Reborn Heiress: Dragging Traitors To Hell

Author: Gertrude

Chapter 1 No.1

Word Count: 866 | Released on: 22/01/2026

apped inside every nerve ending. The world was a sym

at her fingertips, a phantom sensation where her nails had been ruthlessly c

e damp concrete walls. Aldo's voice, smooth and cultured, slithered through the foul a

nto the light, wearing Kaycee's Chanel suit like a second skin. "Oh, honey, don't struggle. It ruins the

fe, the volume cranked to an unbearable level.

O of Gallagher-Sterling, confirmed dea

k sedan filled the screen, a pyre for the only man who had eve

ear, her breath hot and smelling of champagne. "We sent him a l

at. He had died because of her. Because

" Aldo said

a clear, shimmering liquid. A chemica

r to the chair, a final, desperate surge of

izing her blood. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a franti

s. As the darkness closed in, a single, silent vow formed in the ruins o

, no

ed open, but the darkness behind her eyelids didn't vanish immediately. It lingered, painted

el the cold, hollow bite of a needle. Instead, her finger

bird, the rhythm frantic and uneven. Thump. Thump

asn't

t heaved as she clawed at her own neck, her fingernails digging int

aw them. Her fingernails were long, shaped into sharp stilettos, and painted a garish

d, making her stomach lurch. She gagged, squeezing her eyes shut, fighting down the

e knocked over a glass of water. It shattered, the sound like a gunshot in the

it up, blind

ay, Ma

a yea

tears finally spilled over. They weren't tears of r

ng ended. Or rather, the d

live. He

med. It smelled of the tuberose candles she u

e a newborn foal's. She walked to t

It was a girl in silk pajamas, her hair messy, her eyes wide with t

ngling heat. The phantom needle in her neck vanish

was

me, she was

Chapter End

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Reborn Heiress: Dragging Traitors To Hell

Gertrude Mafia

“The world was a symphony of agony, played on the strings of my own body. I was tied to a chair in a damp basement, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth as my fingernails were ripped from their beds by a pair of rusty pliers. My best friend, Corrine, stepped into the flickering light wearing my favorite Chanel suit and the engagement ring that was supposed to be mine. Beside her, my fiancé Aldo held the pliers, his voice smooth and cultured as he demanded I sign over my entire inheritance to them. As I struggled, a news report flashed on an old TV in the corner: Hunter Gallagher, the man I had treated like dirt but who had always tried to protect me, was dead in a horrific car explosion. Corrine laughed, whispering in my ear that they had lured him to his death using a fake kidnapping tip. He died trying to save me from a trap set by the people I trusted most. They didn't just want my money; they wanted to erase me. They plunged a needle full of heroin into my neck, watching with cold, mocking eyes as my heart hammered against my ribs and finally seized into nothingness. I died in that basement, a blind, spoiled girl who had let her true protector be murdered. As the darkness closed in, my soul burned with a single, silent vow: If I ever get another life, I will drag you both to hell with me. Suddenly, I gasped for air, my lungs fighting against a weight that wasn't there. I wasn't in the basement; I was in my own bed, my fingernails intact and my skin unbroken. I checked my phone, and my heart stopped-it was May 20th, exactly one year before my death. Hunter was still alive, and this time, I wasn't the prey.”