Reborn Mother: The Billionaire's Ruthless Bride

Hazel gasped, her lungs expanding violently as if she had just broken the surface of freezing water.

The harsh glare of the massive crystal chandelier above pierced her retinas. She blinked rapidly, the blinding light sending a sharp ache to the back of her skull.

This was the grand foyer of the King estate. Five years ago.

A thick stack of paper slammed onto the marble coffee table. The sharp crack echoed through the cavernous room, displacing the air and sending a cold draft against Hazel's bare arms.

"Sign it." Ermina King's voice was a venomous hiss.

Hazel's body reacted before her brain did. Her shoulders hunched, and a violent tremor seized her spine. It was muscle memory. The sheer terror of being locked in the estate's basement during her past life clawed at her throat.

She gritted her teeth, forcing her jaw to lock so tightly her molars ached. She swallowed the metallic taste of fear pooling in her mouth.

A loud wail shattered the silence. Serena, her three-year-old daughter, threw her small arms around Hazel's leg, burying her face in the fabric of her skirt. The child's tiny body shook with every sob.

The sound of her daughter's cry acted like a switch. The paralyzing fear evaporated, replaced instantly by a burning, primal heat in Hazel's chest.

Hazel dropped to her knees to gather Serena into her arms. As she did, she intentionally let her right knee strike the sharp edge of the marble table.

A jolt of raw, agonizing pain shot up her thigh.

She welcomed it. The physical pain grounded her, washing away the last remnants of her past-life disorientation. Her mind snapped into absolute, icy clarity.

"You really thought you could use that bastard child to secure a permanent seat at our table?" Ermina stood over them, her designer heels clicking against the floor. "You are nothing but a gold digger. A cheap mistake Karson made."

Hazel took a slow, deep breath. The scent of Ermina's expensive floral perfume made her stomach turn, but she pushed the nausea down.

She slowly lifted her head. She didn't cower. She didn't cry.

She locked her eyes directly onto Ermina's. Her gaze was completely hollow, devoid of the submissive panic Ermina expected.

Ermina's sneer faltered. She took a microscopic step back, her manicured fingers twitching as a sudden, inexplicable chill ran down her arms.

Brenda, the head maid, stepped forward holding a silver tray with a porcelain teacup. She took a deliberate step forward, and her foot seemed to miraculously catch on the flat edge of the Persian rug. The tray in her hands lurched violently, sending the scalding liquid sloshing over the rim of the cup, tipping dangerously close to Hazel's dress.

Hazel's reflexes were razor-sharp. She twisted her torso, shielding Serena against her chest.

The dark tea splashed harmlessly onto the expensive Persian rug, missing Hazel entirely.

Brenda's smug expression froze.

"Is this the standard of service in the King household?" Hazel's voice was low, but