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Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 834    |    Released on: 13/01/2026

air, wiping the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. Th

the bed, unable to move her head. She saw Brittany's shoes-red soles-plant themselves inc

el it. Her nerves

ice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You think a slap change

for a reaction Che

ft. You remember the car crash? The one that kill

e, fluttering skip. Her eyes

cut the brake line. I was sixteen, Chelsea.

rld st

d her stories. The crash that had turned her mother

s Bri

n the death creeping into her limbs. A single tear, hot and bloody, leak

the recording from the dashcam before the

satisfied. "Go t

lked to the door.

a was

second chance. Not like this. Please, God, not like this.

to black. It was a violent shuttering.

en...

ld. It started as a whine and grew into a

s plummeting, wind rushing past her ear

ga

ch air, too fast. She sat bo

ying to her throat, expecting to

. Her skin was cool.

t hammering a frantic rhythm agains

sn't th

ht-streamed through sheer lace curtains. There were posters on the wall. A framed p

She looked

ree-year-old addict. They were smooth. The skin was taut

ong. They didn't buckle. She ran to the ful

toppe

ading over her shoulders. Her face was full of collagen, her eyes bright

her cheek.

eek laptop hummed in the corner. N

ber 15

onto the plush carpet. 2024. Her

is ready! Don't ma

rs. It was warm, slightly exa

o

rl

r memories had died a

ot and fast. She slapped her

n't a

in 2030, the eidetic memory exercises she mastered to memorize scripts, the years o

her hand. The confusion in her eyes

lection again. The in

, Mom," she

ar again. November 8th. The d

room, her voice low and dangerous,

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Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge
Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge
“I lay on a mildewed mattress in a run-down motel, my body trembling from withdrawal. Once the most feared "Gossip Queen" in Hollywood, I was now a forty-three-year-old ghost staring at a cracked mirror, waiting for the end. The door clicked open, and Brittany Potts stepped in, looking immaculate in a beige trench coat that cost more than my life. She didn't come to help; she tossed a waiver of marital assets onto my bed and handed me a cup of coffee laced with something that smelled like bitter almonds. She laughed, telling me my husband, Bennet, was already in the Bahamas celebrating my death. I froze when I saw the sapphire pendant around her neck-my mother's necklace, which had vanished the day she died. As the poison began to burn through my chest, Brittany leaned in and whispered her final secret: she was the one who cut the brake lines on the car that killed my father when we were teenagers. My entire life had been a lie. The pills, the scandal, the bankruptcy-it was all a masterpiece of betrayal orchestrated by the two people I trusted most. I died on that filthy floor, suffocating on my own rage and the taste of chemicals, praying for a single chance to make them pay. But when I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. I was sitting in my old bedroom, the morning sun shining on a calendar that read September 15, 2024. My mother's voice, warm and alive, called me for breakfast from downstairs. I was eighteen again, back in my senior year at Crestview Academy, and the monsters who destroyed me were still pretending to be my friends. This time, I'm the one who holds the shears.”