Reborn My Mate Finally Found I Was His True Love

For three years, I poured my soul into Cade, forgiving him 99 times. I was a struggling art student, paying for our shared dreams and caring for his fragile heart.

But the 100th time, he let his cruel mistress, Alessandra, try to kill me in an old boathouse. He called it an "accident," his eyes already choosing his ambition over my life.

I woke up in the hospital to hear him call me a "disposable stepping stone" and announce his engagement to the woman who had just tried to murder me. The doctor then confirmed the worst: his betrayal had cost me our unborn child.

I had been a fool, a victim in their sick game. But as I lay there, broken and bleeding, I realized something. They thought I was a poor, orphaned artist.

They had no idea I was Blaire Madden, the sole heiress to a global corporation. And I was finally ready to come home and make them pay.

Chapter 1

Blaire POV:

Three years with Cade, 99 times I' d forgiven him, but the hundredth time, it almost killed me. I' d poured every ounce of my being into our life, a struggling art student financing our shared dreams, believing in a future with the man I loved. He had a heart condition, a fragile ticker I swore to protect with my own. Or so I believed.

Alessandra Guerra was a shadow that always lingered, a venomous whisper in the corners of my life. Her cruelty wasn't subtle; it was a slow, deliberate strangulation. She' d keyed my car, splashed paint on my canvases, and once, she'd even sabotaged my stove, causing a small fire. Cade always had an excuse, a weary sigh about her "childish jealousy," a plea for me to "understand her insecurity." He' d smooth my hair, his eyes full of that practiced tenderness, and I' d always, stupidly, believed him.

The first time Alessandra laid hands on me, it was at a gallery opening. She cornered me, her designer nails digging into my arm. "Stay away from Cade," she hissed, her breath hot and rancid with champagne. She twisted, and I felt a sharp tearing, my sleeve ripping, leaving a raw, red scratch on my skin. Cade found me hiding in the restroom, tears blurring my vision. He tutted, "Alessandra can be so dramatic, can't she? Just a little scratch, darling." He dabbed at it with a damp paper towel, his touch already feeling distant. My anger flared, but he just whispered about her "fragile state," how she "didn't mean it." He said I was being "too sensitive."

Then came the "accident" at the park. Alessandra "mistook" me for someone else, shoving me down a small hill, claiming she thought I was a thief. I landed hard, my ankle twisting, a sickening pop echoing in my ears. The pain shot through me, hot and blinding. Cade arrived, his face a mask of concern that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, Blaire, you're always so clumsy," he sighed, helping me up. "Alessandra was just playing around. You know how vivile she is." He wrapped his arm around me, but his grip was loose, almost perfunctory. He said I was overreacting, that Alessandra thought of it as a "game."

The "games" escalated. A speeding car that swerved inches from me as I crossed the street. I screamed, my heart hammering against my ribs. Cade, who was with me, pulled me back just in time. "Careful!" he chided, his voice laced with annoyance. "You really need to watch where you're going." He looked at the receding car, then back at me. "Alessandra must be having a bad day. She drives like a maniac sometimes." That was his explanation. A bad day. For almost taking my life.