say that?" Her voice trembled, her tears threatening to fall, but she gritted her teeth, clinging to composure. "I gave birth to your child, raised her, ran this home, maintained-"
"That's enough!" Jonathan snapped, his tone filled with harsh annoyance. "Raised a child? Yeah, and look how she turned out! Selfish, thoughtless, no sense of propriety-couldn't even keep her fiancé! That's your masterpiece after twenty years?"
His eyes flicked toward Calliope, who stood frozen, fists clenched, face pale.
"Look at Angelina!" He pointed sharply at the woman beside him, who looked all worried and meek. "She's a girl too, but she knows how to behave, how to read the room! And you? All you ever did was spoil our daughter until she's completely out of control. What else do you even do?"
This wasn't just a fight anymore-it was a full-on character assassination.
He tossed away two decades of a wife and mother's effort like it was trash.
Eleanor swayed on her feet, about to collapse, but Calliope rushed over and gripped her firm.
"Jonathan..." Eleanor's voice was lower than a murmur, hollow and lifeless. "I've been your wife for twenty-three years. Is that how little I mean to you?"
Jonathan may have flinched seeing the emptiness in her eyes, but Angelina's quiet, needy expression only fueled his indignation. He scoffed and looked away. "You know exactly what you are. I've had it with your indecisiveness. What the Godfrey family needs is a woman who can take charge, not someone obsessed with tea parties and flower beds. I only put up with it because of Calliope. But now that Lucien's made the smarter choice, let me make one thing clear-"
He paused, eyes sweeping over everyone in the room before locking onto Eleanor, his voice cold and cutting like a final verdict.
"From now on, stay out of this family's decisions. And especially don't meddle in young people's relationships-it's none of your business. Just enjoy your status, your money, and stop embarrassing me and the Godfrey name."
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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.