Reborn To Marry The Untouchable Titan

Cold water dripped from a crack in the warehouse ceiling, landing right on the raw, red line circling Chloie Mckenzie's wrist.

Each drop hit her skin like a tiny electric shock. She yanked at the coarse rope binding her to the iron chair. The only result was a screech of rusting metal scraping against concrete.

The heavy steel door flew open with a deafening bang, kicked in from the outside. A gust of cold wind swept through, carrying the thick, metallic smell of blood.

Chloie's head snapped up. Her eyes strained to see past the single swaying bulb that lit the cavernous space.

Two massive men in tactical gear dragged a body through the doorway like a sack of garbage. They heaved it into the center of the room. It hit the dusty floor with a sickening, heavy thud.

Chloie's breath caught in her throat. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks. Even in the dim light, she recognized the fabric of the custom-tailored suit, now soaked and stained a dark, horrifying red.

Adrien Riddle. The titan of Washington D.C., the man whose empire she had spent seven years meticulously tearing apart. And he was dying on the floor in front of her.

He pressed a bloody hand to the ground, muscles straining as he tried to lift his head, to look at her.

A cold fist closed around Chloie's heart. This wasn't part of the plan. He wasn't supposed to be here.

The crisp, sharp click of high heels on concrete echoed from the doorway. Bailey Johnston stepped out of the rainy night, a black umbrella held perfectly over her head. She glided to a stop beside Adrien's broken form, looking down at him with a smile made of pure ice.

"What is he doing here?" Chloie screamed, her voice raw. "Bailey, this wasn't the deal!"

Bailey turned. Her expression was one of pity, as if she were looking at a particularly stupid child. She shook her head slowly.

She walked over to Chloie. Her leather-gloved hand shot out and gripped Chloie's chin. She forced her head to the side, making her look at the man bleeding out on the floor.

"He knew, you idiot," Bailey whispered, her voice a soft poison in Chloie's ear. "He knew you were the one leaking Apex Holdings' internal data."

The words hit Chloie like a physical blow. The air left her lungs. Her mind went completely blank. The struggle left her body.

"Not only did he know," Bailey continued, savoring every second, "he personally fed you non-core commercial secrets and isolated the main systems. He let you play your little game, thinking you were tearing it all down. He took the massive financial losses in silence, just to humor your revenge."

Tears streamed down Chloie's face. She shook her head, a frantic, desperate denial. It wasn't possible. It was a lie.

Just then, Adrien managed to lift his head. His gray eyes, usually so cold and unreadable, fixed on her. They held something she had never seen there before. A deep, wrenching tenderness.

He coughed. Blood speckled the concrete. His voice came out a shredded rasp, but the words were impossibly gentle.

"Don't be afraid."

That soft reassurance shattered the last of her defenses. A scream tore from her throat, a sound of pure animal agony. She thrashed against the ropes, fighting to get to him, to undo everything.

Bailey gave a subtle nod to one of the mercenaries. The man lifted a heavy iron pipe and brought it down with full force across Adrien's back.

The wet, cracking sound of bone echoed in the vast empty space. Adrien's body convulsed, but he clamped his jaw shut, refusing to scream, refusing to scare her further.

Chloie watched, her vision blurred by tears, as the pipe rose and fell, again and again. Her throat was raw from screaming his name.

His gaze never left her face. Not even as the light in his eyes began to fade, dimming into a dull, empty gray.

One final, brutal blow. His head dropped to the concrete, landing in the growing pool of his own blood. He was still.

The world went silent. Chloie's screams died in her throat. Nothing was left but a vast, crushing emptiness.

Bailey kicked Adrien's lifeless arm out of her path and walked back to Chloie, who stared blankly into space.

From her designer handbag, Bailey pulled out a document. She slapped it against Chloie's pale cheek, the paper stained with Adrien's blood. A share transfer agreement.

The sharp edge of the paper cut Chloie's cheek. The sting registered somewhere far away, meaningless.

Her eyes, webbed with broken blood vessels, slowly focused on the woman she had once called her sister.

Bailey pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and delicately wiped her gloved fingers. Then she dropped the silk square onto Adrien's body like it was nothing.

A feral growl rose in Chloie's chest. She lunged forward, teeth bared, trying to bite the hand that had tormented her. The mercenary behind her grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back.

Pain exploded across her scalp, forcing a choked cry from her lips. "You'll burn in hell for this," she spat, her voice a broken whisper.

Bailey laughed, a high, piercing sound that scraped against the concrete walls. The laughter stopped as fast as it had started. She leaned in close, her breath warm against Chloie's ear.

"Hell?" she murmured. "Darling, you're the one who built it for him."

"He deserved it," Chloie snarled, clinging to the lie that had shaped her entire life. "He killed my father. He destroyed my family."

Bailey looked at her with that same infuriating pity. "Adrien Riddle never touched the Monroe family," she said, her voice soft and clear.

The world tilted. A roaring sound filled Chloie's ears. "No," she whispered, her body starting to tremble uncontrollably. "That's impossible. I saw the evidence. The SEC files, the bank transfers..."

"All fakes," Bailey said, straightening up. "Every last one of them, created by me and Clay."

Clay. The name hit her stomach like a fist. Clay Franks. Her fiancé. The man who had held her, comforted her, and fueled her thirst for revenge for seven years.

Bailey watched the hope drain from Chloie's face, a collector admiring her work. "And the slow-acting neurotoxin you've been putting in his tea every day? A special blend, mixed by Clay himself."

The memory slammed into her. Every morning, her hands steady as she served Adrien the "calming" herbal tea. Her stomach heaved violently, but nothing came up. Only bitter acid burned her throat.

Bailey walked a few steps away, her heels splashing in a puddle. She kicked a rusted oil drum. "Did you really think Clay loved you?" she asked, her tone conversational. "He wanted your thirty percent controlling stake in Apex Holdings. That's all you ever were to him."

Chloie shook her head, mumbling, "No, no, no," a desperate chant to block out the final, crushing truth.

Bailey pulled a phone from her coat. She tapped the screen. A familiar voice filled the warehouse, cold and clear. Clay.

"...a foolish tool," his voice said, dripping with contempt. "She's perfect. Emotional, stupid, easy to control. The perfect weapon to use against a beast like Riddle."

The sound of his voice, the voice she had loved and trusted, was the final blow. The light in Chloie's eyes went out. She slumped in the chair, a marionette with its strings cut.

"You were just a pawn, Chloie," Bailey said, pocketing the phone. Her work was complete.

Chloie's head slowly lifted. She looked at Adrien, lying still and cold in a pool of his own blood. A pain so immense it felt physical ripped through her chest. For seven years, she had carefully, lovingly, driven a knife into the heart of the only person who had ever tried to protect her.

The agony twisted into a white-hot rage. Her head snapped up. Her eyes burned with a primal, animalistic fury.

With a scream of pure hate, she threw her entire body forward. The heavy iron chair tipped and crashed to the ground. It slammed into Bailey's shin.

Bailey shrieked in pain and stumbled backward, falling to the floor.

Chloie, still bound to the chair, writhed on the ground like a dying fish, trying to crawl, trying to sink her teeth into Bailey's throat.

The mercenary stepped forward and drove his steel-toed boot into her stomach.

The impact threw her across the concrete. She coughed up blood, her body curling into a tight ball.

Through a haze of pain, she saw the warehouse door open again. A man in a camel-hair coat stood silhouetted against the storm. Clay Franks had arrived.

Clay Franks stepped over a puddle, his expensive shoes making no sound on the wet concrete. He walked to Bailey and offered her a hand, his face a mask of calm indifference.

Bailey's expression shifted instantly to one of a wounded victim. She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet and into his arms.

Chloie watched them from the floor, the pain in her abdomen a dull throb compared to the fire in her soul. She stared at the two people she had loved most in the world, locked in an embrace over her broken body.

Clay kissed Bailey's forehead, then looked down at Chloie like she was something he'd scraped off his shoe.

"Why?" Chloie rasped, blood bubbling at her lips. "I gave you everything."

A cold smile touched Clay's lips. He let go of Bailey and walked slowly toward Chloie. He reached into his coat and pulled out a black Glock 19. The sound of him chambering a round was sharp and final.

He crouched down and pressed the cold barrel of the gun under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You were always so pathetic," he said, his voice soft. "Begging for affection like a stray dog. It made me sick."

Chloie didn't flinch. She met his gaze, her own eyes burning. "The fire," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "In the Hamptons. Was it you? The one who saved me?"

Clay stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. It was a cruel, ugly sound that filled the cavernous space.

He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. "The idiot who ran into a burning building and got half his skin burned off?" he said, drawing out every word. "That was him." He jerked the gun toward Adrien's body.

The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Chloie's world shattered into a million poisoned shards.

"I just happened to be walking by," Clay continued, savoring his victory. "I found his family signet ring on the lawn. That's all it took. Ten years of your pathetic, undying devotion for a cheap lie."

A sound escaped Chloie's lips, a low, guttural moan like a dying animal. She turned her head, her eyes finding Adrien's still form. She had to get to him.

She began to crawl, dragging the heavy chair with her, the ropes tearing her wrists to shreds.

Clay watched her with a frown of disgust. He stood up, took a step back, and aimed the Glock at the center of her chest.

Chloie didn't even look at the gun. Her arm was outstretched, her fingers scraping against the gritty concrete, trying to bridge the impossible distance to Adrien.

"It's over," Clay said, his voice flat. He pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was deafening, a roar that swallowed the sound of the storm outside.

The bullet slammed into her chest. The force threw her backward. She landed hard, a warm, wet sensation spreading across her shirt. Her life was draining out of her, fast.

Her vision blurred. The triumphant laughter of Clay and Bailey seemed to come from very far away, muffled, like she was underwater.

With the last of her strength, she turned her head and fixed her gaze on Adrien's pale, beautiful face.

Hot tears of regret slid from the corners of her eyes, mixing with the blood and grime on the floor.

If I get another chance, she thought, a silent, burning vow, I will tear you both apart.

She looked at Adrien. And I will protect you. I swear it.

With that final, desperate promise, her breath hitched. The world dissolved into blackness.

Then, a violent feeling of falling. The darkness was replaced by the thumping bass of electronic music and the clinking of champagne glasses.

Chloie's eyes flew open. She was sitting bolt upright, gasping for air, in the middle of a soft, sprawling bed.