Reborn To Ruin My Husband

The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood, and Eleanor's vision blurred as she lay sprawled on the cold marble floor of the grand hall. Her once-pristine gown, a cascade of ivory silk, was now stained crimson, the fabric clinging to her like a shroud. Each shallow breath burned in her chest, her strength ebbing away with every heartbeat. Above her, the chandelier glittered mockingly, its golden light casting shadows that danced like specters across the walls of the home she had poured her soul into.

Her husband, Lord Cedric Varnholt, stood a few paces away, his face a mask of indifference. Beside him, her best friend, Marianne, clung to his arm, her delicate features twisted with something that looked like pity-but Eleanor knew better now. It was triumph. The truth clawed at her heart, sharper than the dagger that had pierced her side. They had orchestrated this.

Her death. Her ruin.

"How... could you?" Eleanor's voice was a broken whisper, barely audible over the distant hum of the gala continuing in the next room. The guests were oblivious, their laughter a cruel counterpoint to her fading life. She reached out a trembling hand, as if she could still grasp the love she had once believed in.

Cedric's lips curled into a faint sneer. "You were always so naive, Eleanor. Did you truly think I married you for love?" His voice was smooth, cold, like the blade that had ended her. "Your father's wealth, his connections-that was the prize. You were merely... collateral."

Marianne's laugh was soft, almost musical, as she leaned closer to Cedric. "Oh, darling, don't be too harsh. She did try so hard to please you." Her eyes, once warm and familiar, now gleamed with malice as she looked down at Eleanor. "But you were never enough, were you? Not for him. Not for anyone."

The words sliced deeper than any wound. Eleanor's mind reeled, memories flooding her like a tidal wave, each one a shard of glass in her shattered heart.

****

Ten years ago, the gardens of her family's estate bloomed with roses, their scent heavy in the summer air. Eleanor, barely eighteen, had stood nervously in her pale blue dress, her heart racing as Cedric, dashing and newly titled, took her hand. "You're different," he had said, his eyes locking with hers. "You make me want to be better." She had believed him, her young heart soaring with dreams of a life built on love.

She had given everything. When her father's shipping empire faltered, she convinced him to name Cedric as his successor, signing over control of the family's fortune. When Cedric's political ambitions demanded alliances, she spent sleepless nights hosting dinners, charming nobles, and securing favors. She had smiled through his late nights, his cold silences, his growing distance, convincing herself it was temporary. Love, she thought, required sacrifice.

And Marianne-her confidante, her sister in all but blood. They had grown up together, sharing secrets and dreams. When Cedric began to drift, it was Marianne who urged Eleanor to be patient. "Men like him need time," she'd said, her voice soothing. "He'll come back to you." Eleanor had clung to those words, never suspecting the venom behind them.

****

Now, as her life drained away, those memories felt like lies. Every sacrifice, every tear, every moment of blind devotion-it had all been for nothing. Her father's empire was in Cedric's hands. Her reputation, painstakingly built, was tarnished by whispers of her "inadequacy" as a wife. And her heart, once so full, was now a hollow ruin.

"Why?" Eleanor rasped, her voice barely a thread. "Marianne... you were my friend."

Marianne crouched beside her, her silk skirts rustling. "Friend?" she murmured, her tone almost tender. "Oh, Eleanor. You were so easy to manipulate. Always so eager to please, so desperate for approval. Did you never wonder why I stayed so close?" She leaned in, her breath warm against Eleanor's ear. "Cedric and I have been lovers for years. Your marriage was just... convenient."

The revelation was a final blow, crushing what little remained of Eleanor's spirit. She had been a pawn, a stepping stone for their ambition. Her love, her trust, her very existence-discarded like refuse.

Her vision darkened, the edges of the world fraying like an old tapestry. But even as death beckoned, a fire ignited in her chest, fueled by rage and betrayal. She had given them everything, and they had repaid her with this-a slow, humiliating end.

Her trembling hand curled into a fist, nails biting into her palm. "If I could live again..." Her voice was a low, guttural vow, each word carved from the depths of her soul. "I'd never forgive you. I'd ruin you both."

Cedric chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "Bold words for a dying woman. But you're finished, Eleanor. No one will mourn you."

Marianne rose, brushing imaginary dust from her gown. "Let's go, darling. The guests will wonder where we've gone."

They turned away, their footsteps echoing in the vast hall, leaving Eleanor to her fate. The cold seeped into her bones, her breaths growing shallower, each one a struggle. The chandelier's light dimmed in her eyes, the world slipping away.

But in that final moment, as her heart stuttered and stopped, something shifted. A pulse of energy, sharp and electric, surged through her. A voice-ancient, vast, and impossibly clear-whispered in the void.

"Your vow has been heard. What was broken can be remade. Will you seize it?"

Eleanor's lips parted, but no sound came. Her consciousness frayed, dissolving into darkness. Yet even as she faded, one thought burned bright: If I could live again... I would destroy them.

The hall was silent now, the gala's music a distant echo. Eleanor's body lay still, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. To the world, she was gone, another tragic casualty of a "sudden illness," as Cedric would no doubt claim. The guests would whisper, the papers would speculate, but none would know the truth of her betrayal.

None would see the spark that lingered, unseen, in the air above her. A spark that pulsed with purpose, with fury, with the promise of a second chance.

Somewhere, in a realm beyond mortal sight, the ancient voice spoke again. "So be it."

And then, nothing.

To be continued...