Reborn To Love My Ruthless Billionaire

The sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic assaulted Jaclyn's nose before she even opened her eyes.

A violent, tearing pain ripped through her lower abdomen.

Her eyelids fluttered open. The harsh fluorescent lights of the Manhattan private hospital room burned her retinas. The heavy residue of anesthesia made the white ceiling tiles swim above her.

She gasped for air. Her lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass.

Her trembling right hand moved downward, sliding over the thin hospital gown. Her fingertips met the cold, thick layer of medical gauze taped over her flat stomach.

Her heart stopped beating for a full second.

The door clicked open. A nurse in pale blue scrubs walked in. Her eyes were wide, her mouth set in a tight line of professional pity.

"Mrs. Acevedo," the nurse said, her voice low. "You suffered a severe hemorrhage from the fall down the stairs. I am so sorry. We couldn't save the baby."

A high-pitched ringing erupted in Jaclyn's ears.

Hot, involuntary tears spilled over her lashes, burning trails down her pale cheeks. Her fingers dug into the sterile white bedsheets, twisting the fabric until her knuckles turned completely white.

The sharp clack of high heels echoed in the hallway.

The door swung open wider. Her older cousin Katelyn and her younger cousin Cherri walked into the room. Their faces were twisted into masks of exaggerated concern.

"We'll take it from here," Katelyn told the nurse, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The nurse nodded and slipped out.

The moment the door clicked shut, Katelyn reached out and pressed the lock button on the handle. A soft click echoed in the silence, sealing the room.

The fake sympathy vanished from Katelyn's face. A cold, hard smirk replaced it.

Cherri stepped right up to the edge of the mattress. She looked down at Jaclyn's sweating, pale face.

Cherri let out a short, breathy giggle. The sound scraped against Jaclyn's eardrums.

"Look at you," Cherri mocked, her eyes trailing down to Jaclyn's bandaged stomach. "What a tragic little mess."

The air in the room suddenly felt too thick to breathe. Jaclyn's chest heaved. She forced her heavy arm to move, reaching for the red call button clipped to her pillow.

Katelyn's hand shot out. Her manicured fingers clamped down on Jaclyn's wrist like a vice, pinning it to the mattress.

Katelyn leaned in close. Jaclyn could smell the expensive vanilla perfume radiating off her skin.

"It wasn't an accident, Jaclyn," Katelyn whispered. Her index finger tapped a rhythmic, mocking beat against Jaclyn's trapped arm. "The lubricant on the top step was a very deliberate choice."

Jaclyn's pupils dilated. Her breath hitched in her throat.

She stared at the two women she had grown up with. The cousins she had trusted with her life. Her brain flatlined, unable to process the sheer magnitude of the malice in front of her.

"We needed you to break," Cherri added, her voice sickeningly sweet. "A grieving, unstable mother is so much easier to declare legally incompetent. Uncle Guy needs full control of your medical decisions."

Jaclyn's jaw locked. A surge of pure, unadulterated rage pumped adrenaline into her veins.

She yanked her arm upward, trying to sit up, trying to fight.

The sudden movement tore at her internal stitches. A fresh wave of agony exploded in her pelvis. She collapsed back into the pillows, gasping for air.

Cherri laughed louder this time.

Katelyn reached into her designer handbag. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and shook it in front of Jaclyn's face.

"Uncle Guy's masterpiece," Katelyn said.

Jaclyn forced her eyes to focus on the document. It was a copy of a trust fund transfer agreement. At the bottom line, her own signature stared back at her.

It was a flawless forgery.

The rumors of the Lester family's bankruptcy weren't rumors. Her uncle had drained her inheritance to save his own sinking ship.

"Bradford..." Jaclyn choked out, her throat raw. "Does he know?"

Cherri's smile widened. She reached up and pulled down the collar of her silk blouse. A dark, purple bruise marred the skin of her collarbone. A fresh hickey.

"Bradford helped us plan it," Cherri purred.

Jaclyn's stomach violently contracted. Acid burned the back of her throat. She turned her head and dry-heaved over the edge of the bed, spitting up nothing but bitter bile.

"Once you're discharged, you're going straight to a psychiatric facility upstate," Katelyn stated coldly. "You will never see the inside of a ballroom again."

Jaclyn opened her mouth to scream. She needed to scream for help.

Cherri moved with terrifying speed. She snatched the spare pillow from the armchair and slammed it down over Jaclyn's face.

Darkness instantly swallowed her. The heavy fabric pressed against her nose and mouth, cutting off her oxygen.

Jaclyn thrashed. Her arms flailed blindly in the air. Her fingernails scratched at Cherri's forearms, but her muscles were too weak from the blood loss.

Her lungs burned. Black spots danced behind her closed eyelids.

Heavy footsteps pounded outside the door. A key rattled in the lock.

Katelyn grabbed Cherri by the shoulder and yanked her backward.

The pillow lifted. Jaclyn sucked in a massive, ragged breath. Her chest heaved violently as oxygen flooded her starving lungs.

The door flew open. The doctor rushed in, followed by two nurses.

Katelyn and Cherri were already crying. Real tears streamed down their faces.

"She just started screaming and thrashing!" Katelyn sobbed, covering her mouth in fake horror. "She's completely lost her mind!"

The doctor took one look at Jaclyn. Her eyes were wild. Her face was red and covered in sweat. Her chest was rising and falling in rapid, uneven jerks.

"Get the sedative," the doctor ordered the nurse. "She's having a severe PTSD episode."

"No!" Jaclyn croaked. Her vocal cords were bruised from the pillow. "They tried... to kill me!"

The nurse grabbed Jaclyn's left arm. Strong hands pinned her down.

Jaclyn shook her head frantically. She kicked her legs, ignoring the blinding pain in her stomach.

A cold alcohol swab wiped her inner elbow.

"Just relax, Mrs. Acevedo," the doctor said, his voice completely detached from her reality.

The sharp prick of the needle pierced her vein.

Jaclyn stopped fighting. She turned her head and locked eyes with Katelyn and Cherri, who were standing at the foot of the bed.

She burned their faces into her memory. She memorized the exact curve of their victorious smiles.

The heavy, thick sludge of the sedative hit her bloodstream. Her eyelids felt like they were made of lead.

The fire of hatred in her chest burned hotter than the drugs.

Katelyn leaned over the footboard.

"Game over, Jaclyn," Katelyn mouthed silently.

The edges of the room turned black.

In her final second of consciousness, the face of her husband flashed in her mind. Gaines Acevedo. The man she had fought so hard to escape. The man she had hated.

A cold, hollow sense of regret washed over her.

The darkness pulled her under. The steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound left in the room.

Katelyn folded the document with deliberate slowness, tapping it against her palm. "A masterpiece," she repeated, before slipping it back into her designer handbag. She linked arms with Cherri, and they walked out of the room.

Two weeks later.

Jaclyn woke up in her childhood bedroom at the Hampton Lester estate. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the afternoon sun.

She sat up slowly. Her body was still weak, but the sedative haze had finally worn off.

The maid sitting in the corner of the room had fallen asleep, her chin resting on her chest.

Jaclyn slid out of bed. Her bare feet sank into the thick Persian rug. She moved silently toward the heavy oak desk near the window.

Her fingers closed around the cold, brass handle of a heavy letter opener.

She gripped it tight. The sharp metal edge pressed into her palm, grounding her.

She crept toward the bedroom door. She turned the knob with agonizing slowness. It clicked open.

She slipped out into the second-floor hallway. The air conditioning chilled her bare arms. She kept her back pressed against the wall, moving toward the grand staircase, avoiding the blind spots of the security cameras.

As she reached the top of the stairs, a figure stepped out from the shadows.

Bradford.

He was holding a crystal glass of red wine. He froze when he saw her. His eyes darted nervously down the hallway.

He quickly ran his free hand through his perfectly styled blonde hair, pasting on a look of deep concern.

"Jaclyn, baby," Bradford said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Jaclyn's stomach churned. The memory of the hickey on Cherri's neck flashed in her mind.

She took a step back. She raised the brass letter opener, pointing the sharp tip directly at his chest.

"Where is the trust fund money, Bradford?" she demanded. Her voice was raspy, but it didn't shake.

Bradford's fake smile vanished. The muscles in his jaw tightened.

"Put that down, you crazy bitch," he sneered. "You're nothing but a puppet with cut strings."

Footsteps echoed from the other end of the hallway.

Katelyn and Cherri walked out of the master suite. They saw Jaclyn holding the weapon, but neither of them looked scared.

Cherri let out her signature breathy giggle.

They moved forward, fanning out. The three of them formed a semi-circle, slowly forcing Jaclyn backward.

Jaclyn retreated step by step until her back was pressed against the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the corridor.

The glass was cold against her back. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid.

Cherri walked right up to Bradford and wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Did it hurt, Jackie?" Cherri asked, her eyes gleaming with malice. "When the baby tore out of you?"

A red-hot spike of fury drove straight into Jaclyn's brain.

She lunged forward, slashing the letter opener toward Cherri's face.

Bradford was faster. He dropped his wine glass. It shattered on the floor. His large hand shot out and clamped around Jaclyn's wrist.

He twisted her arm violently.

Pain shot up to her shoulder. Her fingers went numb. The letter opener clattered onto the hardwood floor.

Bradford shoved her backward with all his body weight.

Jaclyn stumbled. Her back slammed into the floor-to-ceiling window.

A loud, terrifying crack echoed through the hallway. The thick glass spider-webbed behind her.

Jaclyn twisted her head. She looked down. The stone patio was forty feet below.

Katelyn's eyes darkened. She tapped her index finger against her thigh.

"A depressed, grieving mother," Katelyn said slowly. "Jumping to her death. It's a perfect tragedy."

Bradford didn't hesitate. He lunged forward. Both of his hands clamped around Jaclyn's throat.

He shoved her upper body backward, forcing her through the shattered glass.

Gravity ripped at her.

Jaclyn threw her arms out. Her hands desperately clawed at the wooden window frame. Her fingernails dug into the wood until they bent backward and bled.

A massive, deafening crash erupted from the first floor.

The heavy mahogany front doors of the estate were kicked open with explosive force.

Jaclyn strained her neck to look down.

Gaines Acevedo burst into the foyer. He was flanked by four massive bodyguards.

Gaines looked up.

His dark, cold eyes locked onto Jaclyn dangling from the second-story window.

The mask of the ruthless billionaire shattered instantly. Pure, unadulterated terror contorted his face.

"Jaclyn!" Gaines roared. The sound tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

He sprinted toward the stairs, shoving a heavy marble table out of his way with brutal force.

The sound of Gaines's roar echoed up from the foyer, distant but unmistakable. Bradford's eyes darted toward the grand staircase for a split second, his attention momentarily broken.

Cherri stepped forward. She dug her sharp acrylic nails directly into the bleeding wounds on the back of Jaclyn's hands.

The blinding pain forced Jaclyn's fingers to open.

She lost her grip.

The wind roared in her ears.

She fell backward into the night air.

Time slowed down to a crawl. She looked up at the broken window. Bradford, Katelyn, and Cherri stared down at her, their faces blank and cold.

She shifted her gaze downward.

Gaines had already reached the edge of the stone patio. He threw his arms out, his body stretching to its absolute physical limit, trying to catch her.

His eyes were wide, filled with a desperate, agonizing love she had never seen before.

He wasn't the monster. He was the only one trying to save her.

A sickening, wet crunch echoed through the night.

Jaclyn's body slammed into the hard stone patio.

Every bone in her spine shattered. A massive wave of agony instantly overloaded her nervous system.

Warm blood pooled rapidly beneath her back, soaking through her clothes.

Her vision blurred into a hazy gray.

Strong, trembling arms scooped her upper body off the cold stone.

Gaines fell to his knees in the pool of her blood. He pressed his large hands desperately against the massive wound on her head.

Tears-hot and fast-dropped from his face onto her freezing cheeks.

"Don't sleep," Gaines begged, his voice cracking, completely broken. "Jaclyn, look at me. Do not close your eyes."

Jaclyn forced her heavy arm to lift. She wanted to touch his face. She wanted to trace the jawline she had hated for so long.

Her hand hovered in the air for a second before all the strength drained from her muscles. Her arm dropped heavily onto the stone.

Regret, sharp and suffocating, swallowed her whole.

She had spent her entire life fighting the wrong demon.

The darkness rushed in, absolute and final. The last thing she heard was the agonizing scream of the man who loved her.

Jaclyn gasped violently.

Her lungs expanded so fast it hurt. Her eyes snapped open.

She threw her hands out in front of her, bracing for the bone-crushing impact of the stone patio.

Her fingers grabbed fistfuls of soft, cool silk.

She was not falling. She was lying flat on her back.

Her chest heaved. Cold sweat soaked through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She inhaled sharply. The distinct scent of cedarwood and amber filled her nose.

It was Gaines's scent.

Her vision slowly focused. She was staring at the vaulted ceiling of the guest bedroom in the Acevedo Manhattan penthouse.

She sat up so fast her head spun.

There was no blood. There was no shattered spine. Her body felt whole, save for a dull, throbbing pain in her left ankle and a slight sting on her forehead.

She threw off the silk blanket and stumbled out of bed. Her bare feet hit the plush carpet.

She rushed to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall.

The woman staring back at her was pale, but alive. A small white bandage was taped over her left eyebrow.

A memory slammed into her brain like a freight train.

She had just married Gaines a month ago. She had tried to run away, tripped over her own heels, and tumbled down the carpeted stairs of the penthouse duplex.

Jaclyn spun around and lunged for the smart calendar glowing on the nightstand.

The digital numbers burned into her eyes.

The date confirmed it. She was back. Back to the day she fell, one month into her marriage.

The sheer weight of the information crushed her legs. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the carpet.

She was alive. She had come back.

She clamped both hands over her mouth, biting down on her own palm to stop the hysterical sob from ripping out of her throat. Hot tears flooded her eyes, dropping heavily onto her wrists.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

They were moving closer.

Jaclyn's heart hammered against her ribs. She knew those footsteps.

Gaines.

The memory of his broken, tear-streaked face from her death flashed in her mind.

She quickly scanned the room. Near the door, a crystal vase lay shattered into a dozen jagged pieces on the floor.

The memory clicked into place. Before she fell down the stairs, she had thrown that vase at his head.

In her past life, when Gaines walked through that door today, she had screamed at him, picked up a shard of glass, and slashed his forearm.

Jaclyn scrambled forward on her hands and knees.

She ignored the sharp sting as a tiny piece of glass sliced into her index finger. She frantically swept the jagged shards into a neat pile against the baseboard.

The footsteps stopped right outside the door.

The heavy brass handle slowly turned. The metal hinges let out a low groan.

Jaclyn stood up. She took a deep breath, forcing her racing heart to slow down. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

The thick oak door swung open.

Gaines Acevedo stood in the doorway. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His broad shoulders filled the frame. His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying coldness.

His dark eyes swept the room like a radar, instantly locking onto her.

His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle ticked. His hands were balled into tight fists at his sides, bracing for her inevitable screaming fit.

Jaclyn stared at him. He looked exactly the same, yet entirely different. This was the man before she had completely broken his soul.

Her eyes immediately welled up with fresh tears.

Gaines noticed the moisture in her eyes. His eyes narrowed. He assumed this was a new tactic.

"If you try to run again," Gaines said, his voice a low, gravelly threat, "I will freeze every single asset connected to the Lester family by midnight."

In her past life, that threat had ignited a screaming match.

Now, the words just sounded like a desperate, clumsy attempt to keep her from leaving.

Jaclyn didn't scream. She didn't throw anything.

She just stood perfectly still. She looked at him with eyes full of overwhelming guilt and water.

The silence stretched.

Gaines's brow furrowed. The rigid line of his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He stared at her, completely thrown off balance by the lack of flying objects.

Jaclyn took a small step forward.

Her injured left ankle gave out. A sharp pain shot up her leg. She gasped, her body swaying dangerously to the side.

Gaines's body reacted before his brain did. He lunged forward, his hand shooting out to catch her.

But he stopped himself mid-air. He forcefully pulled his arm back, shoving his hand deep into his trouser pocket. His knuckles bulged against the fabric.

Jaclyn saw the aborted movement.

The guilt swallowed her whole. She had trained him to expect violence every time he touched her.

She lowered her gaze to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Jaclyn whispered. Her voice trembled, thick with emotion.

The words hit the room like a physical shockwave.

Gaines's pupils dilated rapidly. He froze completely.

He stared at her face, his eyes searching frantically for the lie, for the trap. The tension in the air was so thick it was hard to breathe.