Reborn Heiress: My Ruthless Tycoon’s Revenge

The pain didn't start as an ache. It started as a tear, a violent separation of tissue in her abdomen where the iron bar had made contact.

Athena Madden lay on the wet asphalt, the cold rain mixing with the warm, metallic taste pooling in her mouth. It bubbled up her throat, choking her. She tried to cough, but her lungs were heavy, filled with fluid that shouldn't be there.

Through swollen eyelids, she saw them. Two pairs of pristine leather shoes standing inches from her face.

"Finally," a man's voice said. It was a voice she used to associate with warmth, with safety. Now, it sounded like a jagged edge. "She stopped moving."

Clovis.

He wasn't looking at her like a lover. He was looking at her like a bag of trash left out on the curb. His arm was wrapped tight around a slender waist.

Alanna.

Athena's stepsister crouched down, her expensive coat dragging in the dirty puddle. A manicured fingernail traced the line of Athena's cheek, pressing hard enough to leave a mark.

"Thanks for the trust fund, sister," Alanna whispered. Her breath smelled of mint and triumph. "You really made this easy."

Alanna pulled a phone from her pocket and shoved the screen in front of Athena's dying eyes. The brightness seared her retinas, but the bold headline burned deeper.

WALL STREET TYCOON CAESAR WILLIAMSON DEAD IN MULTI-CAR COLLISION. SOURCES SAY HE WAS ATTEMPTING TO INTERCEPT EX-WIFE.

Athena's heart, already struggling to beat, seemed to shatter.

He came.

The monster. The tyrant she had feared, the man she had run from to be with the coward standing above her. Caesar had driven into hell to save her, and he had died for it.

A guttural sound ripped from her throat-a sob drowning in blood. She wanted to scream, to claw at the asphalt, to beg the universe for a rewind button.

But the darkness was heavy. It pressed down on her chest, heavier than the rain, heavier than the betrayal.

The world went black.

Then, she was screaming.

Athena shot up in bed, her lungs heaving, sucking in air like a drowning woman breaking the surface. Sweat soaked her silk pajamas, plastering them to her skin.

She scrambled at her abdomen, her fingers frantic. Smooth skin. No blood. No tear.

She grabbed the phone on the nightstand. The date glared back at her.

It was three years ago. The day she was supposed to marry into the Williamson estate.

She stumbled into the bathroom, gripping the porcelain sink until her knuckles turned white. The face in the mirror was a stranger's. Heavy, dark eyeliner smeared around her eyes. Pale, ghostly foundation. It was the mask she wore to convince the world she was unstable, a drug-addled mess unworthy of love.

"Stupid," she hissed at her reflection.

She turned the faucet on full blast. She scrubbed. She scrubbed until the water ran gray with charcoal and lies, until the skin beneath was raw and pink.

The face