Reborn To Love My Wheelchair Billionaire

Aubree's eyes snapped open.

A violent wave of dizziness hit her, blurring her vision. The deafening crack of thunder rattled the windowpanes.

She gasped for air, her lungs burning as if she'd been held underwater. Her hands clawed at the silk sheets beneath her. The fabric was smooth and cool. Real.

"You are an absolute lunatic, Aubree!"

Her father's furious roar pierced through the door.

Aubree's heart seized. The sound of Orville's voice, the exact words he was yelling, sent a shard of ice straight through her soul. It was happening again.

She scrambled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the freezing hardwood floor. She stumbled, her knees weak, and threw herself toward the vanity.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room. She stared at the mirror. A young girl stared back, her eyes wide with terror, framed by thick, smeared black eyeliner.

She looked down at her hands. She turned them over, her breath catching in her throat. They were pale and flawless. No deep cuts. No sticky, warm blood from her dying moments.

Then, the memory hit her, crashing into her brain with the force of a freight train. The memory of pushing Ezra down the grand staircase-the violent act that had sealed her miserable fate in her past life. It was the catalyst for her entire nightmare, and now, impossibly, she was back, moments after it happened.

A massive wave of panic and crushing regret swallowed her whole. Hot tears spilled over her lower lashes, tracking through the black makeup on her cheeks.

She couldn't care less about her father's yelling. She spun around and yanked the heavy door open.

Orville stood in the hallway, startled by the sudden movement. His thick eyebrows pulled together, his mouth opening to deliver another harsh reprimand.

Aubree completely ignored him, squeezing past his broad shoulders like a gust of wind.

"Aubree!"

Her legs were still shaking uncontrollably, but she forced herself into a desperate, stumbling run. Her bare feet sank into the plush runner in the hallway. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, using the sharp pain to keep herself grounded. Find Ezra. That was the only thought screaming in her skull.

She reached the top of the stairs and took the turn too fast, her foot slipping on the polished wood. Her knee slammed hard into the edge of the step.

A sharp, blinding pain shot up her thigh. She gritted her teeth, tasting copper, grabbed the banister, and kept running.

Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, stepped out from a corridor holding a tray. Her eyes went wide.

"Miss Aubree! Where are you going-"

Aubree dodged the housekeeper's outstretched arm. She hit the entryway, not bothering with a coat or shoes. She grabbed the handles of the massive double doors and pulled them open with all her body weight.

The storm violently invaded the house. Freezing rain and howling wind instantly soaked her thin nightgown.

She ran straight into the downpour. The freezing water shocked her system, clearing the last bit of fog from her reborn brain.

She sprinted down the flooded driveway toward the wrought-iron gates.

"Get back here right now!" Orville's furious voice boomed from the porch.

Aubree didn't stop. She wiped the rain from her eyes, scanning the dark street for any sign of a car.

Gus McCoy, the security guard, rushed out of the guardhouse. He spread his arms wide, stepping directly into Aubree's path.

Aubree slammed into him. She tried to shove him, but he was a brick wall. Gus clamped his large hands on her shoulders.

"Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing against his grip. Tears mixed with the rain, running into her mouth.

Orville marched up, holding a large black umbrella, his face purple with rage. He grabbed Aubree's upper arm in a bruising grip.

"You are grounded indefinitely," Orville spat, yanking her backward and dragging her toward the house.

Orville shoved Aubree hard into her bedroom.

She stumbled forward as the solid wood door slammed shut behind her with a deafening thud.

Click.

The sharp sound of the lock turning echoed in the room. Trapped.

Aubree threw herself at the door, slamming her palms against the wood.

"Dad, please! Let me out!" she screamed.

The only answer was the sound of his heavy footsteps fading down the hallway.

Her legs gave out. She slid down the door to the floor, her soaked nightgown clinging to her shivering skin.

Through the crack under the door, the muffled voices of two maids drifted in.

"Did you hear? The head butler was on the phone. Mr. Phillips' private jet is prepped. He's leaving New York tonight. For good."

The words struck Aubree like a physical blow. She shot up from the floor.

She ran to the nightstand and grabbed her phone. The screen lit up. She checked the date and time.

Ezra's flight was in less than two hours. There was no time to wait for her father to calm down.

She turned to the large French windows and yanked the heavy velvet curtains open.

The rain was coming down in sheets, but her eyes locked onto the sturdy ivy trellis bolted to the brick wall just below her window. An escape route.

She stripped off her wet nightgown, her movements swift and purposeful. She pulled open her closet and grabbed a black hoodie and tight jeans. She shoved her feet into a pair of combat boots with thick rubber soles. Practical. Durable.

She pushed the window open. The freezing wind blasted into the room.

Aubree took a deep breath, swung her leg over the sill, and grabbed the wet iron of the trellis. The metal was freezing.

The wind whipped at her, but she carefully lowered her foot onto the next rung and started to climb down.

The rain blinded her. Halfway down, her boot slipped.

Her body dropped.

A short gasp escaped her lips as her hands clamped down on the iron bar, knuckles turning white. Flakes of rust sliced into her palms, but she didn't let go.

She bit her lip, found her footing again, and climbed faster. When she was about six feet from the ground, she let go.

She landed hard in the soft, muddy flowerbed.

Ignoring the ache in her knees, she stayed low, using the dark bushes as cover as she moved toward the side gate.

She peeked out. Gus McCoy was in the main guardhouse, sipping coffee, his back to her.

Holding her breath, she scrambled over the low stone wall and dropped onto the public sidewalk.

She ran down the empty street, pulling out her phone and opening the Uber app, her fingers shaking but steady enough.

Ten minutes later, a black SUV pulled up. She yanked the door open and threw herself into the backseat.

"The Phillips building. Upper East Side. Please hurry," she told the driver.

The neon lights of New York blurred past the rain-streaked window. Aubree didn't wring her hands; she sat perfectly still, her mind racing, planning her words.

The SUV finally pulled into the private underground garage of the Phillips building. Aubree threw a hundred-dollar bill at the front seat and jumped out.

She ran toward the private elevator. Several men in black uniforms were loading massive suitcases into a transport van.

Standing by the elevator doors was Kai Bishop, Ezra's personal bodyguard.

Aubree ran straight toward him.

Kai turned. He saw Aubree, covered in mud, her hair a wet mess. His eyes instantly darkened with pure disgust.

He stepped sideways, physically blocking the elevator doors.

Aubree didn't push. She stopped a foot from Kai's chest.

"Let me through. I need to see Ezra," she demanded, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart.

Kai didn't move an inch. "You've done enough damage to Mr. Phillips. Stay away from him," he sneered.

Another bodyguard, Leo Vance, walked over, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

Aubree's patience snapped. "Ezra!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. It wasn't a plea; it was a summons.

Kai's jaw tightened. He reached for the radio on his belt, pressing his finger to his earpiece, waiting for the authorization from the penthouse to have her removed.

Suddenly, a low, raspy voice crackled through Kai's earpiece. Kai's hand froze. His expression twisted into deep reluctance.

He took a deep breath, dropped his arm, and stepped aside, jerking his chin toward the doors.

Aubree didn't hesitate. She lunged into the private elevator.

The doors slid shut. The elevator shot upward. Aubree leaned against the cold metal wall, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked down at her muddy boots and her bleeding palms, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.

Ding.

The doors opened to the penthouse. The air inside was freezing. The minimalist apartment was dark, the only light coming from the city skyline.

She saw him immediately.

Ezra sat in a wheelchair facing the glass, his broad back stiff. His right leg was stretched out, encased in a thick white cast.

Hearing her footsteps, Ezra used his hands to turn the wheelchair around.

His deep, dark eyes locked onto hers. There was no warmth, only a chilling emptiness. He looked at her like she was nothing.

Tears instantly flooded Aubree's eyes. Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to walk toward him.

Ezra watched her approach, his jaw ticking. The veins on the back of his hands bulged as he gripped the armrests.

"What are you doing here?" his voice cut through the dark room like a blade.

Aubree stopped in front of him. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off, a self-deprecating smirk twisting his lips.

"I'm leaving New York. Leaving all the space for you and Foster Newton. You don't need to come here to make sure I'm really gone," Ezra said, his tone dripping with ice.

The words stabbed her. She shook her head violently, tears flying from her cheeks.

"No, it's not like that-"

Ezra's eyes turned lethal. "Drop the act!" he shouted. "I am sick of your games!"

He pointed a shaking finger toward the elevator.

"Get out."

The raw hatred in his eyes broke her. Her knees gave out.

She dropped, landing hard on her knees right in front of his wheelchair.

Ezra flinched, his pupils dilating in shock. He instinctively tried to push the wheelchair backward.

Aubree lunged forward and grabbed his large, freezing hand, wrapping both of hers around it.

She looked up at him, her face wet with tears, her voice cracking.

"I'm sorry. I was so stupid."

Ezra pressed his lips into a thin line. He tried to yank his hand away.

Aubree refused to let go, her fingernails digging into his skin.

"I don't want you to go!" she cried out. "I like you!"

The confession exploded in the quiet room.

Ezra's entire body went rigid. He stared down at the girl kneeling at his feet, his chest heaving. He searched her face, trying to find the lie.

The silence stretched.

Ezra's Adam's apple bobbed. When he finally spoke, his voice was terrifyingly hoarse.

"Do you even know what you're saying?"