Reborn Heiress: The Wall Street Titan's Bride

Ice-cold water flooded her nose and throat.

Alaia Dudley violently jerked upward, breaking the surface of the bathwater. She gasped, her mouth opening wide as she sucked in greedy lungfuls of air. Water cascaded down her face, stinging her eyes, but she didn't blink. She couldn't. Her hands gripped the porcelain edges of the tub so hard her knuckles turned a stark, bone-white.

Her chest heaved. The phantom sensation of cold steel slicing through her sternum still burned in her nerve endings.

She looked down. Her trembling fingers reached for the left side of her chest. There was no jagged scar. No blood. The skin over her heart was smooth, flawless, and whole. Her fingertips brushed against the wet flesh, sending a violent shiver down her spine.

Her heart was still beating. It was still inside her body.

Alaia whipped her head toward the vanity. Her phone lay on the marble counter, the screen lighting up with a notification. She scrambled out of the tub, her wet feet slipping on the tiles, and snatched the device.

The date on the screen glared back at her. It was exactly five years ago.

Her heart skipped a beat, slamming against her ribs. The sheer absurdity of it crashed into her, followed instantly by a wave of manic, suffocating joy. She leaned heavily against the vanity, her nails digging into the marble.

Then, the memory hit her. Austen Montgomery holding her down on the operating table. The sterile lights. The scalpel. The agonizing pain of her chest being cracked open while she was still conscious.

Alaia doubled over the sink and dry-heaved. A harsh, guttural sound ripped from her throat. Her stomach cramped violently, but nothing came up.

She needed to know this wasn't a hallucination. She sank her teeth into her lower lip and bit down hard. The sharp sting of pain grounded her, and the metallic taste of fresh blood flooded her mouth. It brought a twisted, dark satisfaction to her mind. She was alive.

Faint music and the muffled roar of a Hollywood gala drifted through the heavy hotel suite doors. Alaia closed her eyes, her mind racing through the timeline.

The pieces snapped together. Today was the wrap party for Austen's latest movie. It was also the exact night he first took Evelyn Mcdowell to a hotel room behind her back.

Alaia grabbed a thick towel and roughly dragged it across her skin. The cold water droplets slid down her body, chilling her, but her eyes were no longer filled with the confusion of a dying woman. They were dark, predatory, and dead.

She dropped the towel and walked into the bedroom. Her bare feet made no sound on the thick carpet. She moved like a leopard stalking its prey.

A red evening gown lay across the unmade bed. She snatched it up and pulled it over her head. The zipper caught at her waist. Alaia let out a cold, sharp laugh, grabbed the fabric, and yanked it up with brute force. The metal teeth snapped into place.

She walked over to the vanity mirror and picked up a tube of crimson lipstick. She pressed it heavily against her lips, tracing over the bleeding wound she had just bitten into. The red masked the blood and sharpened her features into something lethal.

Looking at her reflection, she saw the pale, exhausted face of a woman who had spent months begging for a cheating man's attention. She reached up and ruthlessly tore the pins out of her stiff updo. Her dark hair tumbled down her shoulders in loose, chaotic waves.

She grabbed her phone and unlocked it. She opened her browser and typed in a specific URL followed by a complex alphanumeric passcode. It was the hotel manager's backend access code-the exact same code she had spent weeks begging for in her past life so she could secretly plan a surprise birthday party for Austen. The hotel's internal floor plan instantly loaded on her screen. She knew exactly where he would be.

In her past life, Austen had booked the VIP lounge on the top floor to avoid the paparazzi. She zoomed in on the top floor blueprint. A mocking smirk curled the corners of her red lips.

She opened her designer clutch and dug into the hidden compartment of her makeup palette. Her fingers brushed against a tiny, black anti-spy camera detector.

Using the tip of a hairpin, she popped the casing open. She didn't possess the skills of a master hacker, but thanks to the grueling, months-long technical training she had endured for a spy thriller role in her past life, she knew exactly which two contact points to bridge. Her hands moved with terrifying precision, sliding a tiny metallic filament across the circuit board. Within seconds, she bypassed the detection loop and converted the device into a temporary, high-definition recording camera.

Alaia stepped out of her suite and into the brightly lit hallway. A hotel waiter, Leo Webb, rounded the corner holding a tray of champagne flutes. He nearly crashed into her.

Leo stumbled back, his eyes widening at the intense, suffocating aura radiating from her.

Alaia flashed him a flawless, empty smile.

"My apologies," she murmured.

While Leo was distracted by her face, her hand darted out like a snake. She slid the master keycard out from under his tray and palmed it.

Leo nodded, oblivious, and hurried away. Alaia slipped the card into her palm and turned toward the staff elevator.

The keypad required a passcode. She didn't hesitate. She punched in the numbers she had memorized in her past life-the numbers she had learned when she tried to surprise Austen for his birthday.

The doors slid open. She stepped inside and hit the top floor button. The sudden weightlessness of the ascending elevator made her stomach drop, reminding her of the terrifying sensation of falling from a building. She gripped the handrail until her knuckles ached.

The doors opened to the top floor. Alaia pressed her back against the wall, creeping down the corridor. She slipped past a dozing security guard, her pulse hammering in her ears.

She reached the heavy oak doors of the VIP lounge. She pressed the stolen keycard against the scanner. A red light blinked, then turned green.

The lock clicked. Alaia held her breath and pushed the door open just a fraction. The room was dark and silent. Empty.

She slipped inside and locked the door behind her. The dim, ambient lighting hid her movements as she scanned the room.

Her eyes locked onto a massive, ornate floral vase sitting directly across from the velvet sofa. She crossed the room in three quick strides and shoved the tiny camera deep into the thick leaves.

She pulled out her phone and connected to the camera's Bluetooth. The screen flickered, then displayed a crystal-clear, wide-angle view of the sofa.

She tapped the microphone test. It worked perfectly.

Just then, the sound of muffled giggles and heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. It was Austen and Evelyn.

Alaia yanked the keycard out of her pocket. A second before the door handle began to turn, she threw herself into the adjoining walk-in closet and pulled the slatted door shut. She stood in the pitch black, closed her eyes, and completely silenced her breathing.

The heavy oak door swung open, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

Austen pushed Evelyn inside, his hands already roaming all over her. He pinned her against the doorframe, his mouth crashing down on hers. The sound of their wet kisses and heavy, ragged breathing sliced through the wooden slats of the closet door, hitting Alaia's ears.

Alaia stood in the dark, her face entirely devoid of emotion. There was no jealousy. No heartbreak. Watching them felt like watching two pigs rolling in filth. It just made her stomach churn with disgust.

Evelyn let out a breathy moan and placed her hands on Austen's chest, gently pushing him back.

"Wait," Evelyn whispered, her voice dripping with fake concern. "What about Alaia? Won't she be looking for you?"

She was testing him. Playing the innocent victim.

Austen scoffed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Forget about that boring piece of wood. She's clueless. I'm dumping her the second this press tour is over."

The words echoed in the quiet room, feeding directly into the hidden microphone.

Austen grabbed Evelyn's waist and pulled her toward the center of the room. They collapsed onto the leather sofa, directly in the camera's line of sight. The sound of fabric tearing and zippers unzipping filled the air.

Alaia looked down at her phone screen. The live feed showed their faces in high definition, completely exposed under the dim lights.

She watched for another ten seconds, ensuring there was no mistaking their identities. Then, she hit the stop button. She swiftly severed the connection to the hidden camera, closing the application entirely, and immediately disabled her phone's Bluetooth and Wi-Fi to prevent any stray signal detection in the quiet room.

Outside, the two of them were completely consumed by their lust, making enough noise to cover any sound she made. Alaia reached for the back handle of the closet door.

The back door opened into an abandoned maintenance shaft. She squeezed her body through the narrow opening. A cloud of thick dust hit her face. Her throat tickled, threatening a cough. She clamped both hands over her mouth and nose, her eyes watering as she forced the urge down.

She moved quickly down the concrete stairs of the shaft. Her heels clicked faintly against the stone, the sound echoing upward, pushing her to move faster.

She pushed open the fire exit door on the fifth floor and slipped back into the brightly lit, carpeted hallway of the guest wing.

She power-walked back to her suite, swiped her card, and threw the door shut. She locked the deadbolt and leaned her back against the solid wood, exhaling a long, shaky breath.

She walked over to the desk and flipped open her laptop. She plugged her phone in and transferred the video file. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, expertly adjusting the exposure and highlights to make their faces impossible to deny.

She isolated the audio track where Austen called her a "boring piece of wood" and amplified the volume. Every single word was crystal clear.

She opened a newly registered, untraceable encrypted email account she had set up on a secure server just minutes before.

She attached the video file. In the recipient line, she typed the public tip-line email for Vinnie Kowalski, the most notorious paparazzi in Hollywood.

To guarantee maximum destruction, she added a second recipient: Alex Stone, a top-tier private investigator. She typed a single sentence in the body: Consider this half the down payment.

Alaia stared at the screen. She clicked send.

The progress bar shot across the screen. A cruel, bloodthirsty smile stretched across Alaia's face. Austen, you think cheating is your biggest sin? Wait until Alex Stone digs up the rest of your filthy, buried secrets. The video was just the appetizer; the private investigator would serve the main course.

She wiped the laptop clean, stood up, and walked over to the minibar. She poured two fingers of straight whiskey into a glass and downed it in one gulp.

The alcohol burned a fiery trail down her throat, sharpening her senses. She grabbed her lipstick, touched up the red on her mouth, and turned toward the door. It was time to go back to the battlefield.

Across Los Angeles, in a cramped basement office, Vinnie Kowalski was mindlessly refreshing his inbox. A zip file titled Hollywood's Golden Boy Exposed popped up.

Vinnie clicked the video. As Austen and Evelyn's faces filled his monitor, he jumped so hard his knee slammed into his desk, knocking his coffee cup onto the floor.

Less than five minutes later, TMZ's homepage flashed a massive, red breaking news banner. The video was pushed to millions of phones simultaneously.

Alaia had just stepped out of the elevator and approached the grand double doors of the banquet hall when her phone began to vibrate violently against her palm. Twitter notifications flooded her lock screen like a waterfall.

She glanced down. The number one trending topic was already Austen Cheats on Alaia. A little explosion emoji sat next to the hashtag.

Inside the banquet hall, the elegant string quartet was drowned out by a sudden, chaotic wave of whispers. People were gasping. Heads were turning. The atmosphere shifted from celebratory to toxic in seconds.

Alaia pushed the heavy doors open. The bright chandeliers illuminated her red dress. She looked like a walking flame.

Every single pair of eyes in the room snapped toward her. The gazes were heavy with pity, mockery, and morbid curiosity. The whispers swelled into a loud hum.

A rival actress, a woman who had always hated Alaia, practically sprinted over. She held her phone out, her face twisted in a mask of fake sympathy.

"Oh my god, Alaia," the actress cooed. "Have you seen what's on the internet?"

Alaia snatched the phone from the woman's hand. She stared at the screen, watching the video she had filmed herself.

She forced her breathing to hitch. Her eyes widened, and within seconds, tears pooled in her eyes, spilling over her lashes. She let her lower lip tremble, delivering the performance of a lifetime as the utterly broken, betrayed victim.

Alaia shoved the phone back into the actress's chest. She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking violently. To everyone watching, she looked like a woman whose entire world had just collapsed.

Suddenly, the side doors of the banquet hall were violently thrown open.

Austen stormed into the room. His hair was a mess, his tie hung loose around his neck, and a sheen of sweat coated his forehead. He looked feral.

His wild eyes scanned the room and instantly locked onto Alaia standing in the center of the crowd. A flash of panic and pure rage crossed his face. He marched toward her, his heavy footsteps echoing over the whispers.

The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Camera flashes erupted from the dark corners of the room as hidden paparazzi documented the meltdown.

Austen reached Alaia and grabbed her wrist. His fingers dug into her delicate skin with bruising force, feeling like a steel vice trying to snap her bones. He yanked her forward, trying to drag her away from the audience.

Alaia let out a sharp gasp of pain, her brow furrowing. She let her body stumble weakly against his pull, playing the fragile victim perfectly.

"Did you do this?" Austen hissed in her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Did you set me up, you crazy bitch?"

Evelyn jogged into the hall right behind him. Her eyes were red and puffy. She looked like a terrified deer, desperately trying to garner sympathy from the staring elites.

Austen dragged Alaia out through the side doors and onto a secluded, private balcony. He slammed the heavy glass door shut behind them, cutting off the noise and the prying eyes of the banquet hall.

He shoved Alaia backward. Her lower back slammed hard against the cold marble balustrade. A sharp, piercing pain shot up her spine.

Alaia dropped her hands from her face. The tears were gone. She lifted her chin and stared at the man who had ordered her heart cut out in her past life. Her eyes were as cold and dead as a graveyard.

Austen froze for a fraction of a second, unsettled by the sheer emptiness in her gaze. But his panic quickly morphed back into rage.

"Who did you hire to film that?" he roared, stepping into her space.

Evelyn rushed forward, grabbing Alaia's arm. "Alaia, please," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "We didn't mean to hurt you. We're in love. Please, you have to tell the press it's a misunderstanding."

Alaia looked down at Evelyn's tear-stained, hypocritical face. The memory of her chest being sliced open flared in her mind. Her blood boiled.

She didn't say a word. She just raised her right hand.

Smack.

The sound cracked like a whip in the night air. Alaia put her entire body weight into the slap, striking Evelyn across the left cheek. The force threw Evelyn's head to the side.

Evelyn let out a high-pitched scream and stumbled back, clutching her rapidly swelling cheek. She stared at Alaia in pure shock, a flash of genuine malice breaking through her innocent facade.

Austen's eyes bulged. "You bitch!" he bellowed. He shielded Evelyn with his body, pulled his arm back, and aimed a closed fist straight at Alaia's face.

Alaia didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She stared right at his incoming fist, already calculating how much she could sue him for the assault.

The fist was one inch from her nose.

Suddenly, a large, masculine hand shot out from the shadows. Long, elegant fingers wrapped around Austen's wrist, stopping the punch dead in its tracks. The glint of a Patek Philippe watch caught the moonlight.

Austen grunted, trying to pull his arm back, but the grip was like iron. He couldn't move an inch. He snapped his head around, ready to curse out whoever was interfering.

His eyes met a pair of deep, icy blue eyes.

The man stepping out of the shadows wore a perfectly tailored, bespoke black suit. His aura was suffocating, radiating a terrifying, predatory coldness. It was Gabriel Alvarado, the most feared corporate raider on Wall Street.

The air on the balcony instantly froze. Austen's aggressive posture crumbled the second he recognized the man holding his wrist.

"M-Mr. Alvarado," Austen stuttered, the color draining from his face.

Gabriel looked at Austen's wrist with utter disgust. He released his grip, shoving Austen's arm away as if he were discarding a piece of trash. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and slowly wiped his fingers.

Alaia leaned against the marble railing. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the Wall Street titan. She had only ever seen him in financial magazines in her past life.

Gabriel didn't even look at Austen. His piercing gaze dropped to Evelyn, who was still cowering on the floor, holding her cheek.

Evelyn was trembling violently. She wouldn't meet his eyes. She forgot to cry, looking up at Austen in sheer panic.

Gabriel's lips parted. His voice was low, smooth, and completely devoid of warmth.

"Well," Gabriel said, the word slicing through the tension. "If it isn't my shameless fiancée."

The words hit the balcony like a bomb. Austen's jaw dropped. He whipped his head toward Evelyn, his eyes wide with absolute betrayal. He clearly had no idea.

Alaia's eyes widened slightly. Evelyn had hidden her tracks perfectly in the past life. Alaia had never known Evelyn was engaged to the Alvarado empire.

Gabriel finally turned his head. His icy blue eyes locked onto Alaia. For a split second, a flicker of dark amusement and intense calculation flashed in his gaze.