Reborn To Reign: Choosing The Monster Over The Prince

The cold silence that bloomed in my chest ended my life as the perfect mafia princess.

My fiancé, Connor Walls, watched me fade on the cold tile floor while he calmly cleaned his gun.

Standing beside him was my cousin Jana, the girl I trusted with my life, looking at him with adoration as I took my last breath.

I died realizing that the "Golden Prince" of the Chicago Outfit was actually a monster who had chipped away at my soul behind closed doors for years.

And the man I had been terrified of—his brother Brannon, the "Butcher"—was the only one who had ever truly protected me.

I died full of regret, hatred, and the bitter taste of betrayal.

But then, I gasped, my body jolting upright on a blue gym mat.

My skin was smooth. My heart was beating.

Connor stood above me, young and arrogant, offering me a hand.

I was twenty-one again.

The years of quiet suffering, the betrayal, the final moments—none of it had happened yet.

Connor smiled, thinking I was still the naive girl he planned to control and discard.

He thought I would walk into the Rite of Choice tonight and obediently accept his claim over my future.

He was wrong.

That night, under the crystal chandeliers, the Don asked me to pledge myself to the heir.

The entire room held its breath, waiting for the rehearsed "I do."

I looked at Connor, then turned my gaze to the terrifying shadow in the corner.

"The debt requires a union with the Walls bloodline," I said, my voice steel. "It does not specify the heir."

I pointed at the monster everyone feared.

"I choose Brannon Walls."

Chapter 1

Abby Talley POV

The memory of a final, sharp silence five minutes ago was supposed to be the end, but the acrid tang of exertion and ozone that filled my lungs told me I had just begun.

I gasped, my body jolting upright on a hard, blue gym mat. My hand flew to my sternum, fingers clawing at the silk of my blouse, expecting to find torn flesh and the warmth of my own life spilling out.

There was nothing.

My skin was smooth. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but it was beating. It was loud. It was alive.

"Easy, princess. You look like you saw a ghost."

The voice was smooth, arrogant, and terrifyingly familiar. It was the voice of the man who had watched me fade on a cold tile floor while he cleaned his gun.

I looked up.

Connor Walls stood above me, offering a hand. He wasn't the older, hardened Capo who had ordered my end. He looked younger. His face was unlined, his smile practiced and perfect—the golden boy of the Chicago Outfit.

He was twenty-five again. Untarnished. Which meant I was twenty-one.

I ignored his hand.

The memories crashed into me with the force of a freight train. The marriage. The quiet agony hidden behind closed