Sold To The Shadow King: Reborn Revenge

Sold To The Shadow King: Reborn Revenge

CHRISTINE ROBINSON

5.0
Comment(s)
1
View
100
Chapters

My husband, Hansford Burris, told me tonight was the most important night of his campaign. He handed me a glass of champagne, his face a perfect mask of concern, telling me to drink up so I could relax before meeting the "Shadow King" of D.C. who could secure his political future. I didn't know the golden liquid was laced with a high-dose sedative and hallucinogens. He hadn't brought me to this luxury hotel to celebrate; he had brought me here to be sold, trading my body to a stranger in exchange for a seat of power. In my past life, I trusted him. I drank the poison, woke up shattered, and spent the next five years being tormented by his abusive mother and publicly replaced by his mistress. I was eventually cornered and murdered by the very man I had supported with my family's fortune, my death staged as a tragic accident to gain him sympathy votes. To him, I wasn't a wife or a partner. I was just an "asset" with a shelf life, a merchant's good to be traded away. As the life left my body, I couldn't understand how the man who promised to love me forever could watch me choke without a hint of regret. Opening my eyes again, I was back in the St. Regis Hotel on October 14th, exactly five years ago. Hansford was standing there in his polished Armani suit, extending the same glass of drugged champagne toward me. "Gina, darling? Are you alright? Here. Drink this. It will help you relax." Looking at his handsome, lying face, I felt a cold clarity wash over me. I wasn't the naive rabbit he remembered. I took the glass, but I didn't swallow a single drop. This time, I was going to burn his world to the ground.

Sold To The Shadow King: Reborn Revenge Chapter 1 1

Air.

She needed air.

Gina Vincent's eyes snapped open, her lungs seizing as if an invisible hand were still crushing her windpipe. She gasped, a ragged, desperate sound that tore through the silence of the room. Her hands flew to her throat, fingers clawing at smooth, unblemished skin, expecting to feel the cold steel of a wire or the bruising grip of a murderer.

But there was nothing. Just the frantic pulse of her own carotid artery, hammering against her fingertips like a trapped bird.

Above her, a crystal chandelier glittered under the warm glow of recessed lighting. It was intricate, expensive, and terrifyingly familiar.

"Gina, darling? Are you alright?"

The voice was like oil slicking over water-smooth, viscous, and nauseating.

Gina froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a physical blow with every beat. She turned her head, the movement stiff, mechanical.

Hansford Burris stood there.

He was wearing the navy Armani suit she had picked out for him. The silk tie was perfectly knotted. His face, handsome in that polished, politician way that played so well on camera, was arranged in a mask of concern. But his eyes... his eyes were filled with a carefully constructed anguish. A flicker of something cold-true impatience-was there, but so deeply buried beneath the performance that only someone who had been killed by him could ever hope to see it.

Gina's gaze darted past him to the digital clock on the bedside table.

October 14, 9:30 PM.

The numbers burned into her retinas. The room spun. This wasn't hell. This wasn't the afterlife. This was the St. Regis Hotel in Washington D.C. This was five years ago.

This was the night her husband sold her.

"You look pale," Hansford said, stepping closer. He held two flutes of champagne, the bubbles rising in a cheerful, mocking dance. "Here. Drink this. It will help you relax. Tonight is important for me. For us."

Gina stared at the glass he extended toward her.

Her stomach lurched. She knew exactly what was in that golden liquid. A muscle relaxant strong enough to drop a horse, mixed with a hallucinogen to make her compliant, to make her memory fuzzy. In her past life-her dead life-she had drunk it. She had smiled, trusted him, and woken up broken.

She gripped the sheet beneath her, her fingernails digging into the high-thread-count cotton until she felt one of them snap. The sharp, stinging pain was a gift. It was real.

"Gina?" Hansford's tone hardened just a fraction.

She forced her lungs to expand. She forced the terror down, burying it deep in her gut where it turned into a cold, hard stone.

"I'm fine," she whispered. Her voice was raspy, unused. She cleared her throat and looked up at him. She didn't blink. "Just... nervous."

Hansford smiled, relieved. "Don't be. You know how much this means for the campaign. The Majority Leader is on board, but Director Charles is his gatekeeper. The man is a kingmaker. He needs to see that we are... cooperative."

He pressed the glass into her hand. His fingers brushed hers. His skin was warm. It made her want to vomit.

"If I do this for you, Hansford," she said, testing the weight of the glass, "will you love me forever?"

It was the question of a naive, pathetic woman. The woman she used to be.

Hansford's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course, Gina. You are the greatest asset the Burris family has."

Asset. Not wife. Not partner. Asset.

Gina closed her eyes, feigning a moment of deep emotion. She brought the glass to her lips. As she tilted her head back, she rotated her wrist. The wide, bell-sleeve of her silk robe created a perfect curtain. Behind it, she poured the champagne not onto the soil, but directly into the ceramic pot's deep, decorative water reservoir at the base, where the excess liquid would be hidden from view. The cloying sweetness of the gardenias on the dresser easily masked the faint scent of alcohol.

She swallowed nothing but air, yet she convulsed, coughing violently.

"Easy, easy," Hansford said, patting her shoulder with patronizing rhythm. He didn't look at the plant. He checked his watch. "Good girl. Mr. Charles will be here any minute. Remember, Gina... just let it happen. Don't fight him."

He stood up, buttoning his jacket. He looked at her one last time, not with regret, but with the appraisal of a merchant ensuring his goods were displayed correctly.

"I'll be right outside," he said.

Then he turned and walked out.

The heavy click of the door latch echoed like a gunshot.

Gina's eyes snapped open. The feigned drowsiness vanished instantly, replaced by a clarity so sharp it felt like ice water in her veins.

She scrambled off the bed, her legs trembling not from fear, but from adrenaline. She ran to the bathroom, splashing freezing water onto her face. She stared at her reflection. Young. Unscarred. Alive.

She bared her teeth at the mirror. It wasn't a smile. It was a promise.

Thump. Clank. Thump.

The sound came from the hallway. Heavy footsteps accompanied by the rhythmic strike of metal against the floor. A cane? No.

The door handle turned.

Gina rushed back to the bedroom. She threw herself onto the chaise lounge, arranging her limbs in a pose of drug-induced lethargy. She loosened the collar of her robe, exposing the hollow of her throat.

The door swung open with aggressive force.

Brandon Charles did not walk in. He rolled in.

He was in a wheelchair, his legs covered by a thick, charcoal wool blanket. The Director of the NSA. The "Shadow King" of D.C. The man rumors said was a crippled, impotent sadist who collected other men's wives because he couldn't get one of his own.

He spun the wheelchair around and locked the door with a decisive snap.

When he turned back to face her, Gina felt the air in the room drop ten degrees. He was devastatingly handsome in a brutal, sharp-edged way. His eyes were dark, intelligent, and devoid of any warmth. They swept over her body like a laser scanner.

"Burris said you were a compliant little rabbit," Brandon said. His voice was low, vibrating with a metallic timbre that scraped against her nerves.

Gina didn't whimper. She didn't beg.

She sat up.

The movement was fluid, controlled. She swung her legs off the chaise and planted her bare feet on the carpet.

Brandon's eyes narrowed. He stopped his wheelchair a few feet from her.

"He was wrong," Gina said.

She stood up. She walked toward him, her chin high, her gaze locking with his. She saw the flicker of surprise in his dark pupils. He wasn't used to the prey walking toward the predator.

Gina stopped directly in front of him. She leaned down, placing her hands on the armrests of his wheelchair, trapping him. She was close enough to smell him-sandalwood, gun oil, and danger.

"I know the champagne was drugged," she said softly. "I didn't drink it."

Brandon's hand twitched toward his waist. "Is that so?"

"And I know something else, Director Charles." Gina leaned closer, her lips inches from his ear. "I know your legs aren't atrophied. I know you can walk. And I know you're using this 'meeting' as a cover to investigate the Sterling money laundering scheme."

Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.

Then, violence.

Brandon's hand shot out with the speed of a striking cobra. His fingers wrapped around her throat, squeezing hard.

Continue Reading

Other books by CHRISTINE ROBINSON

More
Rejected By The Alpha: The Starlet's Return

Rejected By The Alpha: The Starlet's Return

Werewolf

5.0

On my eighteenth birthday, as my bones broke and reshaped for my First Shift, I looked up at Autry from the cold marble floor. The Alpha. My guardian. And as the moon decided, my Fated Mate. I reached a trembling hand toward him, desperate for the bond to settle the agony tearing me apart. Instead, he recoiled. "I reject you," he spat, his voice devoid of emotion. Beside him, his Beta mistress smirked, wearing a diamond bought with his pack's debt. He didn't reject me because I was unfaithful; he broke our soul bond because I was a "charity-case Omega" with no political value. He threw a check onto the floor, letting it land in a pool of my own sweat, and gave me one hour to get out. But exile wasn't enough for them. To ensure I couldn't return, they framed me. While I was bleeding out at the border, they released doctored photos accusing me of sleeping with Rogues, destroying my reputation just to save his poll numbers with the council. I watched a livestream of them bulldozing my mother's rose garden, laughing as they erased my existence. He thought I would die in the wild. He thought the rejection had killed my wolf. Five years later, I stepped out of a limousine in front of his corporate tower. I wasn't the scrawny orphan anymore. I was J.B., the face of Vogue, carrying the awakened power of the rare White Wolf bloodline. Autry rushed to meet me, eyes glowing gold, thinking he could simply snap his fingers and get his mate back. He didn't notice the massive sapphire ring on my finger. Or the Alpha of the European Silver Mist Pack standing behind me, ready to tear his throat out if he took one more step.

When Love Became Cold Abandonment

When Love Became Cold Abandonment

Romance

5.0

The phone call came on a Tuesday, a regular day until the private investigator' s flat voice delivered news that shattered my world: "Sarah, I found him. He' s alive." Three years of grieving for my presumed dead husband, a Navy SEAL, ended with that devastating revelation. But the real blow came next: he was living in Oregon with another woman, his estranged sister Lisa, who was now the beneficiary of his life insurance, a change made just a week before his disappearance. This wasn' t a rescue; it was a betrayal, a meticulously planned abandonment. I drove six hours to a quiet town, finding him on a porch swing, relaxed and healthy, with Lisa beside him, very pregnant. The sight broke something in me, dissolving any lingering hope. When I confronted him, his guilt and fear were clear, yet he offered hollow excuses about protecting Lisa and obligations. My anger and pain erupted; I hit him, screaming about selling our house to fund the search, losing everything while he played house. Lisa screamed about her baby, and I froze, seeing her pregnant belly-the ultimate betrayal. He couldn' t deny it; he nodded, confirming their child. The man I married, the hero, was now a coward who looked at me with cold abandonment. The fight drained, leaving a cold void. I demanded the insurance money, a bitter exchange for my wasted life, and walked away, a stranger to the man I once loved. The man I knew was dead to me. I flew to a new country, seeking a new life away from the ruins of my past. But the phone rang. It was his voice, hesitant, then full of doting tenderness for Lisa and their baby, a love he once reserved for me. He asked if I got the money, then promised to "make things right" once Lisa was settled. My voice dripped with contempt as I told him not to bother and hung up. His new happiness was a physical pain, a cruel reminder of all I' d lost, including our own baby, conceived before his disappearance and lost to the stress of searching for him-a fact he never knew, and would never know. I knelt by our child's unmarked grave, vowing he deserved to pay.

Betrayal In A Care Package

You'll also like

Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father

Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father

Madel Cerda
4.7

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Roderic Penn
4.5

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book
Sold To The Shadow King: Reborn Revenge Sold To The Shadow King: Reborn Revenge CHRISTINE ROBINSON Modern
“My husband, Hansford Burris, told me tonight was the most important night of his campaign. He handed me a glass of champagne, his face a perfect mask of concern, telling me to drink up so I could relax before meeting the "Shadow King" of D.C. who could secure his political future. I didn't know the golden liquid was laced with a high-dose sedative and hallucinogens. He hadn't brought me to this luxury hotel to celebrate; he had brought me here to be sold, trading my body to a stranger in exchange for a seat of power. In my past life, I trusted him. I drank the poison, woke up shattered, and spent the next five years being tormented by his abusive mother and publicly replaced by his mistress. I was eventually cornered and murdered by the very man I had supported with my family's fortune, my death staged as a tragic accident to gain him sympathy votes. To him, I wasn't a wife or a partner. I was just an "asset" with a shelf life, a merchant's good to be traded away. As the life left my body, I couldn't understand how the man who promised to love me forever could watch me choke without a hint of regret. Opening my eyes again, I was back in the St. Regis Hotel on October 14th, exactly five years ago. Hansford was standing there in his polished Armani suit, extending the same glass of drugged champagne toward me. "Gina, darling? Are you alright? Here. Drink this. It will help you relax." Looking at his handsome, lying face, I felt a cold clarity wash over me. I wasn't the naive rabbit he remembered. I took the glass, but I didn't swallow a single drop. This time, I was going to burn his world to the ground.”
1

Chapter 1 1

Today at 15:34

2

Chapter 2 2

Today at 15:34

3

Chapter 3 3

Today at 15:34

4

Chapter 4 4

Today at 15:34

5

Chapter 5 5

Today at 15:34

6

Chapter 6 6

Today at 15:34

7

Chapter 7 7

Today at 15:34

8

Chapter 8 8

Today at 15:34

9

Chapter 9 9

Today at 15:34

10

Chapter 10 10

Today at 15:34

11

Chapter 11 11

Today at 17:05

12

Chapter 12 12

Today at 17:05

13

Chapter 13 13

Today at 17:05

14

Chapter 14 14

Today at 17:05

15

Chapter 15 15

Today at 17:05

16

Chapter 16 16

Today at 17:05

17

Chapter 17 17

Today at 17:05

18

Chapter 18 18

Today at 17:05

19

Chapter 19 19

Today at 17:05

20

Chapter 20 20

Today at 17:05

21

Chapter 21 21

Today at 17:32

22

Chapter 22 22

Today at 17:32

23

Chapter 23 23

Today at 17:32

24

Chapter 24 24

Today at 17:32

25

Chapter 25 25

Today at 17:32

26

Chapter 26 26

Today at 17:32

27

Chapter 27 27

Today at 17:32

28

Chapter 28 28

Today at 17:32

29

Chapter 29 29

Today at 17:32

30

Chapter 30 30

Today at 17:32

31

Chapter 31 31

Today at 18:01

32

Chapter 32 32

Today at 18:01

33

Chapter 33 33

Today at 18:01

34

Chapter 34 34

Today at 18:01

35

Chapter 35 35

Today at 18:01

36

Chapter 36 36

Today at 18:01

37

Chapter 37 37

Today at 18:01

38

Chapter 38 38

Today at 18:01

39

Chapter 39 39

Today at 18:01

40

Chapter 40 40

Today at 18:01