Reborn As The Tycoon's Hated Ward

A sharp, splitting pain fractured the back of her skull.

Helena gasped, her lungs pulling in air so cold it burned her throat. She opened her eyes. The space around her was massive, lined with dark mahogany shelves and row upon row of expensive, custom-tailored men's suits. The scent of cedar and faint, masculine cologne filled her nose.

She looked down. Her stomach dropped.

She was wearing a black silk slip. The fabric was practically sheer, clinging to her skin. Goosebumps erupted along her arms and thighs.

Memories that did not belong to her crashed into her brain like physical blows. Helena Hancock. New York socialite. A ruined reputation. A desperate, pathetic plan to seduce her legal guardian, the head of the Hancock Group, to secure her trust fund.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She was inside the romance novel she had read before falling asleep. She was the villain. And she had just executed the exact plot that got the original Helena thrown out on the street.

"Helena, your time is up. Get out."

The male voice coming from the other side of the heavy wooden door was flat. It held no anger, only a freezing, absolute authority.

Her breath hitched. That was Hayward. The Wall Street wolf. The man who could destroy her life with a single phone call.

She spun around, her bare feet slapping quietly against the hardwood floor. She needed clothes. She could not face him like this. She tore through the racks, her hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the hangers. Everything was massive. Men's dress shirts. Tuxedos.

She grabbed a heavy charcoal cashmere overcoat. She pulled it on, wrapping the thick material tightly around her small frame. The hem almost touched her ankles, swallowing her completely.

The brass doorknob turned. The click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Helena scrambled backward, pressing her spine against the back panel of a suit rack. She held her breath until her chest ached.

The door pushed open.

Hayward stepped into the closet. He wore a white terrycloth bathrobe. Water dripped from the ends of his dark hair, landing on the collar of the robe. His jaw was locked tight. His eyes swept the room, sharp and predatory.

He did not search. He simply turned his head and locked his gaze directly on the gap between the suits where she was hiding.

He stood perfectly still. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Helena pressed her fingers into the soft cashmere seam of the coat, rubbing the fabric to ground herself. The original Helena would have cried right now. She would have thrown herself at his feet and begged.

She could not do that. She needed an excuse. A reason for being in his closet that did not involve seduction.

"Playing hide-and-seek?" Hayward asked. His voice was a low, mocking drawl. "How original."

Her brain snapped into focus. Hide-and-seek.

She stepped out from behind the rack. She let her shoulders drop. She forced her eyes to widen, relaxing her facial muscles until she looked completely blank.

She ignored Hayward. She turned to the empty cabinet next to her. She opened the door. She stared at the empty shelves. She closed it. She opened it again.

A muscle ticked in Hayward's jaw. He watched her, his eyes narrowing.

Helena leaned close to the wood paneling. "Eleanor, are you in there?" she whispered. "It's my turn to hide now."

She turned her head slowly and looked at Hayward. She blinked, keeping her expression entirely vacant.

"Sorry," she said, her voice soft and airy. "I'm playing hide-and-seek with my other self. She's very good at hiding."

Hayward went completely rigid. His eyes dug into her face, searching for the lie. He was looking for the smirk, the calculation, the usual manipulation.

Helena gave him nothing. She turned back to a different cabinet. She opened it and gasped softly.

"Found you," she whispered to the empty space.

The disgust in Hayward's eyes shifted. It morphed into a dark, twisted curiosity. He stared at her as if she were a puzzle with missing pieces. He thought she was either losing her mind or playing a game so sick he could not figure out the rules.

Helena did not wait for him to process it. She pulled the lapels of the oversized coat tighter around her neck. She walked forward, keeping her steps slow and uneven.

She brushed past his arm. The heat radiating from his body made her skin prickle.

"I should go to sleep now," she murmured, staring straight ahead at the hallway. "Eleanor says she is tired."

She walked out of the closet. She kept her back straight, though she had to fist the heavy material at her sides to keep from tripping, feeling the heavy weight of his stare burning into her spine.

Hayward did not move to stop her. He stood in the center of his closet, watching the oversized coat swallow her small frame as she disappeared into the hall.

Helena reached the end of the long hallway. Her fingers closed around the cold brass handle of her bedroom door.

"Stop right there."

The words hit her back like ice water. Her stomach clamped down. She forced herself to take a slow breath before turning around.

Hayward stood at the opposite end of the hall. He was still wearing the same white terrycloth bathrobe, simply using a small towel to carelessly dry the ends of his damp hair. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, his eyes freezing cold as he draped the towel over his neck and crossed his arms over his chest.

"The family trust meeting is on Friday," Hayward said. His voice carried down the empty corridor, sharp and precise.

Helena felt the blood drain from her face. The trust fund. The only thing keeping her from living on the streets.

Hayward pushed off the wall and walked toward her. His footsteps made no sound on the thick carpet.

"My proposal to have you removed is at the top of the agenda," he said.

He stopped two feet away from her. He was too tall. She had to tilt her head back to look at his face.

"Whatever game you were playing in my closet, it won't work," Hayward said. "Theatrics don't move stock prices."

Her throat went dry. The crazy act had bought her five minutes. It was not going to save her trust fund. She had to keep the act going.

"I was not playing a game," Helena said. She kept her voice small. She rubbed her thumb over the edge of the coat pocket. "Eleanor wanted to see your tie collection."

The corner of Hayward's mouth twitched upward in a cold, humorless smile.

"Eleanor?" he repeated. "Tell Eleanor that if she costs the Hancock name one more negative headline, I will personally ensure she ends up in a facility where she can play with all the imaginary friends she wants."

Her lungs stopped working. He was threatening to lock her in a psychiatric ward.

She looked into his eyes. There was no bluff there. He would do it.

She let her lower lip tremble. She forced the moisture to pool in her eyes, letting the very real fear she was feeling show on her face.

"I... I do not know," she whispered. Her voice shook. "My head hurts lately. I cannot remember things."

Hayward stared down at her. He watched the tear form in the corner of her eye. His expression did not soften.

He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a crisp, white card and held it out to her.

"This is your new psychiatrist's card," Hayward said. "Your appointment is tomorrow at ten in the morning. Do not be late."

Helena reached out with a trembling hand. She took the card. The name Dr. Evelyn Reed was printed in black ink.

Hayward turned his back on her. He started walking toward his study.

"Wait," Helena called out.

He stopped. He did not turn around.

"I will be good from now on," she said, pushing every ounce of sincerity she had into the words.

Hayward stood perfectly still for three seconds.

"Prove it," he said.

He walked away.

Helena pushed her bedroom door open and slipped inside. She leaned her back against the solid wood and slid down until she hit the floor. Her legs felt like water.

She looked at the card in her hand. It was a leash.

She pushed herself up and walked into the massive bathroom. She stared at the mirror. The face looking back at her was stunning. High cheekbones, full lips, pale skin. It was the face of a villain.

Down the hall, Hayward walked into his study. He walked to the crystal decanter on his desk and poured two fingers of whiskey.

He took a drink. The burn settled in his chest, but it did not clear his mind.

He thought about the way she looked in the hallway. The old Helena was loud. She threw tantrums. She calculated every move to gain money or attention.

The girl in the hallway looked lost. She looked terrified.

He set the glass down hard on the desk. The pressure of losing her money must have finally cracked her brain. The thought did not bring him satisfaction. It only made a muscle in his jaw tick with deep, unexplainable annoyance.

The morning sun poured through the massive windows of the Hancock estate.

Before leaving her bedroom, Helena had stood in front of her vanity, thinking about how to navigate this new family dynamic. She needed allies, particularly Alaina, the female lead. She had dug through the original Helena's hoard of unopened shopping bags and selected a small, velvet box containing a silver Tiffany pen. It was understated but practical for a design student. She slipped it into the pocket of her dress, deciding to find an opportunity to give it to her step-sister today.

Helena walked down the wide, carpeted corridor. She was completely lost. The house was the size of a museum, and the original Helena's memories were a blurry mess of hangovers and shopping trips. She just wanted to find the breakfast room.

She stopped in front of a white door. She assumed it was a sitting room and pushed the handle down.

She stepped inside. The room was painted in soft pastels. A drafting table sat by the window, covered in charcoal pencils and sketch paper.

This was Alaina's room. The female lead of the novel. Her step-sister.

Helena took a step back to leave.

"Miss Helena, what are you doing in Miss Alaina's room?"

The voice cracked like a whip behind her.

Helena turned around. Arthur Giles, the estate's head butler, stood in the hallway. His posture was rigid. His eyes were filled with open disgust.

Behind Arthur stood a young woman with bright blonde hair and wide, terrified blue eyes. Alaina.

Alaina physically shrank back when she saw Helena. She pulled her arms tight against her sides.

Helena remembered the plot. Arthur hated the original Helena. He thought she was trash.

"I hope you were not looking for something that does not belong to you," Arthur said. His tone was sharp enough to cut glass.

He was accusing her of stealing.

Helena knew saying she was lost would sound like a pathetic lie. She looked at Alaina. She looked at the drafting table full of sketches.

She reached into the pocket of her dress. Her fingers brushed against the small, velvet box she had deliberately packed earlier. It was the perfect moment to use the peace offering she had prepared.

Helena pulled her hand out of her pocket. She smiled. It was a bright, genuine smile that reached her eyes.

She walked straight toward Alaina.

Alaina bit her lower lip hard and took a step back.

Helena stopped in front of her and held out the small box.

"Surprise," Helena said softly. "I wanted to give you your welcome-to-Hancock-Group gift in person."

Arthur froze. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

Alaina stared at the box. Her hands were shaking as she slowly reached out and took it. She popped the lid open.

Inside sat a heavy, silver Tiffany pen.

"We start our internships at headquarters tomorrow," Helena said. She kept her voice warm and steady. "I thought you could use it for your sketches. I hope you like it."

Alaina looked up from the pen. Her blue eyes were wide with shock.

"For... for me?" Alaina whispered. "Thank you, Helena."

It was the first time Helena had ever spoken to her without screaming or throwing something.

Arthur cleared his throat. His face was flushed with embarrassment. His accusation now hung in the air, making him look foolish.

Helena turned to the butler. Her smile did not fade.

"Arthur, could you please show me the way to the breakfast room?" she asked politely. "I seem to have gotten turned around."

Arthur swallowed hard. He gave a stiff nod. "Right this way, Miss."

Helena turned and followed him down the hall.

Alaina stood in the doorway of her room. She clutched the velvet box tightly against her chest. She watched her step-sister walk away. The fear in her stomach was gone, replaced by a strange, warm feeling of curiosity.

Arthur walked briskly ahead of Helena.

"Mr. Hayward does not appreciate tardiness," Arthur said coldly over his shoulder.

"Thank you for the reminder, Arthur," Helena replied smoothly.

Arthur frowned. He did not know how to handle this calm, polite version of the girl he despised.

Back in her room, Alaina set the silver pen on her drafting table. She looked at her sketches. She decided right then that she would talk to her sister tomorrow.