My bodyguard

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming Kickass Heroine Comeback Revenge

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Hazel tugged her black raincoat tighter around her, the downpour soaking the edges of her hem as she hurried into the hotel lobby. She kept her head low, the brim of her rain hat pulled down to shield her face. A group of well-dressed guests walked past her, their whispers sharp as blades.

"Did you hear? Hazel Martinez, the once-glorious heiress, got married today. To a servant, no less."

"Unbelievable. She used to be so beautiful and untouchable. Now, she's just... nothing."

"Well, her parents' deaths ruined everything. With her uncle in charge, she's barely above a servant herself."

Hazel didn't flinch, though their words stung like nettles. Instead, she moved silently, her lashes hiding the flicker of pain in her eyes. Since her parents' death a year ago, her life had become a cruel shadow of what it once was. Her uncle and grandmother had taken everything-her home, her inheritance, even her dignity. Now, they were forcing her to marry a bodyguard, a man they considered unworthy, as the final nail in her coffin.

The only bargaining chip she had left was her parents' burial rights in the ancestral tomb-a privilege her uncle dangled cruelly over her head. She had no choice but to obey.

When the group moved on, Hazel finally reached the hotel room Ryan had asked her to meet him in. She knocked twice. The door opened quickly, and there he was: Ryan, her ex-boyfriend, his expression equal parts anxious and calculating.

Hazel stepped inside and held out her hand, her tone cold. "Ryan, you said you had my father's heirloom. Where is it?"

Ryan hesitated, then sighed. "Hazel, I lied. I just wanted to see you."

Her jaw tightened, and she turned to leave, but his voice stopped her mid-step.

"Hazel...elope with me."

She froze, her hand on the doorframe. Slowly, she turned, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Elope? You proposed to my cousin last week, Ryan. Or did you forget?"

His face flushed, but he pressed on, desperation leaking into his tone. "I'm marrying her, yes, but only for my family's approval. Hazel, I still care about you. Come with me to another city. I'll protect you."

Hazel's stomach twisted in disgust. "You want me to be your mistress, is that it?"

Ryan adjusted his glasses and shrugged nonchalantly, as if his request were reasonable. "It's not uncommon. Men used to have wives and concubines. I'm just asking you to be discreet. My wife doesn't need to know."

The audacity of his words burned through her like fire. "Discreet?" she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what would this arrangement look like?"

Ryan mistook her tone for curiosity and smiled, oblivious. "Simple. You'd live comfortably, with no need to work. Don't call me during the day, and I'll visit you whenever I can. If you get pregnant, we'll deal with it-quietly. Of course, I'll cover the expenses." He paused, then added casually, "But if it's a son, we might keep him. A daughter? No need."

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