Reborn Heiress: Revenge On My Wedding Day

The beep of the heart monitor was the only thing louder than the silence in the room. It was a rhythmic, mocking countdown.

Aria tried to lift her finger. Just one. Just the index finger of her right hand.

Nothing happened.

Her brain screamed the command, sending frantic electrical impulses down her spine, but the connection was dead. Her body was a heavy, useless sack of meat and bone that no longer belonged to her. She was trapped behind her own eyes.

The door to the private suite in the Swiss clinic swung open. The sound was smooth, expensive, like everything else in this place that was designed to make death feel like a luxury vacation.

Jordan walked in.

He looked impeccable. Of course he did. He was wearing that navy custom suit from Milan, the one Aria had bought him for his thirty-second birthday. He adjusted his cufflinks as he approached the bed, his movements fluid and unbothered.

Chloe followed him.

The air in Aria's lungs, what little she could control, seemed to freeze. Chloe was wearing Aria's dress. The vintage Givenchy Aria had saved for the anniversary gala. It hung a little loose on Chloe's hips, but she wore it with a terrifying confidence.

They stood over Aria.

Jordan didn't look sad. He didn't look like a grieving fiancé watching his soon-to-be wife succumb to a mysterious, rapid-onset neurological decline. He looked bored.

"It's done," he said softly.

He wasn't talking to Aria. He was talking to the air, or maybe to Chloe. He held up a blue folder.

"The trust transfer cleared the offshore routing about ten minutes ago. We're liquid, Aria. Completely liquid."

Pain blossomed in Aria's chest. It wasn't the heartbreak. It was physical. A searing, chemical burning that started in the center of her heart and began to crawl up her throat. The neurotoxin was making its final ascent.

Chloe giggled. It was a light, airy sound that made Aria want to vomit.

"She looks so peaceful," Chloe said, leaning over Aria. Her perfume-Aria's perfume-clogged Aria's nose. "Do you think she knows? About the wine?"

"It doesn't matter," Jordan said. He reached out and brushed a stray hair from Aria's forehead. His touch was cold. "She drank it. She signed the papers. She was the perfect little asset right until the end."

The wine. The engagement toast. Seven days ago.

Aria's heart monitor began to speed up. The beep-beep-beep accelerated into a frantic warning.

"God, that noise is annoying," Jordan muttered.

He reached over and silenced the alarm.

The silence that followed was heavy. He turned to Chloe, grabbed her waist, and pulled her into him. He kissed her. Right there. Right over Aria's dying body. It was a wet, hungry kiss, full of the passion he hadn't shown Aria in two years.

Aria tried to scream. She tried to curse them to hell.

All that came out was a wet, rattling wheeze.

Jordan pulled away from Chloe and pulled a silver lighter from his pocket. He picked up the document on the bedside table-Aria's Living Will. The one that said she wanted no life support.

He flicked the lighter. The flame danced in his eyes. He touched it to the corner of the paper.

"Goodbye, Aria," he whispered.

He dropped the burning paper onto the sheets near Aria's feet.

The heat didn't register. The darkness did. It started at the edges of Aria's vision, an encroaching vignette of black ink. The cold was absolute. It wrapped around her bones, squeezing the last bit of warmth from her marrow.

She made a promise to the darkness. If there was anything after this, she would destroy them.

The blackness swallowed Aria whole.

Aria gasped.

Her body jerked upright, violently, like a puppet yanked by strings.

Air rushed into her lungs, burning and sweet. She was drowning in oxygen. Her hands flew to her throat, clawing at the skin, searching for the intubation tube, for the constriction of the poison.

Smooth skin. No plastic. No tape.

She was sweating. Cold, sticky sweat soaked through the silk of her pajamas.

Aria looked around.

This wasn't the clinic. The walls weren't sterile white. They were a soft, warm gray. The floor-to-ceiling windows didn't show the Alps. They showed the jagged, steel skyline of Manhattan bathed in the golden light of early morning.

Her bedroom.

She scrambled for the phone on the nightstand. Her fingers were shaking so hard she dropped it twice on the carpet. She snatched it up, tapping the screen.

June 12.

The numbers stared back at her, innocent and horrifying.

June 12. The Merger Gala. The day of the wedding.

The day she drank the wine.

She stumbled out of bed. Her legs felt weak, but they worked. She ran to the bathroom and gripped the edges of the marble sink.

The woman in the mirror was pale, her eyes wide and bloodshot, but she was alive. There were no dark circles of decay. No paralysis.

She turned on the cold water and splashed it on her face. The shock of the temperature made her gasp again. Real. This was real.

A knock on the bedroom door made Aria freeze.

She stared at the reflection of the door in the mirror. Her muscles locked up.

The handle turned.

Kane Holt walked in.

He was holding a tray. A simple white mug and a plate of toast. He wore a white t-shirt that stretched tight across his chest and gray sweatpants. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it.

Her husband. The man everyone called the trophy. The man she had ignored for three years while she tried to please a family that wanted her dead.

He stopped in the doorway.

Aria stared at him. She really looked at him for the first time in forever. He wasn't just standing there; he was occupying the space with a stillness that felt heavy.

He saw Aria's face. He saw the water dripping from her chin, the terror in her eyes.

His posture changed instantly. It was subtle. His shoulders squared, his weight shifted to the balls of his feet. The tray in his hand didn't wobble, but his grip on it tightened.

"Aria?"

His voice was deep, gravelly. It sounded like safety.

Aria opened her mouth to speak, to say his name, but her throat clicked shut. The memory of the poison was too fresh.

Kane set the tray down on the bedside table. He moved slowly, telegraphing every motion, like Aria was a startled animal he didn't want to spook.

"Coffee," he said. "Soy milk. Two sugars."

Aria looked at the mug. Then she looked at his hands.

She had never noticed his hands before. Not really. She saw the ring she put there, but she never saw the skin. There was a thick, rough patch of skin between his thumb and index finger. A callus. It looked out of place on a man whose supposed life of leisure consisted of reading and going to the gym. It was hard, worn skin. The kind you got from repetitive, forceful work. A tool, or... something else. Aria's mind snagged on the detail, unable to place it, but a new kind of alarm bell, quiet and deep, began to ring.

Aria didn't drink the coffee. She couldn't. The phantom taste of bitter almonds was still coating her tongue.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He didn't come closer. He stayed by the bed, giving her space.

Before Aria could answer, the main door to the bedroom opened.

"Good morning, Mrs. Daniels!"

Bella. Their maid. Or rather, the spy Chloe had planted in Aria's house two years ago.

She bustled in, carrying a garment bag that Aria knew contained her gala dress. She was smiling, that bright, customer-service smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"You look a little pale," Bella said, hanging the dress on the hook. She turned to Aria, her eyes scanning Aria's face. "Did you take your vitamins yet? I put them out on the counter."

The vitamins. The slow-acting poison that had weakened Aria for months before the final dose.

Rage, hot and blinding, flooded Aria's system. It replaced the fear.

"Where were you last night, Bella?" Aria asked. Her voice was raspy, but steady.

Bella blinked. "I... I went home, ma'am. Like always."

"Liar."

Aria walked over to the nightstand and picked up her iPad. She didn't even turn it on. She just held it.

"The building logs show you didn't leave until 3:00 AM. And you didn't use the service elevator. You used the guest lift. Who were you meeting on the 40th floor?"

There was no one on the 40th floor except an empty unit owned by the Sloan family trust.

Bella's face went slack. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're fired," Aria said. "Get out. Now. Leave your key card on the dresser."

"You can't-" Bella looked at Kane. "Mr. Holt, she's not making sense."

Aria looked at Kane too.

He didn't look confused. He didn't ask Aria why she was firing their staff on the morning of the biggest day of her life.

He just took one step to the right.

It was a small movement, but it completely blocked Bella's path to Aria. He crossed his arms. His biceps bulged against the cotton of his shirt. He stared at Bella with eyes that were completely dead of emotion.

"You heard her," Kane said.

Bella flinched. She looked from him to Aria, realized she had lost whatever game she was playing, and threw the key card on the floor. She stormed out, slamming the door.

The silence returned.

Aria walked to the garment bag. She unzipped it. The white lace dress, worth fifty thousand dollars, shimmered in the light. It was the dress Jordan had picked out. He liked Aria in white. He said it made her look innocent.

Aria walked to the desk and grabbed the heavy fabric shears.

Kane watched her. He didn't move to stop her. He leaned back against the wall, one eyebrow raised.

Aria took the lace straps of the bodice in her hand and squeezed the shears. The sound of expensive fabric tearing was the most satisfying thing she had heard all morning.

Snip. Rip.

She destroyed the bodice. She cut until the dress was strapless, jagged, and ruined.

She dropped the scissors. They clattered on the floor.

"If I wanted to burn this city to the ground today," Aria said, turning to face him. "Would you help me?"

Kane looked at the ruined dress, then at Aria's face. He didn't blink.

"Is that in my job description?" he asked. His tone was dry, almost bored.

Aria walked up to him. She was close enough to smell his soap. Sandalwood and something sharp, like metal. She reached up and fixed the collar of his t-shirt. Her fingers brushed his neck. His pulse was slow. Steady.

"You're my husband, Kane," Aria whispered. "Your job is to be on my side."

His muscles rippled under her touch. He went rigid for a second, then relaxed. His eyes darkened.

"Honey, could you get the car ready?" Aria asked, her voice softer now, a careful performance. "Not the limo. The Maybach. I have an errand to run before all the chaos starts."

"Where are we going? The church?"

"No," Aria said. "The security center."

Kane studied her for another second. Then the corner of his mouth twitched upward. It wasn't a smile. It was an acknowledgment.

"Five minutes," he said.

He turned and walked out.

Aria went to the safe in the closet. She punched in the code. She took out the digital recorder she now knew she needed, the one she had seen in her nightmares.

She stripped off her pajamas. She didn't put on the white dress. She put on a white suit. Sharp shoulders. wide legs.

She looked in the mirror and applied a coat of blood-red lipstick.

Downstairs, inside the black Maybach, Kane tapped a message into a phone that looked like a brick.

Target is awake. Status changed.

Aria opened the passenger door and slid in. The lock clicked shut.

The Maybach glided to a halt at the service entrance of The Plaza Hotel. The tinted windows turned the bright afternoon sun into a dull gray gloom.

"The paparazzi are swarming the front," Kane said. He didn't look at Aria. He was watching the mirrors, his eyes darting back and forth.

"Good," Aria said. "Let them wait."

Aria touched the earpiece in her right ear. "I need the security feed for the VIP suite. The Penthouse level."

Kane looked at Aria then. "You want me to hack the hotel?"

"I want you to do what you do when you think I'm asleep," Aria said. "Don't pretend, Kane. We don't have time."

He held Aria's gaze for a second, assessing. Then he nodded. He pulled a laptop from under his seat. His fingers flew across the keyboard. It wasn't the typing of a layman. It was a blur.

"I need physical access to the server room to bypass the hardline encryption," he said. "Third floor."

"Go," Aria said. "I'll handle the board."

Kane got out of the car. He didn't walk like a driver. He moved like a ghost. He slipped through the service door and vanished into the shadows of the corridor.

Aria took a breath. The nausea was rising again, a reminder that her timeline was physical, not just strategic. She pushed the door open and stepped onto the red carpet of the back hallway.

Three members of the Hubbard-Daniels board were standing near the kitchen entrance, looking lost.

"Gentlemen," Aria said, flashing a smile that felt like baring teeth.

"Aria!" Mr. Henderson, the CFO, looked relieved. "We were told the ceremony was delayed. Is everything alright?"

"Everything is perfect," Aria lied. "But before we start, I have a merger demonstration. A surprise. It's upstairs in the VIP suite. You need to see this."

Greed is a powerful motivator. They followed Aria without question.

They took the elevator to the penthouse. As the numbers climbed, Aria texted the reporter she had tipped off an hour ago. Now.

The elevator pinged. They stepped out.

Aria stood in front of the double mahogany doors of Suite 1001. Her hand hovered over the brass handle. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, but her hand was rock steady.

"This," Aria said to the board members, "is the future of our company."

In her earpiece, Kane's voice crackled. "You're live. Main ballroom screen is overridden. Audio is hot."

Aria threw the doors open.

The scene inside was a cliché, but clichés are effective for a reason.

Jordan was on the bed. Chloe was straddling him. They were half-naked, a tangle of limbs and expensive sheets. A bottle of champagne lay overturned on the floor, soaking into the carpet.

Chloe screamed. It was a high, piercing shriek. She scrambled for a sheet, pulling it up to her neck.

Jordan rolled off the bed, tripping over his own pants. He crashed into a side table, sending a lamp smashing to the floor.

"What the-" Jordan stared at them. Then he saw the board members. His face drained of color.

Behind Aria, cameras flashed. The reporter had slipped in with the board.

Aria didn't yell. She didn't cry. She just watched.

"Is this the merger strategy?" Aria asked, her voice calm.

Downstairs, in the grand ballroom, five hundred guests were watching this on a forty-foot LED screen. Aria could imagine the collective gasp.

Jordan scrambled to his feet, holding a pillow over his crotch. "Aria! Aria, wait! This isn't-"

"Isn't what?" Aria held up her tablet. "A violation of the morality clause in the pre-merger agreement? Section 4, paragraph 2?"

She tapped the screen.

"As of this moment, Hubbard-Daniels is exercising its right to terminate the merger due to gross misconduct by the Sloan acting CEO."

"You can't do that!" Chloe yelled. She looked pathetic, shivering under the sheet. "We love each other!"

"Love doesn't vest for three years, Chloe," Aria said.

She turned to the board members. They looked horrified. Disgusted.

"Is this the man you want running my grandfather's legacy?" Aria asked. "A man who can't even keep his zipper up for a wedding?"

Mr. Henderson shook his head. He turned his back on the room.

"Showtime is over," Kane's voice said in Aria's ear. "Extraction ready. North stairwell."

The adrenaline crashed. The room spun. The floor tilted.

Aria turned on her heel and walked out. She kept her chin high until she rounded the corner.

Her knees buckled.

Strong hands caught her before she hit the ground.

Kane was there. He held her up by her elbows, his grip iron-hard. He looked at Aria's face, scanning her pupils.

"Breathe," he ordered.

Aria leaned into him, just for a second. "Did they see?"

"Everyone saw," Kane said. "The internet is melting."