Reborn Heiress: Escaping The Billionaire's Cage

The rhythmic, cold buzzing is the first thing that pierces the fog. It was Sloan Kensington's body that caught it before consciousness could react-every buzzing sound was like a nail, driving hard into her skull. A breath stuck in the throat, producing a rough, damp sound with the smell of rust, along with another pungent, burnt plastic-like smell. Her limbs felt like they were loosely jointed, like a pile of tattered parts barely held together by skin.

She forced herself to open her eyelids. His eyelids felt as heavy as if filled with lead. The room gradually became clear-luxurious, indifferent, cold. This is a private suite on the top floor of New York Presbyterian Hospital. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan's skyline appears as a blurred shadow beneath the dim sky. Car accident. It crashed back into her memories with the harsh sound of tires scraping and the flashback of shattered glass.

The door slid open silently, barely audible amid the constant buzzing. What she looks forward to is her family. She prayed for her family. But the woman who walked in was Belinda Melton-her best friend, a former close friend-dressed in a Chanel tweed suit, radiant. Sloan recognized it as the new model of the season.

"Sloane, my dear." Belinda's voice was as sweet as honey, wrapped in sympathy, but when her gaze swept over Sloan's broken body, a glimmer of victory flickered in her eyes-sharp and cold, like ice. This contrast made something colder than an intravenous drip tremble through Sloan's veins.

Sloane tried to speak, tried to ask questions, tried to scream. But all that came out was a dry, hoarse hiss. Her throat felt as if it had been scraped by sandpaper.

"Don't push yourself, Sloan." Belinda lowered her voice, turning into a conspiratorial whisper. "The doctor said you might not make it through today."

She straightened up, watching the shock spread in Sloan's eyes-a faint, satisfied smile appeared on her perfectly painted lips. "You don't really think that accident was an accident, do you? Oh, you're always so innocent and adorable. "

Those words hit Sloan's already battered body like fists.

"Of course the brakes were tampered with." Belinda continued as she examined her manicures. "Colleen Austin found the man. For this life-changing service, the price is surprisingly cheap. "

Colleen. Belinda. She was the most trusted two people in the world. A choked sob escaped from Sloan's lips. Why?

Belinda's smile grew wider. She stroked her lower abdomen-beneath the fitted jacket, there was a faint, barely visible curve. "Because you're blocking the way. Braxton and Me ...... We fell in love. I was pregnant with his child. She paused, letting the weight of those words sink down. The Duke family needs a healthy heir, Sloan. Not something fragile like you-always one step away from collapsing. "

Braxton. Her fiancé. A man she had known since childhood. The pain in her chest did not come from a broken rib-it was her heart, which was shattering.

But Belinda hadn't finished speaking. She seems to enjoy playing the role of the revealer of cruel truths. "And your parents?" Your dear brother Caleb? And it's not just a random drunk driver. "

Sloan's already shattered world began to completely collapse.

"That driver is paid to do the job." Belinda spoke in a relaxed tone, as if discussing the weather. "Taking money to drive them out of the streets. This way, the Duke family could more easily acquire Kensington's assets when the industry was in turmoil. What a bargain. "

The monitor's buzzing became frenzied-sharp, hysterical screams echoing the cries trapped in Sloan's mind. Her family. Her entire family disappeared. It wasn't an accident, but a premeditated murder. A tear-mixed with thick blood from some internal injury-slipped from the corner of her eye.

Belinda watched coldly and contentedly as the blood-red mark spread across Sloan's pale skin. "Oh, one more thing. Your husband. The great Julian Vanderbilt-Aster IV. He has never come to see you even once. Not even once. "

As if receiving a signal, the door opened again. This time, a man in a stern black suit entered, wearing a professional, indifferent mask-Julian's private lawyer.

He ignored Belinda and turned to face the pile of debris on the bed. "Miss Kensington." His voice was completely emotionless. "On behalf of Mr. Vanderbilt-Astor, I am serving you these divorce papers. He has agreed to waive all terms in the prenuptial agreement. His only request is for you to sign as soon as possible. "

He placed the brand-new, heavy document on the nightstand. The sharp edges of the paper seemed to be mocking her. That cold and final document was the last piece of her life that was taken away.

Her gaze shifted from the lawyer's expressionless face to Belinda's victorious smile. A surge of anger-so intense, so pure, burning away all the pain-surged and churned within her. If she survives. If she could get another chance. She will make them all pay the price. She will burn their world to ashes and then dance in the ashes.

The monitor emits one last long, sharp wail, then falls silent. The jagged lines on the screen transform into a perfect, smooth green line.

Sloane's consciousness left his body, floating above the bed and room, plunging into an endless and silent darkness.

It's over.

However, it did not.

A fierce, tearing force-like a huge hook hooking her soul-pulled her back.

She took a sharp breath-deep and trembling, completely filling her lungs. Her eyes snapped open. She wasn't choked by blood, but by air, swallowing like a drowning person.

Warm golden sunlight pours in through the gaps in the heavy silk curtains. The air was filled with the scents of white tea and ginger-her favorite scents. She was lying in her own bed. It was her childhood bed, with a ridiculous ruffled curtain.

Adrenaline surged, and she suddenly threw off the blanket and scrambled to her feet. Her legs are strong and steady. She raised a hand and flipped it over. It was perfect: slender, pale, with nails meticulously trimmed. No bruises, no intravenous tubes, no scars.

She staggered to the corner of the room and stood in front of the full-length mirror.

The face in the mirror was hers, but not the one. It was the face of an eighteen-year-old girl-cheeks full of youth, eyes clear and bright, untouched by the horror she had just witnessed.

She reached out, her trembling fingertips touching her smooth cheek. Then, she pinched her own arm hard.

A sharp, clear stabbing pain spread throughout his body.

This is not a dream. This is neither heaven nor hell.

She came back. She is still alive. And she remembers everything.

She still gazed at her own reflection, her thoughts still swirling in this impossible reality. At that moment, a gentle knock came from the bedroom door.

"Sloane, darling?" Are you awake? Breakfast is ready. "

That voice was warm and familiar, making her heart skip a beat. Elena.

Sloan suddenly pushed open the door. The woman standing at the door wore a neat black dress and a crisp white apron, her graying hair tied neatly in a bun, exactly as she remembered. Elena-their butler, the pillar of the family. In her previous life, after the decline of the Kensington family, Elena was worn out from heartbreak.

The tears Sloan thought he had long since dried welled up again. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Elena's strong body, letting out a primal and wounded roar from her throat. She buried her face in the woman's shoulder, sobbing-not like an eighteen-year-old girl, but like a lost soul finally finding its way home. All the pain, betrayal, and lonely death poured out at this moment.

Elena was startled by the force of the embrace and staggered backward. "Oh my god, child, what's wrong?" She murmured, her initial shock quickly turning into worry. She gently patted Sloan's back. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Nightmare. Much worse than that. Sloan held her tightly, the familiar scent of lavender and starch making her feel secure. After a long while, she finally let go and wiped her eyes. Elena's brows furrowed with worry. She saw something in Sloan's eyes that had never been there yesterday-a shadow, a hardness that did not belong to a young girl's face.

"Elena," Sloane's voice was hoarse. "What day is it today?"

"Dear, June 12th. There's still a week left until your engagement party. "

June 12th. This is true. She still had one more week. A week away from the party that marked the end of everything. One week, to change everything. The first step was clearly visible in her chaotic thoughts, like a resolute lamp: the engagement was canceled.

"Your brother is waiting for you in the study." Elena's voice still carried concern. "He wants to go through the guest list with you."

Sloan pushed open the heavy oak door. He's right there-Caleb Kensington, alive, so handsome it's annoying. He was sitting behind his father's rosewood desk, a pen tucked behind his ear, frowning as he looked at a stack of documents. As soon as she entered, he looked up, a familiar and doting smile he had reserved only for her.

"She came. My little princess has finally decided to honor her. "

Seeing him unharmed and full of energy, she broke down again. She hurried through the room, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as if he might disappear at any moment. "Caleb." She choked up as she spoke.

His smile faded, replaced by alertness. "Sloane?" What's wrong? Who bullied you? "

She let go of him and took a step back. At the mention of Braxton's name, her body tensed up. "I won't marry him." Her voice was low and resolute. "I want you to cancel the engagement."

Caleb stared at her and blinked. "Sorry, what did you say? Sloan, do you know what you're talking about? This isn't just about the two of you-it's a merger of Kensington-Duke Corporation. This is business. "

"I know exactly what that is." Her gaze remained unwavering. "I won't marry a cheating bastard just to close a deal."

"Cheating?" Caleb's expression darkened, and the protective older brother instantly surfaced. "What happened? Did that bastard do something to you? "

Sloan took a deep breath. She couldn't tell him the truth-he would think she was crazy. So she would do what she did best: she could act. She lets her shoulders hang slightly, evoking memories of Belinda's victorious smile, filling her eyes with real pain.

Tears welled up, sparkling on her lower lashes. "I saw him." Her voice trembled just right. "Last night. At the Plaza Hotel. Being with a woman. "She let out a small, choking whimper." It was Belinda. "

This is a lie, but also the truth of the future.

Caleb was immediately struck. His face turned like stone. Thinking of how his little sister was so coldly betrayed by her fiancé and best friend, his heart was filled with icy anger. He suddenly stood up, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound.

"That bitch raised by a bitch. I'm going to kill him. "

"No." Sloane grabbed his arm with incredible force. "Confronting them privately is too easy for them."

Caleb stopped and looked down at her. He saw something in her eyes he had never seen before-a chilling, calculating hardness.

"I want them to be humiliated in public." Her voice was so low it was almost a whisper, yet it carried venom. "In front of everyone. Caleb, I want to ruin their reputations. Publicly. "

He stared at his sister-a stranger familiar within his body. The primal determination in her eyes was unsettling, but the instinct to protect her and give her everything was even stronger. He trusted her.

He slowly exhaled, his anger calming down, turning into a firm resolve. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to hold a press conference."

Sloane stood in front of the mirror in the holding room backstage. The woman staring back was a stranger. She wore a simple, sleeveless white dress with sharp, clean lines. It was a warrior's dress. Caleb came up behind her and draped a cashmere shawl over her shoulders.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "Once you step out there, there's no going back."

She met his gaze in the reflection. The timid, people-pleasing girl from her past life was gone, burned away in a hospital bed. In her place was someone forged in betrayal and rage. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

She turned and walked out of the room. The moment she stepped through the curtain, the world exploded in a silent cascade of light. A hundred camera flashes went off at once, a relentless, blinding strobe that would have made the old Sloane flinch. The new Sloane walked right through it, her chin held high.

The ballroom at the Kensington Tower Hotel was packed. Every major news outlet in New York was here, expecting a fluffy piece about the society wedding of the year. They were about to get the story of a lifetime.

Sloane walked to the podium, her steps measured and confident. A hush fell over the room. The reporters smelled blood in the water. She ignored the prepared statement her PR team had drafted and leaned into the microphone, her eyes scanning the crowd before finding a camera lens and locking on.

"Good morning," she said, her voice clear and steady, carrying to every corner of the room. "I've invited you all here today to make an announcement." She paused, letting the anticipation build. "Effective immediately, I, Sloane Kensington, am unilaterally terminating my engagement to Mr. Braxton Duke."

The room erupted. A chaotic symphony of gasps, frantic typing, and reporters shouting over one another.

"Ms. Kensington! Ms. Kensington, can you give us a reason?" a reporter from the Post yelled out.

Sloane's lips curved into a small, sharp smile. She let her gaze sweep over the frenzied crowd, enjoying the chaos she had unleashed.

"The reason is quite simple," she said, her voice cutting through the noise. She waited until every eye was on her again. "I have no desire for my future children to have to compete with illegitimate half-siblings for their inheritance."

Another shockwave ripped through the room. The statement was so audacious, so brutally direct, that it left them momentarily speechless. Illegitimate. The word hung in the air, dripping with scandal.

"Illegitimate?" another reporter shouted. "Are you saying Mr. Duke was unfaithful?"

"I'm not saying anything," Sloane replied smoothly. "But I would suggest you direct your questions to my former best friend, Ms. Belinda Melton. And while you're at it, please pass on my congratulations. I hear she's expecting."

That was it. The final, devastating blow. She had named the other woman and confirmed the pregnancy. She had handed the media a perfectly wrapped scandal on a silver platter.

The room descended into utter pandemonium.

"The Kensington family does not tolerate deceit or betrayal. Thank you."

With that, she turned her back on the chaos and walked off the stage. Caleb and two security guards materialized at her side, forming a protective wedge that parted the sea of clamoring reporters.

The moment she was in the back of the waiting town car, her phone began to vibrate violently. Braxton's name flashed on the screen. She declined the call and blocked his number without a second thought.

The car's television was already tuned to a news channel. A breaking news banner flashed across the bottom of the screen. Her face was on the screen, next to a photo of a smiling Braxton and a demure-looking Belinda. The headline was brutal: KENSINGTON HEIRESS CALLS OFF ENGAGEMENT, ACCUSES DUKE OF FATHERING LOVE CHILD WITH BEST FRIEND.

A slow, deep satisfaction spread through her chest. It wasn't joy. It was the cold, clean feeling of a debt being paid. This was for her family. This was for the girl who died alone in a hospital room.

Caleb watched her, his expression a mixture of awe and concern. He handed her a new, unopened phone. "You'll need this. Your old number is about to become a public commodity."

She took it, her fingers closing around the cool metal. She powered it on and made her first call.

Chloe Foster answered on the second ring with a shriek. "SLOANE! YOU ABSOLUTE LUNATIC! YOU'RE ON EVERY CHANNEL! THAT WAS... that was brilliant!"

For the first time since she'd woken up in this new life, a genuine smile touched Sloane's lips. It felt foreign, but good.

"Drinks," Sloane said. "My treat. We're celebrating my newfound freedom."