Reborn: The Medical Heiress's Sweet Revenge

Alexis Santos died in the winter of her forty-fifth year, and woke again in the spring of her twentieth year.

When she died, she was lying on a wooden plank bed in a basement, without even the strength to turn over. When she woke, she was sitting on the bed in the second-floor bedroom of Ashley Manor, morning light stinging her eyes, the smell of dried herbs in the air, her hand pressed against her chest-warm, alive, no blood.

It had taken her twenty-five years to understand one thing: the woman she had called "sister" for twenty-five years, and the man she had loved for twenty-five years, had been waiting for her to die all along.

The last thing she saw before death, she remembered clearly.

"My dear sister, did you really think Bertrand ever loved you?"

Christy Riggs laughed, her voice echoing in the damp basement of the Williams house in Pine Ridge. The iron door had just screeched shut behind her. Her polished high heels clicked against the wet concrete floor, bringing a heavy wave of cheap rose perfume that choked out the smell of mold.

Lying on the wooden plank bed, Alexis struggled to lift her heavy eyelids. Her skeletal fingers clenched the thin, mildewed blanket, and every breath rattled in her throat like a broken bellows.

Christy stopped by the bed, looking down at her. There was no pity in those watery blue eyes, only cold mockery. For twenty-five years, this orphan girl who lived off the Williams family had called her sister while secretly hating her to the bone.

She raised a hand adorned with a ruby ring and covered her nose and mouth with a silk handkerchief in disgust. Under the dim bulb, the brown beauty mark beneath her right eye looked glaring. She tossed a yellowed parchment formula onto Alexis's paper-white face.

The rough edge of the paper sliced across Alexis's cracked cheek. Her pupils shrank. It was the master manual of the Santos family's autonomic nerve needling technique, a medical secret never meant for outsiders.

"This... my grandfather left this to me..." Alexis's lips trembled violently, a metallic taste rising in her throat.

Christy kicked over the rusty iron basin beside the bed, the clatter bouncing off the walls.

"If Bertrand hadn't needed to trick this targeted nerve regulation formula out of you, why would a medical elite like him ever hold his nose and act sweet to you?"

A loud buzzing filled Alexis's head. Memories of slaving away for twenty-five years flashed before her eyes. Her fingernails dug deep into the dry flesh of her palms.

Squatting down, Christy poked her bright red fingernail hard into Alexis's bony collarbone, her voice soft and venomous.

"And that rumor twenty years ago about you being assaulted at the old farm? He leaked that himself."

"No... someone drugged me that night..."

"Bertrand put the drug in your drink with his own hands. He wanted to ruin your reputation so you could only cling to him and be his free servant forever."

Alexis jerked her hand up to claw at the woman's face, but her emaciated arm lost all strength mid-air and slammed onto the hard edge of the bed.

Christy stood up gracefully and smoothed the wrinkles on her skirt before pulling a photocopy of a birth certificate from her handbag and tossing it lightly onto the head of the bed.

"By the way, Leo, the son you worked yourself to the bone to raise, is my flesh and blood with Bertrand. You were just a barren substitute who raised my son for me. You can go die now."

Alexis stared at Christy's name printed under the mother's column. Her eye sockets felt ready to split as tears mixed with blood rolled down her cheeks. She thought of the endless nights she spent sewing and boiling herbs in the back kitchen to pay Leo's tuition, her hands raw and festering.

Steady footsteps echoed outside the basement. Bertrand Williams appeared at the top of the stairs, his metal-rimmed glasses reflecting a cold light, the stub of a cheap cigar between his fingers. He blew a puff of blue smoke toward the bed.

Using every last bit of strength, Alexis raised her head to look at the man she had loved her whole life.

Bertrand didn't spare her a glance. He checked his wristwatch, his tone as flat as if he were discussing broken furniture.

"Still breathing? The doctor will be here soon to sign the death certificate."

Christy leaned into Bertrand's arms, her voice syrupy.

"She's clinging on, but the medicine has kicked in. She won't make it past tonight."

Bertrand wrapped his arm around Christy's waist, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

"Get this room cleaned up. The notary is coming tomorrow to confirm the manor deed transfer."

Dark red blood clots surged into Alexis's throat. She shook violently, coughing as if she wanted to cough up her organs. Twenty-five years of devotion, twenty-five years of self-deception, all turned into a fire choking her chest. She glared at the well-dressed couple, her eyes so red they almost bled.

Chilled by her terrifying stare, Bertrand frowned and took half a step back.

"Stop looking at me with those disgusting eyes. You were just too stupid."

The agony in Alexis's chest exploded. Her heart raced out of control, and her vision went black. Outside the basement, thunder rumbled, and heavy rain pounded against the narrow air vent.

Her fingers went rigid one by one, then dropped heavily onto the sheet. A mouthful of black blood sprayed from her lips. Before her consciousness faded into a blur of darkness, she vaguely felt a drop of piercingly cold water hit her forehead hard...

Icy rainwater dripped through a crack in the basement ceiling and splashed onto Alexis's forehead. The memory resurfaced.

Bertrand flicked cigar ash off his suit jacket, pulled a yellowed contract from his briefcase, and unfolded it in front of her. The notary stamp had faded. He pointed at the signature line and laughed.

"You really thought we registered a marriage certificate at City Hall twenty years ago?"

Alexis's chest heaved violently. She stared at the paper, eyes burning.

Bertrand sneered and shoved it closer.

"It's an unpaid domestic labor agreement. Legally, you were never my wife."

Christy giggled beside him.

"And the old Ashley Manor? Bertrand had you sign it over years ago to cover your living expenses. All that's left is the notary's confirmation once you're gone."

A ringing filled Alexis's ears. Twenty-five years a free slave-and she'd signed away her family estate for nothing.

Bertrand bent down, lips near her ear.

"Your grandfather's heart attack? I swapped his blood pressure pills."

Alexis's eyes flew wide. The blood vessels in her eyes burst on the spot. Cary Ashley-the only family who'd poured everything into teaching her medicine-murdered by these two beasts.

A hoarse roar tore from her throat. She lunged for Bertrand's collar with the last of her strength, nails digging in. His shirt ripped open, leaving bloody scratches across his collarbone.

Bertrand hissed. His face darkened, and he slapped her hard across the face.

"Crazy bitch, you have a death wish!"

Alexis was knocked flat onto the wooden planks. Her forehead slammed against the rusty iron bed rail. Warm blood trickled down her hairline.

Christy shrieked and rushed over, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at Bertrand's scratches.

"Don't get mad at a dying woman. She'll dirty your hands."

Bertrand shook his hand in disgust and kicked the water basin away.

"The doctor will be here in ten minutes. I don't want to hear another sound out of her."

Alexis lay face down on the freezing wood, vision swimming red. The fake contract lay on the floor, smeared with her bloody thumbprint. If she got another life, she'd make them pay in blood.

Thunder crashed. Lightning flashed through the vent, casting the couple's twisted shadows on the peeling wall.

Christy walked to the head of the bed, bent down, and yanked out the oxygen tube keeping Alexis alive. She smiled sweetly.

"Goodbye, dear sister."

Suffocation hit like a wave. Her lungs burned. Her eyes stayed fixed on the two figures. Bertrand watched her body stop twitching, then turned toward the exit.

"Lock the door. Wait for the medical examiner."

High heels and leather shoes faded. The heavy lock clicked shut, cutting off the last light. Darkness swallowed the room. Her heart stopped. Her muscles stiffened.

Then the memory broke off.

Alexis gasped and came back to herself. The basement, the blood, those two faces-gone. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, her heart pounding against her ribs.

She looked down at her hands. No blood. No scars. A pair of young hands.

She was alive. She was twenty. And every last drop of blood debt from those twenty-five years was carved into her bones, one by one.

Alexis sat on the edge of the bed for a while, catching her breath. No blood smell, no basement. Hand-drawn charts of human meridians hung on the wall. Sunlight poured through the lattice window onto her bare feet.

She really had come back. Back to twenty, back to when her grandfather was still alive.

Downstairs came the creak of a rocking chair, followed by a familiar light cough.

Alexis ran out of the room barefoot and rushed down the old wooden stairs.

On the porch, a white-haired old man sat in his rocking chair grinding herbs, his fingers rough, the knuckle of his right index finger slightly swollen. Her grandfather, Cary Ashley. He had married into the Santos medical line, and Alexis had taken her grandmother's surname, Santos. He had been chosen to inherit its autonomic nerve needling technique; he was its keeper now, and the person who loved her most in this world.

Alexis rushed over, dropped to her knees beside the rocking chair, and hugged the old man's legs. She buried her face in his knees, and the tears she hadn't shed in twenty-five years almost broke through.

Cary set down the herb roller, and his rough palm came to rest on her hair.

"What's wrong, kiddo? Did you have a nightmare?"

Grandpa's hand was warm, alive, still able to grind herbs and pat her head. Alexis forced the tears back, looked up, and smiled at him.

"Grandpa, I had a very long dream. But I'm awake now."

Cary raised an eyebrow, a sharp glint flashing through his gray-brown eyes.

"Good thing you're awake. That Williams boy said he's coming over today. Weren't you going to their house to help cook?"

At the mention of Bertrand's name, hatred flashed through Alexis's eyes. In her past life, this was the exact day Bertrand used his mother's headache as an excuse to trick her into becoming the Williams family's free servant. She clenched her fists and pushed the hatred down, not answering her grandfather.

Suddenly, light footsteps came from outside the yard gate, followed by the jingle of a brass bell.

"Sister Alexis! Are you home? I have something urgent to tell you!"

Christy's voice, cloyingly sweet.

Cary frowned.

"So early in the morning, making all that racket. No manners at all."

Alexis stood up and dusted off her knees.

"Grandpa, you sit. I'll go see what she's up to."

Cary nodded.

"Go on. If anyone bullies you, Grandpa will blast them with his shotgun."

Alexis crossed the yard and stopped inside the wooden fence gate. Outside stood Christy in a pale pink ruffled dress, her blonde curls shining in the sun, the brown beauty mark under her right eye clearly visible. She smiled innocently and reached out to grab Alexis's arm.

Alexis curved her lips, her gaze coldly locked on the outstretched hand, and stood perfectly still, not moving an inch.