Reborn Heiress: Divorcing My Ruthless Husband

The sharp, chemical stench of medical bleach violently forced its way into her nasal cavity.

Alaya gasped, her lungs expanding so rapidly her ribs ached. She jolted up from the suffocating darkness, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She snapped her eyes open. The blinding glare of the surgical lights above the bed seared her retinas, blurring her vision for a few agonizing seconds. A tearing pain ripped through the back of her skull.

Then, the memories hit her. They did not come back as thoughts, but as a physical avalanche. She felt the freezing rain soaking through her clothes. She heard the deafening roar of the Hewitt Corporation building collapsing into rubble. She felt the exact moment the life drained out of her body on that wet asphalt. Her breath stopped entirely.

Her right hand shot downward, acting on pure, terrified instinct. Her fingers grabbed at the thin fabric of the hospital gown, pressing hard against her stomach.

It was flat.

The physical emptiness beneath her palm-the absolute absence of the six-month-old life that had been growing inside her-yanked her violently back to the present.

A specific image flashed behind her eyes. Hardy. Her husband. Standing in the rain, his broad shoulders shielding Kelsi Warner as he guided the young woman into a warm car, leaving Alaya to bleed out on the street.

Alaya bit down on her lower lip. She bit down so hard her teeth cut through the delicate skin. The metallic, rusty taste of her own blood flooded her tongue. It was the only thing keeping her from screaming until her throat tore.

She looked down at her left hand. A thick IV needle was taped to the back of it, pumping clear fluid into her vein.

She reached over and ripped the needle out in one brutal, unhesitating motion.

Dark venous blood immediately welled up, spilling over her knuckles and dripping onto the pristine white hospital sheets. She stared at the bright red stains blooming on the fabric. She felt absolutely no physical pain from the torn vein.

She threw the blankets off and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She stumbled forward. Her bare feet hit the freezing marble floor. The cold shot straight up her legs and settled deep in her chest.

She pushed through the bathroom door and gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. Her knuckles turned completely white. She stared into the mirror.

The woman looking back at her was pale, her dark hair tangled, but her face was young. The deep lines of exhaustion and despair from her final days were gone. She was back. She had returned to a point three years before her tragic death.

The bathroom door was pushed open wider. A nurse carrying a metal tray stepped into the room. The woman saw the blood trailing across the floor and dropped the tray. It hit the tiles with a deafening clatter.

"Mrs. Suarez!" The nurse rushed forward, reaching