Reborn For His Savage Love

On my wedding day, the giant screen in the ballroom was supposed to show a romantic video of my fiancé and me.

Instead, it played a sordid deepfake video of me with another man.

My fiancé, the celebrated tech mogul Edward Ford, pointed at me in front of New York's high society.

"Amelia Stone, you are a disgrace."

My own father then stepped forward, not to defend me, but to condemn me. He publicly disowned me, announcing he had another, kinder daughter who would take my rightful place.

He gestured to the side, and my illegitimate half-sister, Dara Chase, stepped out, looking innocent and fragile.

Betrayed by the two men I loved most, I fled the ballroom in shame. As I ran into the street, a car hit me with horrific force.

As I died, I floated above my own broken body. I watched as Edward and Dara embraced, their mission accomplished. But then I saw him. Josiah Craft, a guest at the wedding, fell to his knees beside me, his face crumbling into raw, animalistic grief.

I opened my eyes again. I was back in my penthouse, just days before the wedding that was supposed to be my end.

Chapter 1

The phone buzzed on the nightstand, a sharp, insistent sound in the quiet room. I stared at it, my mind a fog. I had just made a decision, a monumental one, and the call felt like an intrusion from a world I no longer belonged to. I let it ring, the name on the screen a faint, painful memory.

Josiah Craft.

Finally, I picked it up. His voice, usually so calm and steady, was tight with worry.

"Amelia? Are you okay? I heard... I heard about the wedding."

His words were a jumble, but his concern was clear. It was a lifeline. In that moment, a wild, desperate idea took root in my scrambled brain.

"Josiah," I said, my own voice sounding strange and distant to my ears. He was always so careful, so respectful of my engagement to Edward. He never crossed a line, but his quiet devotion was a constant presence in the background of my life. A stark contrast to Edward's grand, public displays.

"Yes, I'm here. What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softening.

"Marry me, Josiah," I blurted out.

Silence. Complete and utter silence on the other end of the line. I could picture him, his strong frame frozen, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. He was a man of immense power, the heir to a Texas oil fortune, a man who never showed weakness. But my request had clearly shaken him.

"What did you say?" he finally asked, his voice a low whisper.

"I said, marry me," I repeated, the words feeling more real, more solid this time. "When this is all over, I'll marry you."

I heard a sharp clatter, the sound of a phone dropping, followed by a muffled curse. He was fumbling, his composure shattered.

"Amelia, are you serious? Don't joke about this." His voice came back, strained.

"I've never been more serious in my life," I said, a strange sense of calm settling over me. "I promise."

He didn't answer. I heard a deep, shaky breath. Then, I hung up.

The moment the call ended, a wave of nausea and pain washed over me. My head throbbed, and a phantom agony shot through my legs, the ghost of crushed bone and twisted metal. I collapsed onto the thick, plush carpet of the penthouse bedroom, gasping for air.

I was alive.

It wasn't a dream. I was back. Back in the lavish New York penthouse Edward Ford had bought for us. Back in the life that had been so brutally ripped away from me.

I remembered it all. The wedding day. The massive screen in the grand ballroom suddenly flashing to life, not with a romantic montage, but with a sordid, scandalous video. A video of me, or so they claimed, in a compromising position with another man. It was a fake, a clumsy deepfake, but in the shock of the moment, no one cared.

My fiancé, the celebrated tech mogul Edward Ford, stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. He pointed at me, his voice booming through the hall. "Amelia Stone, you are a disgrace."

Then my own father, Al Hayes, the man who had married into my mother's powerful Boston family, the Stone family, stepped forward. He didn't defend me. He condemned me.

"I am ashamed to call you my daughter," he announced, his voice heavy with false sorrow. "All this time, I've had another daughter, a kind and gentle girl who has suffered in silence. It is time she took her rightful place."

He gestured to the side of the stage, and Dara Chase, my illegitimate half-sister, stepped out. She looked so innocent, so fragile, her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Edward.

I was surrounded by whispers, by the judgmental stares of New York's high society. Betrayed by my fiancé, disowned by my father. I ran. I fled the ballroom, my wedding dress tearing as I stumbled into the street, my mind a blur of pain and humiliation.

Then came the screech of tires. The blinding headlights. The horrific, final impact.

I had died. I remembered floating above my own broken body, watching the chaos unfold. Watching as Edward and Dara embraced, their mission accomplished. But I also saw something else. I saw Josiah Craft, who had been a guest, push through the crowd. I saw him fall to his knees beside my body, his controlled facade crumbling into raw, animalistic grief. His howls of pain were the last thing I heard before everything went dark.

And now, I was back. Reborn just days before the wedding that was meant to be my end.

A sound from the master bedroom pulled me from my horrifying memories. A soft, feminine moan, followed by a low chuckle. My blood ran cold.

I knew who it was. I had always known, deep down, but I had refused to see it.

My feet moved on their own, carrying me silently across the living room to the slightly ajar bedroom door. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of dread and certainty.

The door was left open just enough, a deliberate act of taunting, I now realized. I peered through the crack.

The scene inside was exactly what my soul already knew. Edward, my brilliant, ruthless fiancé, was in bed. And with him, nestled against his chest, was Dara. My half-sister. The one he had always claimed was just a "pitiable family friend" he was helping out of a sense of duty.

"Edward, what if Amelia comes home?" Dara whispered, her voice a breathy mix of excitement and feigned concern.

I remembered asking Edward why he had insisted Dara move into the guest room of our penthouse. "She has nowhere else to go," he had said, his eyes full of a convincing sympathy. "Her mother is sick, and she needs support. Don't be so cold, Amelia."

I had relented, shamed by his words, blinded by my love for him. I had bought her designer clothes, taken her to society events, treated her like the sister I never had. How foolish I had been.

"Don't worry about her," Edward murmured, his voice thick with a passion he had never shown me. "She's too proud, too arrogant to ever suspect a thing. She thinks the world revolves around her."

He was running the investment firm founded by my mother's family, the Stone family. His new-money tech empire from Silicon Valley needed the legitimacy and influence of Boston's old money. And I was the key. Or so I had thought.

Now, I understood. The romance, the grand public proposal that had captivated the city, the endless praise for our "perfect match"-it was all a scheme. A long, elaborate con to ruin me and seize my inheritance for themselves.

Dara giggled, a sound that was no longer innocent but malicious. "But I'm her sister. Her illegitimate sister."

"My father's daughter," I whispered to myself, the truth a bitter poison on my tongue. My father, Al Hayes, had been cheating on my mother for years. Dara was the result. He had kept her a secret, doting on her from afar, consumed by guilt and a twisted desire to give her the life he felt she was owed. A life he was willing to steal from me.

"You're the woman I love," Edward said, kissing her deeply. "Once we're married and I control the Stone assets, we'll get rid of Amelia. Then you, my love, will have everything you've ever deserved."

The pain that lanced through my heart was sharper, more real than the phantom crash. It was the agony of a thousand betrayals rolled into one. Memories of Edward's relentless pursuit flooded my mind. He, the untamable tech genius, had chased me for a year. He filled my office with flowers, bought out billboards in Times Square to declare his love, and pursued me with a single-minded focus that had worn down my defenses. He had seemed so genuine, so devoted.

He had promised me a future, a family. I, who had been lonely since my mother's death, had believed him. I had seen him as a gift, a reward for all my quiet suffering. I had said yes to his proposal without a second's hesitation, dreaming of a life that was now revealed to be a nightmare.

My past life, my love, my trust-all of it was a lie. A cruel, elaborate joke played by the people I loved most.

But this time, I knew the punchline. And I would be the one to deliver it.

I stumbled back from the door, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a sob. The sounds continued from the bedroom-Dara's shrill giggle, Edward's low murmur. Each sound was a fresh wound.

"Oh, be careful, Eddy," Dara squealed. "What if she hears us?"

Edward chuckled, a low, possessive sound. "Let her. Maybe the ice queen needs to learn what real passion is."

His words were a slap in the face. He had always been so respectful of my boundaries, promising to wait until our wedding night, painting himself as the perfect gentleman. It was all a performance. A lie to make his eventual betrayal seem all the more shocking.

I couldn't stand it. I fled, not out of the apartment, but into the guest bathroom at the far end of the hall. I locked the door, turned the shower on full blast, and sank to the cold tile floor. The roar of the water finally gave me cover to let out the silent screams that had been tearing at my throat.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and bitter. Even though I knew, even though I had lived through the ultimate betrayal, seeing it with my own eyes was a fresh hell. The man I had promised to spend my life with, the man I had loved with every fiber of my being, was in our bed with my own sister, plotting my death.

I remembered his promises, whispered in the dark. "Just a little longer, Amelia. I want our wedding night to be perfect, unforgettable."

It was unforgettable, all right. A public execution of my reputation, followed by a very real one.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, then another. The cold shock of the floor beneath me began to seep into my bones, steadying me. The tears slowed. The pain was still there, a raw, gaping hole in my chest, but something else was growing alongside it. A cold, hard resolve.

I had loved him. I had truly, foolishly loved him. I had imagined our children, a life filled with laughter and warmth to fill the void my mother's death had left. But no love, no matter how deep, could survive this. It had been trampled, spat on, and burned to ashes.

Fine. If they wanted a show, I would give them one. A grand finale they would never forget.

I stayed in the bathroom until my sobs subsided, replaced by an icy calm. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the hot spray of the shower, scrubbing my skin as if I could wash away the filth of their betrayal. By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, the sounds from the bedroom had ceased.

My heart was steady now. My path was clear.

I walked back towards the master suite. The air in the living room was thick with the cloying scent of their lovemaking, and I fought back a wave of nausea. I pushed the bedroom door open. It was dark, the curtains drawn, but I could still see the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothes on the floor.

He was a monster. They both were.

I forced myself to remain calm. I was no longer the naive girl who had been so easily duped. I was a woman who had been to hell and back, armed with the one thing they could never anticipate: foreknowledge.

The bathroom door opened, and Edward stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair was damp, and his skin was flushed. He froze when he saw me, his eyes widening in momentary panic before his mask of charming confidence slammed back into place.

"Amelia, darling. You're home early," he said, his voice smooth as silk.

He glanced at the messy bed, then back at me with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about the mess. I spilled a glass of wine."

I looked at him, at the faint scratch marks on his back that I knew weren't from any wine glass, and I felt nothing but contempt. The love was gone, scoured away by the truth.

I forced a small, tired smile. "It's okay. I'm just a little worn out."

I played my part perfectly. The trusting, slightly weary fiancée.

He visibly relaxed, a small sigh escaping his lips. He thought he had me fooled. He thought I was still his pawn.

"You poor thing," he said, walking over and wrapping his arms around me. I had to fight every instinct to recoil. "You work too hard. Let me take care of you."

He pulled me close, his chin resting on top of my head. I stood perfectly still in his embrace, my mind a whirlwind of cold calculation. He had no idea he was holding a ghost. A ghost who was about to become his worst nightmare.

Edward let out a breath he didn' t realize he' d been holding. He thought he knew me so well. My pride, my composure, my supposed emotional distance. He believed I was incapable of the kind of raw jealousy that would lead me to suspect him. He was a fool.

"You look pale," he murmured, his thumb stroking my cheek. The gesture, which once would have made my heart flutter, now felt like the touch of a snake. "Did something happen at the office?"

"Just a long day," I lied, leaning into his touch just enough to sell the performance. "The wedding plans are a bit overwhelming."

He bought it completely. "I know, darling. It'll all be worth it." He kissed my forehead, a gesture of feigned affection. "I'll run you a bath. You just relax."

He turned and went into the master bathroom, leaving the door ajar. I knew Dara was still in there. A morbid curiosity, a need to see the full extent of their depravity, pulled me forward. I crept to the door and peered inside.

Dara was submerged in the oversized marble tub, surrounded by bubbles, a smug smile on her face. She looked like a pampered cat.

Edward knelt by the tub. "You need to be more careful," he whispered, his voice a low caress. "She almost saw you."

"Wouldn't that be more exciting?" Dara pouted, splashing a bit of water at him. "Getting caught."

He chuckled and caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. "You're a wicked girl. But I'll make it up to you later, I promise."

My stomach churned. The casual intimacy, the shared conspiracy-it was a physical blow. I stumbled back, my hand pressed against the wall to steady myself. The air in the penthouse suddenly felt thick and suffocating, still carrying the faint, foul scent of them.

I remembered Edward explaining why he always kept the windows closed. "The city air is so polluted, darling. I want to keep our home pure for you."

Pure. The irony was so bitter it almost made me laugh.

I couldn't stay there. I couldn't breathe the same air as them for another second. I turned and fled down the grand, sweeping staircase, my bare feet silent on the cold marble.

I found myself in the cavernous living room, sinking onto a cream-colored sofa by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glittering lights of the New York skyline spread out before me, a city that had once felt like my kingdom, now felt like my cage.

A few minutes later, Edward came down, holding a glass of water. He stopped when he saw me, a flicker of something-was it guilt?-crossing his features before it was gone.

He looked at me sitting there, bathed in the city lights, and I saw a tremor of genuine admiration in his eyes. I was, by all accounts, beautiful. The kind of polished, old-money beauty that he, with all his new-money billions, had desperately wanted to possess. But he quickly smothered the thought. I could almost hear his internal monologue, the one I' d heard in my past life: She' s beautiful, but cold. Malicious. Not like my sweet, gentle Dara. He had convinced himself of this narrative to justify his own treachery.

"Why did you come downstairs?" he asked, his voice soft and laced with that same fake concern. "I was running you a bath."

I didn't look at him. "It felt stuffy upstairs."

He came over and stood behind the sofa. He picked up a towel from a nearby chair and began to gently dry my still-damp hair. It was another one of his signature moves, an act of tender domesticity designed to disarm me. In my first life, I had melted under this touch, believing it was proof of his love. Now, I sat rigid, my mind clear and cold. I knew this was just an act, a part of the long con. He had sacrificed so much, even his own body in a way, to win my trust and my family's fortune.

Just then, a small figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Dara, wrapped in one of my silk robes, looked down at the scene. Her eyes narrowed with a flash of pure venomous jealousy. She couldn't stand seeing him touch me, even in this staged, passionless way. She believed she owned him.

With a small, theatrical whimper, she "tripped," tumbling down the last few steps and landing in a heap on the floor.

"Dara!"

Edward dropped the towel and rushed to her side in an instant. He didn't even glance back at me. He knelt beside her, his hands hovering over her as if she were made of glass.

"Are you hurt? Did you fall?" His voice was thick with genuine panic, a stark contrast to the hollow affection he showed me.

Dara, clutching her ankle, looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. Then, her gaze flickered over to me, a triumphant, mocking little smirk playing on her lips. It was a clear message: See? He loves me. You are nothing.

I felt a chill spread through my body that had nothing to do with the night air. I lowered my gaze, hiding the fury in my eyes. It was one thing to know the truth, but to see his preference for her displayed so blatantly, so cruelly... it solidified something inside me.

When I looked up again, my expression was serene. The storm inside me had passed, leaving behind a hard, diamond-bright clarity. They thought this was their game. They had no idea I was the one who had already rewritten all the rules.