Reborn Heiress: My Ruthless Tycoon's Revenge

The pain didn't start as an ache. It started as a tear, a violent separation of tissue in her abdomen where the iron bar had made contact.

Athena Madden lay on the wet asphalt, the cold rain mixing with the warm, metallic taste pooling in her mouth. It bubbled up her throat, choking her. She tried to cough, but her lungs were heavy, filled with fluid that shouldn't be there.

Through swollen eyelids, she saw them. Two pairs of pristine leather shoes standing inches from her face.

"Finally," a man's voice said. It was a voice she used to associate with warmth, with safety. Now, it sounded like a jagged edge. "She stopped moving."

Clovis.

He wasn't looking at her like a lover. He was looking at her like a bag of trash left out on the curb. His arm was wrapped tight around a slender waist.

Alanna.

Athena's stepsister crouched down, her expensive coat dragging in the dirty puddle. A manicured fingernail traced the line of Athena's cheek, pressing hard enough to leave a mark.

"Thanks for the trust fund, sister," Alanna whispered. Her breath smelled of mint and triumph. "You really made this easy."

Alanna pulled a phone from her pocket and shoved the screen in front of Athena's dying eyes. The brightness seared her retinas, but the bold headline burned deeper.

WALL STREET TYCOON CAESAR WILLIAMSON DEAD IN MULTI-CAR COLLISION. SOURCES SAY HE WAS ATTEMPTING TO INTERCEPT EX-WIFE.

Athena's heart, already struggling to beat, seemed to shatter.

He came.

The monster. The tyrant she had feared, the man she had run from to be with the coward standing above her. Caesar had driven into hell to save her, and he had died for it.

A guttural sound ripped from her throat-a sob drowning in blood. She wanted to scream, to claw at the asphalt, to beg the universe for a rewind button.

But the darkness was heavy. It pressed down on her chest, heavier than the rain, heavier than the betrayal.

The world went black.

Then, she was screaming.

Athena shot up in bed, her lungs heaving, sucking in air like a drowning woman breaking the surface. Sweat soaked her silk pajamas, plastering them to her skin.

She scrambled at her abdomen, her fingers frantic. Smooth skin. No blood. No tear.

She grabbed the phone on the nightstand. The date glared back at her.

It was three years ago. The day she was supposed to marry into the Williamson estate.

She stumbled into the bathroom, gripping the porcelain sink until her knuckles turned white. The face in the mirror was a stranger's. Heavy, dark eyeliner smeared around her eyes. Pale, ghostly foundation. It was the mask she wore to convince the world she was unstable, a drug-addled mess unworthy of love.

"Stupid," she hissed at her reflection.

She turned the faucet on full blast. She scrubbed. She scrubbed until the water ran gray with charcoal and lies, until the skin beneath was raw and pink.

The face that emerged was hers. Sharp cheekbones, clear eyes, a mouth that was no longer set in a permanent pout of victimhood.

Her phone buzzed against the marble counter.

Clovis: Baby, I'm at the pier. Don't go to that cripple. We can leave tonight.

Athena stared at the name. The bile rose in her throat again, phantom blood mixing with real nausea. Her thumb hovered over the delete button.

She didn't just delete it. She blocked the number.

She walked back into the bedroom and kicked the ripped fishnet stockings across the floor. She went to the back of the closet, pushing past the black rags she had worn for months, and pulled out a white silk dress. It was simple, elegant, and entirely unlike the Athena everyone expected.

She zipped it up. It fit like armor.

She walked out the door. Downstairs, a wail echoed through the hallway.

"Oh, my poor Athena," Gilda's voice was thick with theatrical grief. "She's in such a state. Her mind is so fragile... how can we send her to that man?"

Athena stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her stepmother. Gilda was dabbing at dry eyes with a lace handkerchief, performing for the house staff.

Athena's heels clicked on the hardwood. Sharp. Rhythmic.

Gilda looked up. Her mouth opened, but the sob died in her throat. She stared at the clean face, the white dress, the terrifying calmness in Athena's eyes.

Athena didn't stop. She walked past Gilda, snatching the handle of her suitcase from a stunned maid.

"Save the tears, Gilda," Athena said, her voice devoid of inflection. "I'm going to be late."

She pushed open the heavy front doors of the Madden residence. The sun hit her face, blinding and hot. It felt real.

A black stretch Lincoln sat in the driveway. The driver leaned against the hood, checking his watch with a sneer. He expected a fight. He expected a screaming, reluctant bride.

Athena tossed her suitcase into the trunk herself before he could move. She opened the back door and slid onto the leather seat.

She rolled down the window and looked the driver in the eye.

"Drive," she said. "Take me to Williamson Manor."