Reborn as the Villain's Wife

Elise Nelson sucked in a breath so sharp it felt like swallowing a knife.

Her eyes snapped open. Her body coiled tight, muscles locking in anticipation of the impact. The screech of tires, the crunch of metal, the searing heat of the explosion-she waited for the end.

It didn't come.

Instead, her spine slammed against something cold and unforgiving. Marble. Hard, polished marble.

Crash.

The sound of shattering glass exploded right next to her ear. Shards rained down, stinging her bare arms.

Elise flinched, throwing her hands up to protect her head. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, bruising rhythm. She wasn't dead. She was breathing. The air smelled of ozone and expensive cedarwood, not gasoline and blood.

"Do you hate me that much?"

The voice was a low growl, vibrating with a rage so palpable it thickened the air in the room.

Elise lowered her arms slowly. Her vision blurred, then sharpened.

A hand was pressed against the wall, inches from her face. The knuckles were white, the veins prominent and throbbing. A trickle of blood ran down the wall where the skin had split.

She looked up.

Damian Vincent loomed over her.

His gray eyes were usually the color of a calm ocean, but tonight they were a turbulent storm, rimmed with red. His chest heaved, straining the buttons of his white dress shirt. He looked like a man on the edge of murder. Or madness.

"Answer me!" he roared.

Elise pressed herself flatter against the wall. The cold seeped into her skin, grounding her. She looked around the room. The overturned luggage. The shredded plane tickets scattered on the Persian rug like confetti. The rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse.

Three years.

She had gone back three years.

This was the night she tried to run away with Eddie. The night Damian dragged her back from the airport, kicking and screaming. In her past life, she had spat in his face. She had told him she would rather die than be his wife.

And eventually, she had died. Miserable, used, and alone.

Damian's hand moved. He gripped her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw with bruising force. He forced her to look at him.

"You want to go to him?" His voice dropped to a whisper, more terrifying than his shout. "You want to run to that piece of trash?"

Pain shot through her jaw. Her instinct-the old instinct-screamed at her to fight. To claw at his eyes. To scream that he was a monster.

But the memory of her death was too fresh. The memory of Damian, years later, standing by her grave when everyone else had abandoned her.

Elise didn't fight.

She lifted her hand. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably.

Damian flinched as her hand approached his face, as if he expected a blow. His eyes narrowed, fixating on her smudged, dark lipstick, a flicker of disgust warring with the rage in his expression. His entire body went rigid, a man bracing not for a slap, but for filth.

She didn't strike him. She laid her palm against his cheek. His skin was burning hot. His stubble grazed her sensitive fingertips.

"Dami," she whispered.

The nickname hung in the silence between them. A ghost from a childhood they had both buried.

Damian froze. The contact seemed to short-circuit his fury. The pupils of his eyes dilated, swallowing the gray. His grip on her jaw loosened, just a fraction.

"What did you call me?" he rasped.

Elise didn't answer. She couldn't. Her throat was too tight. Tears welled in her eyes-not from fear, but from the crushing weight of regret.

She reached for her neck. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of the silver locket she wore. It was her mother's. The only thing she had left of her. In her past life, she had screamed that Damian would never touch it. That it was the only piece of her soul he couldn't buy.

The clasp clicked open.

She pulled the silver chain free. It pooled in her palm, cool and heavy.

She reached out and took Damian's free hand. His fist was clenched so tight his fingernails were digging into his palm. She pried his fingers open, one by one.

She pressed the locket into the center of his hand and closed his fingers over it.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. Her voice was hoarse, wrecked from crying, but steady. "Keep it. It's my collateral."

Damian looked down at his fist. He looked at the silver chain spilling out between his fingers. He looked back at her face, searching for the lie. Searching for the trick.

He found only wet lashes and a terrifying stillness.

His chest rose and fell, a jagged breath escaping his lips. The rage in his eyes fractured, replaced by something raw. Something that looked like panic.

He released her chin abruptly. He stepped back, stumbling slightly as if the floor had tilted.

"Wash your face," he said. His voice was devoid of emotion now, locked down tight. "Go to sleep. If you try to leave this room, I will chain you to the bed. Do not test me, Elise."

He turned and walked away. He moved fast, putting distance between them.

He slammed the bedroom door so hard the walls shook.

Elise slid down the wall until she hit the floor. She buried her face in her knees and exhaled. A long, shuddering breath that rattled her lungs.

I'm alive.

She sat there for a minute, letting the adrenaline fade, letting the reality settle in. Then she stood up. Her legs felt like jelly.

She walked to the vanity mirror.

The reflection staring back was a stranger. Heavy black eyeliner smeared down her cheeks. Dark purple lipstick. Fishnet stockings torn at the knee. The "Goth Disaster" of Manhattan. A costume she wore to push people away.

She grabbed a tissue and wiped her mouth violently. The purple smeared, then vanished, revealing pale, pink lips.

"No more," she whispered to the glass.

Jill. Eddie. The people who had turned her into this joke. The people who had drained her trust fund and laughed at her funeral.

A fire ignited in her chest. It burned hot and clean, cauterizing the fear.

Knock. Knock.

The door opened. Sterling, Damian's personal assistant, stood there. He looked pale.

"Miss Nelson," Sterling said, his voice tight. "Your brother is here. Donavan. He's... he's downstairs. He says he's taking you."

Elise's blood ran cold.

Donavan. Her big brother. The one who would die in a car accident six months from now because he was rushing to save her from another one of her messes.

"Where is Damian?" she asked.

"He went down to meet him," Sterling said. "Miss Nelson, please stay here. Mr. Vincent is... he is not in a state to be provoked."

Elise didn't listen. She kicked off her heavy combat boots. She didn't have time for shoes.

She sprinted past Sterling, her bare feet slapping against the cold hardwood floor. She had to stop them. If Donavan took her tonight, the cycle would repeat. Damian would destroy the Nelson family business in retaliation. Donavan would die. She burst through the living room just as Damian was about to step into the private elevator with two guards, his face a thunderous mask. He saw her running towards him, barefoot and desperate, and his hand shot out, grabbing her arm. "Going somewhere?" he snarled.

She wouldn't let that happen. Not this time.

"Let me go, Damian," Elise pleaded, trying to twist out of his iron grip as he dragged her into the elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing them in the mirrored box. "Don't hurt him. Please."

"Hurt him?" Damian's laugh was a cold, sharp sound that bounced off the walls. "Your brother comes into my building, demanding to take what is mine. He's lucky I don't break his legs." He jabbed the button for the underground garage. "You wanted to run. Fine. We'll run."

The ride down was a tense, suffocating silence. When the doors opened to the cavernous garage, the engine of a black Maybach was already purring. He didn't release her until he had shoved her into the backseat and slid in beside her. The car peeled out into the storm-ravaged streets of Manhattan, heading for the airport.

Rain slashed sideways across the tarmac, stinging like icy needles.

Elise sat in the back of Damian's black Maybach. The leather seat was cold against her legs. Through the tinted window, the world was a blur of gray storm and flashing hazard lights.

A sleek Gulfstream jet sat on the runway, its engines whining, cutting through the sound of the thunder.

The car door was ripped open.

Wind and rain flooded the cabin. Donavan stood there, soaked to the bone. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his suit ruined. But his eyes were frantic with worry.

"Elise!" he shouted over the roar of the jet engines. He reached a hand inside. "Come on! I've got you. We have to go now!"

Before she could move, a black umbrella snapped open, blocking Donavan's view.

Damian stepped between them. He didn't look at Donavan. He looked at the space where Donavan's hand was reaching for Elise.

"Touch her," Damian said, his voice low and deadly, "and you lose the hand."

Sterling and four security guards materialized from the shadows, forming a wall around the car.

"She's my sister, you son of a bitch!" Donavan screamed. He lunged forward, but a guard blocked him. "You're kidnapping her! The Nelson family won't stand for this!"

Damian stood immobile. The rain hammered against his black trench coat. He was a statue of darkness. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets, but Elise could see the tension in his shoulders. He was waiting.

He was waiting for her to run. To scream for help.

Elise looked at Donavan. He looked so tired. The stress lines around his eyes were deep. He loved her so much, and she had repaid him with nothing but trouble.

She took a breath. The air tasted of jet fuel and rain.

She slid across the seat and stepped out of the car.

Her bare feet hit the wet asphalt. The cold water soaked the hem of her torn fishnets.

"Elise!" Donavan's face lit up with relief. "Run! The plane is ready. It'll take you to Paris. Eddie is waiting for you there."

Eddie.

The name acted like a physical blow. Damian flinched. The air around him dropped ten degrees. He turned his head slowly to look at her. His eyes were empty voids.

Elise looked up at Damian. She saw the violence coiling in his muscles. She saw the heartbreak he was trying to drown in rage.

She turned to her brother.

"I'm not going, Donavan."

Donavan froze. His mouth hung open, catching the rain. "What? Did he drug you? Elise, it's me. You can tell me."

"He didn't drug me," Elise said. Her voice was clear, cutting through the storm. "I'm staying. I'm staying in New York. I'm staying with Damian."

Damian's head snapped toward her. Water dripped from his jawline. He looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language.

"You... you love Eddie," Donavan stammered. "You said Damian was a controlling monster."

Elise stepped closer to Damian. She moved into the shelter of his umbrella. She felt the heat radiating from his body.

"I was wrong, Donavan. I've been a fool," she said, her voice laced with a weariness that went far beyond her years. "I thought Eddie was freedom, but he was just another cage. Damian... he's controlling, yes, but he's also the only one who has ever truly protected me. I need that protection now. I need to be safe."

She looked up at Damian, meeting his shocked gaze. "And I am safest with him."

Damian went still. A flush of color crept up his neck, visible even in the dim runway lights. His arm flexed under her grip, trapping her hand against his side.

Donavan stared at them. He looked from Elise's determined face to Damian's possessive stance. He saw the way Damian instantly shifted his weight to shield her from the wind.

Donavan's shoulders slumped. The fight went out of him.

"You're making a mistake, Ellie," he said softly.

"It's my mistake to make," Elise replied. She stepped forward and hugged her brother quickly. She whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry. I'll explain everything at dinner on Friday. Trust me."

She pulled back.

Donavan glared at Damian. "If you hurt her... if I see one bruise on her..."

"Go," Damian said. It wasn't a suggestion.

Donavan turned and walked back to his car. He looked back once, then got in and drove away.

The jet engines spooled down. The sound died.

Silence returned to the tarmac, heavy and suffocating.

Elise turned to face Damian.

He wasn't looking at the departing car. He was looking at her. His gaze was intense, dissecting her, peeling back her layers.

He took a step toward her. The umbrella tilted, casting a shadow over her face.

"That was a very convincing performance," he said. His voice was cold, but there was a tremor in it. "Buying time for your lover to escape?"

Elise didn't flinch. She slid her hand down his arm until her fingers interlaced with his. His hand was freezing.

"I'm cold, Dami," she said softly. "Take me home."

Damian stared at their joined hands. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He didn't pull away.

He opened the car door for her.

They slid into the back seat. The door thudded shut, sealing them in. The air in the car was thick with humidity and tension.

Elise leaned back, closing her eyes. She felt Damian's gaze on her profile. It felt like a physical touch, heavy and burning.

Bzzzzzt.

A vibration cut through the silence.

Elise's eyes snapped open. Her purse, sitting on the floorboard, lit up.

The screen flashed bright in the dark cabin.

Caller ID: Eddie My Love.

The temperature in the car plummeted.

Damian saw the name. His lip curled into a snarl. He reached for the phone, his hand a claw.

Elise moved faster.

Her hand snatched the phone before Damian could crush it.

"Don't," Damian warned, his voice a low rumble of thunder. "If you answer that..."

Elise swiped the screen. She hit the speaker button.

"Baby!" Eddie's voice filled the luxury cabin. It was whiny and pitched too high. "Where are you? Did Donavan get you? The flight to Paris is booked, I'm waiting at the private terminal! Do you have the cash?"

Damian's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. His hands were fists on his knees, the leather of his gloves creaking. He looked ready to tear the car apart.

Elise held the phone up. She looked at it with bored detachment.

"We're finished, Eddie," she said. Her tone was flat. Clinical.

Silence on the other end. Then, a sputtered laugh. "What? Babe, stop joking. Put Donavan on. Did the Vincent prick hurt you?"

"Don't call me babe," Elise said. "And don't call this number again. I'm blocking you. I'm deleting you. You don't exist."

"You bitch!" Eddie's voice turned nasty instantly. "You think you can dump me? After everything I did for you? You're nothing without me! You're just a crazy-"

Splash.

Elise dropped the phone into the silver ice bucket sitting on the center console.

The device sizzled as it hit the ice and water. The screen flickered green, then went black. Eddie's voice was cut off mid-insult.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Elise looked at Damian. She shrugged. "I hate it when people yell."

Damian stared at the ice bucket. He stared at the submerged phone. He looked back at Elise, his gray eyes wide with genuine confusion. The monster in him receded, replaced by a wary curiosity.

"You... destroyed it," he said.

"It was trash," she replied.

The car pulled into the underground garage of the Vincent Tower. The ride up in the private elevator was silent. Damian stood in the corner, watching her reflection in the metal doors.

When they entered the penthouse, Elise didn't go to her room. She walked straight to the study.

Damian followed her, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet.

She went to the wall safe hidden behind a painting. She punched in the code. 06-15-08. The day they met as children.

She heard Damian's breath hitch behind her. He hadn't changed the code.

The heavy door swung open. Elise reached into the back and pulled out a small, dusty velvet box.

She turned around. Damian was standing right there, too close. He smelled of rain and expensive scotch.

"You kept this," she said.

Damian looked at the box. His expression darkened. "I confiscated it. You bought it for him."

"No," Elise said. "I bought it for you."

She opened the box. Inside, a pair of sapphire cufflinks glittered under the chandelier light. They were deep blue, almost black.

"I bought them three years ago," she said softly. "But we fought that day. You said I was wasting money on trash for Eddie. You didn't let me finish."

It was a lie. A partial one. In her past life, she had bought them for Eddie. But Eddie had wanted cash, not jewelry. Now, they were a prop in her new narrative.

She took the cufflinks out. She stepped closer to Damian, invading his personal space.

She reached for his wrist.

Damian flinched, his muscles jumping under his shirt. But he didn't pull away. He let her unbutton his cuff.

Elise worked the sapphire link through the fabric. Her fingers brushed the pulse point on his wrist. His heart was racing. Fast. Erratic.

"They match your eyes," she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes.

Damian looked down at her. He looked at the cufflinks. He looked at her hands touching him.

His chest heaved. He grabbed her wrists, his grip tight.

"What game is this, Elise?" he demanded, his voice rough. "What do you want?"

"I want to start over," she said. "I want to be your wife. A real one."

Damian's eyes searched hers. He leaned down. His face was inches from hers. His gaze dropped to her lips.

He was going to kiss her.

Then he stopped.

His eyes narrowed. He looked at her fingers. specifically, at her thumb. The black nail polish was chipped, revealing the jagged edge of her nail.

His nose wrinkled. A flicker of distress crossed his face.

OCD.

Elise suppressed a smile. Of course. He couldn't handle the imperfection. The dirt. The chaos of her current look.

She pulled her hands back. "I'm a mess."

Damian let out a breath that sounded like a groan. He turned away, running a hand through his hair. He pressed the intercom button on the wall.

"Sterling."

"Sir?"

"Get a manicurist here. Now. And call Valentina. Tell her to open the salon. We're coming in."

"Sir? It's 2 AM."

"Did I stutter?"

"No, sir."

Damian turned back to Elise. He looked at her torn fishnets, her smeared eyeliner.

"If you want to be my wife," he said, his voice regaining its usual arrogant composure, "you will look the part. I won't have you walking around looking like a raccoon."

Elise smiled. "Whatever you say, Dami."

Sterling appeared at the door, holding a cream envelope. "Sir, a courier just dropped this off. It's from the Nelson estate."

Damian took it. He ripped it open.

"Dinner. Friday night," he read. He looked at Elise. "Your father wants us there. Jill will be there."

"Good," Elise said. She walked over and took the invitation from his hand. Her eyes were cold. "I have a few things to say to my dear cousin."

"You're not going," Damian said. "You'll run."

"I'm going," Elise said. "And you're taking me. As your fiancée."

"Sterling goes with you to the salon," Damian countered instantly. "He doesn't leave your side."

"Deal."

Elise turned to walk to her room. As she turned, her smile vanished.

She needed to get to that salon. She needed a computer. And she needed to make sure Jill Hayes regretted ever being born.