Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge

"Stop the drama, Elease."

The male voice was cold, bored, and entirely too close.

Elease's eyes snapped open. Her pupils dilated instantly, adjusting to the light with a mechanical precision that did not belong to the woman who had gone to sleep in this bed the night before.

She sat up. Her body felt heavy, sluggish. There was a phantom sensation in her chest, a burning heat like a bullet wound, but when she looked down, she saw only the pristine, high-thread-count sheets of a luxury bed.

She scanned the room. Minimalist grey decor. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. The faint, cloying scent of expensive cologne.

A sharp headache spiked behind her eyes. Memories flooded in, but they were disjointed. A woman named Elease Finch. A life of submission. A scar on her face. A husband who despised her.

She raised a hand to her right cheek. Her fingertips traced the rough, raised texture of a burn scar. It was real. This body was real.

But the mind operating it was not. The panic and desperation that usually defined Elease Finch were gone, replaced by a cold, tactical silence. She was Phoenix.

She turned her head slowly.

Kason Stephens was sitting in a velvet armchair near the window. He was dressed in a suit that cost more than most people earned in a year. He checked his watch, his leg bouncing with impatience.

"I don't have all day," Kason said. He didn't look at her face. He never looked at her face.

He picked up a blue folder from the side table and tossed it onto the bed. It slid across the silk duvet and hit her leg.

Elease looked at the folder. She didn't flinch. She picked it up, her movements precise. Her hands were steady. The tremors that used to plague Elease when her husband was near were absent.

She opened the folder. The title was bold and centered: Divorce Settlement Agreement.

"Chelsea is back," Kason said. He stood up and walked toward the window, keeping his back to her. "I need the house clear by tonight."

Elease stared at the back of his head. She analyzed the threat level. Zero. He was soft. A civilian.

"I've added five million to the settlement," Kason continued, his tone suggesting it was a transaction, not a gift. "It's a fee for your silence. Enough for you to go upstate, buy a small house, and hide that face where no one has to see it again. Sign the NDA, and it's yours."

Elease looked down at the document. Her eyes scanned the legal jargon, stripping away the fluff to find the core data. Non-disclosure agreements. Asset forfeiture. A complete erasure of her existence from his life.

A surge of grief tried to rise up in her throat-the residue of the original host's feelings. Elease Finch had loved this man. She had worshipped him.

Phoenix crushed that emotion instantly. It was inefficient.

She looked at the Montblanc pen resting on the nightstand.

She reached out and picked it up. The cap made a sharp click as she pulled it off. The sound was loud in the quiet room.

Kason turned around, frowning. He had expected tears. He had expected begging. He had prepared himself for a scene.

"Don't pretend you're going to sign it without a fight," he said, his eyes narrowing. "I know you, Elease. You're going to cry. You're going to ask me why."

Elease didn't look up. She flipped to the last page, skipping the financial breakdown entirely.

She pressed the pen to the paper.

"Elease Finch."

She signed the name. The signature was sharp, angular, and aggressive. It looked nothing like the round, hesitant loops of the woman who had lived here yesterday.

She closed the folder and tossed it back toward him. It landed on the edge of the mattress.

Kason stared at the folder, then at her. He looked stunned.

"You didn't even read the alimony clause," he said.

Elease swung her legs off the bed and stood up. She felt the weakness in her muscles-this body had been sedentary, pampered, and depressed. She would need to fix that.

She walked past him toward the large vanity mirror.

"I don't want your money, Kason," she said. Her voice was raspy from disuse, but it was steady.

Kason took a step back. The air in the room seemed to shift. The woman standing before the mirror was holding herself differently. Her spine was straight. Her chin was up.

"Don't play hard to get," Kason scoffed, trying to regain his footing. "You have no skills. You have no friends. You can't survive in Manhattan without me."

Elease turned to face him. She looked him directly in the eyes. Her gaze was dark, empty of affection, empty of fear. It was the look of a predator assessing prey.

"Your money is dirty," she said softly. "I prefer clean hands."

Kason felt a chill crawl up his spine. It was an irrational reaction. This was just Elease. Weak, scarred Elease.

"Fine," he snapped, grabbing the folder. "Leave everything I bought you. The clothes, the jewelry. Get out now."

Elease smiled. It was a cold curve of her lips that didn't reach her eyes.

"With pleasure."