Rising From Hell: The Vengeful Heiress Returns

Hester's eyes snapped open.

The harsh glare of the crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas. She gasped, a ragged, ugly sound. Her lungs burned. Her throat felt tight, constricted by the phantom sensation of a rope that was no longer there. Her heart hammered against her ribs so violently she thought it might crack her sternum.

She was alive.

"Sign it."

The heavy slap of a thick manila folder hitting the marble coffee table shattered the ringing in her ears. The sharp slide of the paper sounded like a blade being drawn.

Hester blinked. Her vision slowly focused.

Domenic Harrison stood over her. His young, handsome face was twisted into a mask of absolute arrogance. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at her as if she were dirt on the bottom of his expensive leather shoes.

Hester's fingers curled. Her nails dug so deeply into the velvet sofa cushion that the fabric threatened to tear. A wave of nausea hit her stomach, thick and acidic.

She stared at the man who, in another life, had ordered her bones broken and her reputation shredded.

"I said, sign the annulment agreement, Hester," Domenic demanded, his voice dripping with impatience.

Hester didn't cry. She didn't beg. She didn't collapse into a puddle of tears like she had the first time this happened. The suffocating terror of the noose, the agonizing phantom pain of her past death, suddenly washed away like a receding tide. In its place, an abyssal, freezing rage ignited in her chest. She was no longer the naive lamb waiting for the slaughter. She had returned from hell, and she had brought its fire with her. Instead, she sat up. Very slowly. Her spine straightened until it was rigid. The sudden, dead silence in the room caused the air pressure to drop.

Sitting on the single armchair to her right, Tricia shifted uncomfortably. The other woman pulled a delicate lace handkerchief from her purse and pressed it to her mouth.

A tiny, pathetic sob escaped Tricia's lips.

Domenic's head snapped toward the sound. His hard eyes instantly melted into a pool of sickening tenderness. He reached out, gripping Tricia's shoulder, shifting his body to block Hester's view of her.

Hester watched the performance. Her stomach churned. The bile rose in her throat, burning the back of her mouth, but she swallowed it down.

Domenic turned his head back to Hester. The warmth vanished from his face, replaced by pure ice.

"You are using your family's military backing to hold onto a title that doesn't belong to you," he spat. "You are making a mockery of true love."

Hester lowered her eyes. She looked at the thick document on the table. The bold black letters of the non-disclosure clause stared back at her. Her brain raced, locking onto the timeline. She was sixteen. It was winter.

Tricia stood up. Her stiletto heels clicked against the floor. She walked over to Hester and reached out a trembling hand.

"Hester, please," Tricia whispered, her voice shaking. "Just let us be happy."

Tricia's manicured fingers were an inch from Hester's skin.

Hester violently yanked her arm back. The movement was so sudden, so filled with raw disgust, that Tricia lost her balance and stumbled backward.

"Hey!" Domenic roared. He lunged forward, grabbing Tricia and pulling her behind his back. He pointed a shaking finger right at Hester's face. "You vicious, uneducated bitch!"

Hester slowly raised her head.

Her blue eyes, usually so full of naive adoration, were dead. They were the color of a frozen glacier. She locked her gaze onto Domenic's pupils.

Domenic froze. The unfamiliar, murderous intent in her eyes physically stung him. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. The rest of his insults died on his tongue.

Hester let out a soft laugh.

The sound was quiet, but it pierced the soundproof walls of the White House East Wing sitting room like a needle. It made the hair on the back of Domenic's neck stand up.

She reached out with agonizing slowness and picked up the solid gold fountain pen from the table. She pulled the cap off. The tiny scrape of metal against metal echoed loudly in the tense room.

Tricia's eyes lit up. She leaned out from behind Domenic, watching the tip of the pen, waiting for the signature that would secure her future.

Hester didn't move toward the signature line.

Her wrist snapped down with brutal force. She drove the sharp gold nib of the pen dead center into the annulment agreement.

The thick paper punctured instantly. She dragged her hand downward with all her strength. The metal tip let out a sickening, high-pitched screech as it gouged a long, white gash across the expensive marble table beneath it. The solid gold nib snapped in half from the sheer violence of the motion.

Domenic and Tricia gasped in unison, stepping back.

Hester dropped the ruined pen. It clattered onto the defaced contract. She stood up and smoothed the invisible wrinkles from her skirt. Her movements were as calm and elegant as if she had just sliced a piece of cake.

Domenic's face flushed dark red. He lunged forward to grab her collar.

Hester shot him a look so cold, so heavy with authority, that his feet stopped moving. He stood frozen, his hands hovering in the air.

"The only way this engagement ends," Hester said, her voice a flat, dead monotone, "is if one of us dies."

She turned her back on them and walked straight toward the heavy, carved double doors.

Tricia panicked. She grabbed Domenic's sleeve, tugging it hard. If Hester left now, their secret attempt to force the annulment would be exposed to the First Lady.

Domenic snapped out of his shock. The humiliation of being intimidated by a sixteen-year-old girl burned through his veins, replacing his fear with blind rage. He took off after her.

Hester's hand wrapped around the cold brass doorknob. She heard his heavy footsteps charging up behind her.

A cruel, satisfied smile touched the corners of her mouth.

She yanked the heavy doors open. As she bolted through the frame, her shoulder collided with the heavy brass door handle. The violent motion snagged the delicate clasp of her antique sapphire brooch. It snapped instantly, tumbling silently onto the carpeted hallway outside the room. The biting winter wind from the hallway rushed in, tangling her blonde hair.

The Secret Service agents stationed outside turned their heads immediately.

Hester dropped her chin to her chest. She hunched her shoulders, letting them shake violently, mimicking the posture of a terrified, sobbing girl running for her life. She bolted down the corridor.

"Hester! Stop right there!" Domenic bellowed, bursting out of the room. He completely ignored the shocked stares of the security detail.

Hester reached the corner of the hallway. She glanced back just enough to make sure he was following.

He was. He had taken the bait.

She picked up her pace, heading straight for the exterior doors that led to the South Lawn. She was going to the decorative cold water pool.

Hester's four-inch Jimmy Choo heels hit the snow-dusted pavement of the South Lawn. The Secret Service agents stationed along the colonnade had jolted forward the instant they registered Domenic chasing her, but a single snarled command from the President's son-"Stay out of it!"-froze them just long enough for her to slip through the arched doorway and out onto the grounds. She made her steps look frantic and clumsy, but her core was tight. Every footfall was calculated, perfectly avoiding the hidden patches of black ice.

The winter wind slashed across her cheeks like razor blades. She reached the edge of the decorative pool. It was a secluded spot, just outside the direct line of sight of the Secret Service, sitting right on the blind edge of the security cameras.

She stopped.

Domenic came panting up behind her. His custom suit was rumpled from the sprint. His face was twisted into an ugly, humiliated snarl.

He reached out a massive hand, aiming to grab her shoulder and violently spin her around.

Hester watched his reflection in the dark, rippling water. The moment his hand came down, she dropped her right shoulder.

Domenic's fingers grabbed empty air.

His momentum carried him forward. His leather shoes screeched against the wet, freezing stone at the edge of the pool. He flailed his arms, a jolt of panic hitting his chest as he barely caught his balance.

Hester spun around. She pressed her back against the freezing stone rim of the pool and crossed her arms. She looked him up and down, her eyes filled with the kind of mocking amusement usually reserved for a circus clown.

Domenic's face turned purple.

"I will destroy you!" he screamed, pointing a finger inches from her nose. "I will use the power of the Presidency to crush the Stanton family into dust!"

Hester laughed.

The sound was bright, sharp, and completely devoid of fear. It echoed across the empty, freezing lawn.

She took a half-step forward, invading his space. She lowered her voice to a vicious whisper.

"You are just a pathetic puppet, completely clueless about the sickening price your family paid to put you here."

The words hit Domenic like a physical blow. His pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks. The deepest, darkest insecurity of his life had just been dragged into the light.

The last thread of his sanity snapped.

With a guttural roar, Domenic raised his right hand. The veins in his hand bulged. He swung his palm toward Hester's face with all his strength.

Hester didn't flinch. She didn't step back.

She simply tilted her head a fraction of an inch. The wind from his palm brushed the loose hairs by her ear.

Domenic's entire body weight shifted to his right side as he missed. His balance was completely compromised.

In that split second, Hester's right leg shot up.

In her past life, the constant assassination attempts had forced her to endure months of grueling, brutal self-defense training just to survive. She knew exactly where the human body was most vulnerable, though she never expected to use those lethal lessons so soon. The sharp, stiletto heel of her Jimmy Choo drove with brutal precision straight into the back of Domenic's left knee.

Domenic let out a high-pitched shriek. His left leg buckled instantly, completely dead. His massive frame pitched forward and to the right.

Hester reached out, her face twisting into a mask of fake horror. She looked like she was trying to catch him. Instead, she planted both hands flat against his chest and shoved hard.

Domenic went airborne.

He hit the near-freezing water with a massive, violent splash. The icy water shot two meters into the air.

The freezing temperature shocked his system instantly. His lungs spasmed. He thrashed wildly in the dark water, choking and sputtering, unable to form a coherent word.

Hester stood at the edge of the pool. She looked down at him. Her eyes were completely empty of pity. She watched him drown like he was a bag of garbage that refused to sink.

She needed the scene to be perfect.

Hester reached up and violently ripped the pins out of her hair, letting the blonde strands fall in a tangled mess. She grabbed the neckline of her dress and tore it downward, ripping the delicate fabric to make it look like she had been in a desperate struggle.

She dug her own fingernails into the soft, pale skin of her forearms, dragging them down until angry, red welts appeared.

Tears flooded her eyes. Real tears, forced out by the physical sting of her own scratches.

In the water, Domenic finally found the edge. His hands, turning blue from the cold, slapped onto the marble rim. He tried to pull his heavy, soaked body up, coughing up dirty water and cursing her name.

Hester kept her face blank. She lifted her right foot.

She brought the pointed toe of her shoe down, pressing it directly onto the knuckles of his freezing fingers. She didn't stomp. She just pressed her weight down and ground her heel.

Domenic let out a blood-curdling scream. His fingers opened involuntarily.

He slipped backward, plunging beneath the freezing surface again, swallowing a massive gulp of pool water.

A sharp snap of a twig echoed from the bushes to her left.

Hester's head snapped up. Someone was coming.

She instantly pulled her foot back and stumbled two steps away from the pool. She threw her hands over her face and let out a piercing, hysterical scream of pure terror.

Nora, her personal assistant-and the woman who had poisoned her in her past life-came running out from behind the hedges, holding a winter coat.

Nora stopped dead in her tracks. Her jaw dropped. She stared at the President's son drowning in the pool, and then at Hester, who was torn, bruised, and sobbing uncontrollably.

Hester looked at Nora through her fingers.

The memory of the poison burning down her throat flared in Hester's mind. A new, beautiful plan formed instantly.

Nora rushed toward the edge of the pool. Her eyes were wide with panic as she recognized the man thrashing in the water.

"Oh my god! Mr. Harrison!" Nora shrieked. She dropped the coat and reached her hands out, leaning over the water to pull him up.

Hester's eyes went dead.

She lunged forward. Her hand clamped around Nora's wrist like a steel vice. She squeezed so hard that Nora's manicured fingertips turned instantly white.

Nora gasped in pain. She whipped her head around, staring in shock at her usually meek and soft-spoken employer. She tried to yank her arm back, but Hester's grip was immovable.

"Do not touch him," Hester ordered. Her voice was a low, freezing rasp. "He tried to attack me. He's a monster."

Nora looked back at the water. Domenic's lips were purple. He was barely keeping his head above the surface. The allure of saving the President's son and securing a favor was too strong for the greedy assistant.

"Are you crazy? !" Nora snapped, actually raising her voice at Hester. "He's going to die!"

The disrespect hit Hester's ears. It was the exact same tone Nora had used right before she forced the poison down Hester's throat in her past life.

The murderous rage inside Hester boiled over.

Hester didn't argue. She raised her free hand and swung.

Smack.

The slap was deafening. It echoed louder than the splashing water. Hester's palm connected with Nora's cheek with so much force that Nora's head snapped violently to the side.

Nora's cheek instantly swelled, turning an angry, mottled red. A thin line of blood broke at the corner of her mouth. She stood completely paralyzed, her brain short-circuiting from the shock of the strike.

Hester let go of her wrist. She pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket with her left hand and wiped her right palm, as if she had just touched raw sewage. She let the wind carry the silk square away.

In the pool, Domenic finally found the submerged stone steps. He dragged himself up until the water was at his chest. He was shaking violently, his teeth chattering so hard they sounded like castanets.

He pointed a shaking, blue finger at the two women on the bank.

"I'll... I'll put you both in federal prison!" Domenic roared, his voice cracking from the cold.

Hester ignored him completely. She looked down at her own chest, her hands suddenly flying to her torn collar. She patted her chest frantically, her eyes widening in perfectly acted panic.

She snapped her head up and glared at Nora.

"My brooch," Hester gasped. "The antique sapphire brooch the First Lady gave me. It's gone."

Nora, still holding her bleeding cheek, took a step back. Her eyes darted around nervously. "M-maybe you dropped it in the sitting room?" she stuttered, desperate for an excuse to run away from this nightmare.

Hester stepped forward. Her heels clicked sharply against the stone.

"No," Hester said, her voice hard and absolute. "It fell off when he was attacking me. It fell in the water."

She pointed a rigid finger at the dark, freezing pool.

"Get in there and find it. Now."

Nora stared at the black water. She looked at Domenic, who looked like he was ready to murder someone. The physical terror of the freezing water outweighed her fear of Hester.

"No!" Nora screamed, backing away. "I won't do it! I'm going to tell the First Lady you tried to kill him! You're insane!"

Hester smiled. It was a cold, terrifying stretching of her lips.

That was the excuse she needed.

Hester closed the distance between them in one explosive step. Her hands shot out, grabbing the thick lapels of Nora's winter coat.

Using Nora's own backward momentum, Hester twisted her hips and hurled the assistant forward with all her strength.

Nora let out a blood-curdling shriek as her feet left the ground.

She flew over the edge of the marble rim and slammed into the deep end of the pool, right next to Domenic.

A massive wave of water splashed directly into Domenic's face. He wiped his eyes just in time to see Nora surface, thrashing wildly.

Nora didn't know how to swim. Her heavy winter coat absorbed the water instantly, turning into a lead weight that dragged her down. Blind with panic, she reached out and grabbed the only solid thing near her.

She locked her arms around Domenic's neck.

Domenic, already exhausted and freezing, was suddenly pulled under by the dead weight of a panicking adult.

The two of them erupted into a violent, desperate struggle. They clawed at each other's faces, kicking and shoving, each trying to push the other down to keep their own head above water. It was a brutal fight for survival.

Hester stood on the edge, looking down at the chaos. Her eyes glittered with dark, vengeful satisfaction.

Then, a faint rustle of fabric caught her attention.

Hester's head snapped to the right. She looked past the bare trees, toward the shadowed alcove of the White House colonnade, thirty meters away.

A tall man in a black trench coat stood perfectly still in the shadows. He was watching her.

Hester couldn't see his face, but the heavy, oppressive weight of his stare made her heart skip a beat.

Her brain calculated the risk in a fraction of a second. She didn't panic. She didn't try to silence him.

She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing a fresh wave of tears to spill over her eyelashes. She grabbed the hem of her ruined skirt, turned on her heel, and ran.

She sprinted toward the First Lady's quarters, leaving the two people drowning in the pool behind her.