Reborn To Ruin My Cheating Fiancé

Isabella forced her eyes open.

The heavy dose of sedatives still pumped through her veins, turning her blood to sludge. Her vision swam. The ceiling of the Waldorf Astoria penthouse blurred into a smear of gold and white. Her mouth tasted like old copper and dry cotton. She tried to swallow, but her throat muscles refused to obey.

A loud, violent crash shattered the silence.

The heavy mahogany double doors of the suite burst open. They slammed against the walls with a force that made the floorboards vibrate.

Perry Finch, Manhattan's most notorious gossip reporter, stood in the doorway. Behind him, a swarm of cameramen pushed their way into the private space.

"Over here! Get the shot!" Perry yelled.

A blinding storm of camera flashes erupted. The harsh white light struck Isabella like physical blows. She flinched, her pupils contracting painfully. Her hands, heavy and uncoordinated, fumbled blindly over the mattress. She grabbed the edge of the thick white duvet and pulled it up to her chin, her chest heaving as panic spiked her heart rate.

The mattress shifted violently.

Ivor Craig, her childhood sweetheart and fiancé, jolted awake beside her. He blinked against the strobe lights, his face pale. In a split second, he scrambled backward against the headboard and yanked a white terrycloth bathrobe over his bare chest, clutching it shut as if he were the one in danger.

Perry marched right up to the edge of the mattress. He shoved a black microphone inches from Isabella's face.

"Isabella! Care to explain why you're betraying your family's merger?" Perry's voice was a loud, grating bark. "Why are you in bed with your sister's man?"

Isabella opened her mouth. Her vocal cords felt like sandpaper. She needed to tell them she was drugged. She needed to say she didn't know how she got here. But only a pathetic, broken wheeze escaped her lips.

Ivor suddenly jumped to his feet. He stood on the mattress, pointing a shaking finger down at her.

"It was her!" Ivor shouted, his voice cracking with perfectly feigned hysteria. "She drugged my drink downstairs! She dragged me up here! She seduced me!"

The cameras pivoted instantly. The lenses zoomed in on Ivor, capturing his wide eyes and his defensive posture. He looked exactly like a traumatized victim.

Isabella stared at him. The air left her lungs. Her heart felt like it had been dropped into a bucket of ice water. This was Ivor. The man who had kissed her forehead yesterday. Now, he was looking at her with cold, calculated disgust.

The rapid clicking of high heels echoed from the hallway.

Kaylie French appeared in the doorway. She wore a simple, pristine white dress. She stopped dead in her tracks.

Kaylie slapped both hands over her mouth. Her shoulders shook. Her eyes turned red in a matter of seconds, and a single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek, catching the camera flashes.

The paparazzi swarmed her like sharks smelling blood. Perry shoved his microphone toward