Reborn Heiress: Reclaiming My Monster Billionaire

A sharp, piercing pain, like a cold electric current, coursed through Ginny's consciousness, making her gasp. Her spine arched violently, slamming against a concrete pillar, every nerve twitching. Her brain couldn't even distinguish whether the pain originated from her body or her heart.

She suddenly broke free of her restraints. The rusty iron chain, as thick as her thumb, dug deep into the skin of her wrist, leaving a deep purple mark. A burning pain spread up her forearm.

She was tied up in an empty room in the center of an abandoned industrial warehouse. A broken skylight was open overhead. The air was foul and filled with the smell of cold machine oil, damp decay, and a faint scent of blood at her feet.

Ginny forced herself to open her eyes. A bead of cold sweat slid down her hairline, across her forehead, stinging her eyes and blurring her vision.

Through the hazy mist, a figure appeared.

The crisp, clean click of her high heels was like a hammer striking concrete. Coretta stepped lightly into the moonlight streaming through the broken roof. She wore a pristine white, custom-made trench coat, its fabric as smooth as silk, flawless. Not a speck of dust could have touched it. Her golden hair was meticulously styled into a bun. A gentle, angelic smile graced her lips-the same smile she wore in photos at the charity gala.

Coretta stopped in front of her. A melodious, well-trained laugh escaped from her lip-glossed lips.

Coretta crouched down. The hem of her pristine white coat brushed against the dirty, slippery floor.

"Still pretending to be strong, Ginny?" Coretta said in a low voice, her voice as smooth as silk but with a hint of venom.

Ginny jerked her head back, slamming it against the pillar. The chains scraped against the corrugated metal wall with a harsh screech, drawing blood from her skin. A burning pain spread along her arm. She couldn't break free.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the darkness behind Coretta.

A man stepped into the dim light. He wore a well-tailored charcoal gray suit that accentuated his broad shoulders. He raised a silver lighter and lit a large cigar, the lighter gleaming coldly in his hand. The orange smoke reflected off his angular jawline and empty, cold eyes.

Brandt.

Ginny felt a sharp pain in her abdomen, as if the air in her lungs had been sucked out instantly. A sharp pain shot through her chest, and she felt as if her ribs were about to break. This was the man she was about to marry, the man she deeply loved.

Without turning his head, Brandt walked forward, wrapped his arms around Coretta's waist, and pulled her tightly into his embrace. He lowered his head and kissed her lips deeply and passionately.

Ginny felt as if something was blocking her throat; she couldn't breathe, nor could she look away.

Brant walked away from Coretta and finally turned his gaze leisurely to Ginny. His eyes were empty, completely devoid of any human emotion.

"I only need the core password, Ginny," he said. His voice was calm and efficient. "You are the key to the vault. That's all."

Those words tormented her more than chains, more painful than shattered bones. Her breathing was rapid and intermittent. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, sliding down her eyelashes and leaving faint traces on her dusty cheeks. Tears dripped from her chin, soaking the torn collar of her shirt.

Coretta stared at the tear tracks on Ginny's face, clenching her teeth. The triumph in her eyes froze into something uglier-a sharp, vicious jealousy. Even wounded and covered in mud, chained like livestock, Ginny still possessed that face. A face that could suffocate.

Coretta clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Ginny looked at Coretta. A low, hoarse tremor came from deep within her throat, growing louder and louder until it became a hollow laugh that echoed across the steel wall. The sound was chilling, utterly insane.

Coretta's face flushed crimson, as if it were about to bleed. She suddenly raised her arm and slapped Ginny hard across the face. Ginny's head snapped to the side, and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Brandt disappeared into the shadows. A few minutes later, he returned.

A large bucket of ice water was poured over Ginny's head. The icy chill made her shiver violently, and the water ran into her eyes, mouth, and nose, causing her to cough violently. The water, mixed with dust, flowed down her body, soaking her clothes.

Brant took the cigar out of his mouth, flicked off the ash, and then casually blew a puff of smoke in Ginny's face.

"Then you should stay here and enjoy yourself, enduring the cold and hunger. Maybe it will take half a month, maybe a month, or even half a year, before someone finds you."

Coretta and Brandt turned away. Their laughter drifted back, soft and melodious.

The heavy iron gate slammed shut with a bang. The latch clicked shut.

Her thin clothes were soaked through with ice water, and the bone-chilling cold made it hard for Ginny to breathe. She coughed violently, her vision blurring. She realized this was a slower, more painful way to die.

She tilted her head back, her throat tightening, and gazed upwards through the broken skylight, swallowing the faint, cold starlight.

"If I survive," the thought was deeply etched into her dying mind, "I will make you both taste the bitterness of betrayal. Little by little."

Having gone without food or water for several days, the struggle she had just endured had exhausted the last bit of strength in her body; each breath she took felt like being punched hard in the lungs.

Her consciousness gradually faded, and darkness surged in from the edge of her vision. Her last sensations were the cold ground and the burning hatred in her heart, more intense than any flame.

Her heart pounded against her ribs one last time, then stopped beating.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but the bone-chilling cold disappeared, and the heavy chains vanished as well. A strange, light buoyancy lifted her up.

Ginny looked down. She was suspended ten feet above the concrete ground, surrounded by thick black smoke, staring at her lifeless body curled up on the ground.

Ginny hovered near the warehouse ceiling. Below her, her body lay motionless, as if asleep. She felt no heat, no pain. Where there should have been sensation, there was only an empty, silent echo.

A faint wail drifted from afar. Too far, so very far.

Then, an even deeper and fiercer roar flooded her mind.

A massive black armored SUV crashed through the locked iron gate. The heavy metal door collapsed with a thud, and the vehicle slid across the concrete, its tires screeching.

Before the SUV had even come to a complete stop, the driver's side door was kicked open.

Bedford Parkes jumped out of the car. His surveillance team had spotted a suspicious offshore cleanup payment an hour earlier and sent a signal to Brant's encrypted phone. The signal pointed directly to the abandoned industrial cemetery.

Two burly men in tactical gear rushed out of the back door. One of them lunged forward and grabbed Bedford by the chest, his boots screeching on the concrete.

"Mr. Parks! You can't-!"

Bedford whirled around. His face was deathly pale, replaced by a pure, savage madness. His dark eyes were wide open, as if he had lost his mind. He reached for his waist, pulled out a black pistol, and pressed it hard against the bodyguard's chin. The man froze. He slowly raised his hands and staggered backward.

Bedford didn't even have time to catch his breath before rushing straight to her unconscious body on the ground.

Ginny hovered near the ceiling, feeling her soul convulse violently. She looked down, stunned and unable to move. Bedford Parks. That silicon-based monster. Cold-blooded, ruthless, and pathologically fastidious. The man who wouldn't allow anyone to touch him.

He reached out and gently cradled her unconscious body in his arms.

The roar emanating from his throat sent chills down Ginny's spine. It was a primal, hoarse, beastly howl, bursting forth from the depths of his lungs. It was the sound of some creature being slaughtered.

He hurriedly took off his heavy coat and wrapped it tightly around her, wanting to give her some warmth.

Bedford looked up. A blinding beam of light was shooting toward them.

He didn't try to run away, nor did he roll away. He pounced on her, his broad shoulders bending inward, forming a human wall around her.

A heavy corner of the steel beam slammed into his back. He groaned and fell forward, but his arms remained tightly around her, refusing to let go.

The excruciating pain instantly turned his face deathly pale, and a mouthful of blood gushed from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto her hair. He gritted his teeth, using all his strength to support his body, preventing the weight of the beam from crushing her.

Ginny let out a silent, heart-wrenching scream, then bent down, stretched out her arms, grabbed him, and pulled him away.

Her transparent hands passed straight through his broad, trembling shoulders. She grasped only emptiness. She grasped nothing at all.

Bedford's head drooped. His dusty, bloodshot face pressed against her pale forehead. His breath was wet and shallow.

His lips moved, but he could barely move them; a faint breath escaped from his throat.

"I love you."

His eyes slowly closed, the rise and fall of his chest grew weaker and weaker, and his last breath dissipated into the scorching air.

Ginny tilted her head back and let out a silent, agonizing scream. The pain in her chest was more unbearable than the chains binding her; it felt as if a boulder was pressing down on her heart, suffocating her. She had hated him, she had feared him, yet he had died for her.

Suddenly, the space around her warped and deformed. The concrete walls stretched out like elongated toffee. An invisible, immense force grabbed her and yanked her backward with astonishing speed.

A dazzling pure white light burst forth before her eyes, and the warehouse and Bedford's injured, fallen body vanished.

Ginny gasped.

The icy, biting air rushed into her lungs. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath. Suddenly, she opened her eyes.

She stared at the back of the beige leather car seat. The smooth, expensive leather was only inches from her face. The cold air blowing from the air conditioning vents sent a chill down her spine. She blinked and raised her hands.

Their skin was smooth, pale, and flawless.

Her heart pounded like a frightened bird trapped in a cage. Her hands gripped the leather seat tightly. Solid. Real. She was alive.

Ginny's hands trembled violently. She raised her trembling fingers and pressed them against her cheek. Her skin was smooth.

She looked down at her knees. She was wearing a cheap neon pink sequined slip dress. The rough synthetic fabric was digging painfully into her thighs. The sight sent a chill down her spine, as if her skull had been pierced.

A loud, mocking laugh came from the front seat.

Ginny suddenly looked up.

In the rearview mirror, the driver, Silas, was staring at her. A cold smile curled his thin lips. His gaze swept over her cheap dress without any attempt at concealment, like a man glancing at trash on the sole of a shoe. He shook his head slightly and turned his gaze back to the road.

Ginny reached out and ripped off the sun visor, then opened the vanity mirror.

A clown looked back at her.

Her face was covered in a thick layer of cheap, chalky foundation, three shades lighter than her actual skin tone. Heavy black eyeliner smudged, giving her a panda-like appearance. Her lips were adorned with a sticky, fluorescent pink lipstick that clashed horribly with her dress. The entire makeup look was bizarre, and deliberately so.

Those memories struck her brain like a heavy blow.

She felt as if she were eighteen again. That day, she was taken from the trailer park to the Steele family manor in Silicon Valley. Coretta sent a "professional makeup artist" to the motel where Ginny had stayed the previous night. The woman painted an ugly mask on her face, handed her a tacky dress, and sweetly proclaimed it was the most fashionable attire in high society. Desperate and naive, Ginny actually believed it. She entered the Steele mansion looking like a cheap street prostitute, and all the servants-led by Coretta-kicked her out of her room. This marked the beginning of the destruction of her social career.

Ginny's hands hung limply on her knees, her fingers curled up. Her neatly trimmed nails dug deep into her palms, splitting the skin and drawing a small drop of blood.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the sharp, piercing sensation. She slowly inhaled, held her breath for three heartbeats, and then hissed out through her teeth. She sealed away her burning rage and Bedford's bloodstained face in a tightly closed box in the center of her chest.

When she opened her eyes again, the panic had vanished. Her deep pupils were flat, cold, and sharp as knives.

She raised her hand and pounded the back of Silas's leather headrest with her knuckles.

"Stop at the rest stop a mile ahead." Her voice was low and devoid of emotion.

Silas glanced in the rearview mirror and rolled his eyes. "No way. Mrs. Anyanet is waiting. We're pressed for time."

Ginny leaned forward, closing the distance between them until her face was almost pressed against the back of the seat. She unleashed the powerful aura she had honed through ten years of brutal workplace struggles into the cramped carriage. It was a cold, overwhelming sense of pressure, undeniably present.

"I told you," she said in a low, dangerous voice, "pull the car over to the side of the road. Now."

Silas's hand jerked, gripping the steering wheel. His brow furrowed, his mind racing, trying to process this sudden shift. The complaining, bewildered girl from this morning was gone. In her place was a cold, heavy, chilling sense of authority. It was utterly unbelievable. How could a poor kid from a trailer park act like a CEO ruthlessly eliminating dissent? A chill ran down his spine, the hairs on his neck standing on end. He looked in the mirror again. The dress was still ridiculous, but her eyes-her eyes belonged to an assassin. Her suffocating gaze seemed to choke him. The instinct for survival overwhelmed all pride.

His foot moved without permission. The brake pedal sank.

The heavy Maybach slowed down, its tires screeching over gravel, and veered off the highway, rolling into the parking lot of a public rest stop.

As soon as the car came to a stop, Ginny flung open the heavy door. Her cheap high heels pinched her toes painfully, and she stepped into the scorching California sun, but she didn't stumble. She slammed the door shut and strode toward the low, brick bathroom building.

Inside the car, Silas slammed his fist on the steering wheel, cursing under his breath as he wondered what had crawled into his back seat.

Ginny pushed open the heavy glass door, and a pungent smell of cheap pine disinfectant hit her. She walked straight to a row of stainless steel sinks, put her hands under the sensor faucets, and let the cold water wash over her skin. She cupped her hands around the cold water and splashed it forcefully on her face.

She opened the hand sanitizer bottle, and a puddle of pink industrial hand sanitizer formed in her hand. She began to scrub, her fingers digging deep into her pores, trying to remove the heavy, oily foundation and sticky lipstick. The water flowing into the basin turned murky, tinged with a grayish-pink.

She rinsed it three times until the water ran clear.

Ginny pulled a rough, brown tissue from the tissue box and pressed it hard against her face to absorb the moisture. She put the tissue down and looked up at herself in the mirror.

Water droplets dripped down her chin. Her skin was red from being rubbed, and the marks of friction made her slightly flushed, but everything was spotless. Her true appearance came into view.