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Reborn To Ruin My Billionaire Husband

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 840    |    Released on: 15/05/2026

n, with a view that swallowed Central Park whole. The room was minimalist

ial statements Kirsten had provided. "We'll never touch Damon's inheritance. But his earnings, the assets acq

ramrod straight. "I just want what I'm

st wives in your position want to drag it out. They want retribution. T

ution money, Eleanor," she said, her voice tight with an emotion that went beyond simple anger. "I ju

pedite things, and to give us leverage on alimony, we need proof of infidelity. Concrete proof. Phot

draped in Damon's coat, leaning agai

her voice as cold as th

uildings no longer felt like monuments to ambition, but like

s a shriek. "Moira called my housekeeper. You let some hom

t her window. "It's a strategy, Thea. I need them

, he's walking

"The higher he thinks he

sound of laughter drifted from the back garden. It was a

e of the house, her heels sinking slightly into the soft grass. S

ap. Not beside him. On him. She was feeding him a strawberry, her fingers brushing his lips. His ha

, suddenly felt unbreathable. It was the same feeling she'd had

a theatrical gasp and scrambled of

l. He looked at Kirsten not with guilt, but with pure annoyance,

around?" he demanded,

en, Damon. I live here." She looked at the crushed strawberry stai

front of her again, that familiar, protective stance. "She

ut loud. PTSD? Was that

ith an irony he completely missed. "Psychologi

She pressed a hand to her chest, her breathing sudden

rapping his arms around Jasmin, murmuring soothing words into her hair

eau of betrayal. Her own hus

he angled it just so, shielded by a large ros

apture of a perfe

ked back into the house. She opened he

ached t

typed t

t

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Reborn To Ruin My Billionaire Husband
Reborn To Ruin My Billionaire Husband
“I died on the cold delivery table, bleeding out while the heart monitor flatlined. Through the blinding surgical lights, I heard my husband Damon's cold, final order to the doctors. "The child is the priority." He didn't care about my life. To him, I was just a vessel to produce an heir, a tool to fulfill his prenuptial clause and secure his billionaire empire. While I took my last agonizing breath, he was already planning his future with his fragile, theatrical mistress, Jasmin. In my past life, when he first brought her into our home claiming she was a helpless victim, I shattered. I screamed, threw vases, and played the hysterical wife perfectly. My desperate pleas for his affection only gave him the exact weapons he needed to ruin my reputation, isolate me, and ultimately force me onto that fatal delivery bed. Until my very last moment, the suffocating pain in my chest wasn't just physical. I couldn't understand how the man I loved could treat my death like a simple business transaction. Why was my absolute devotion rewarded with a carefully calculated execution? But then, my eyes snapped open. I was sitting on the edge of my king-sized bed, exactly three years before my death. From downstairs, I heard Damon's voice echoing in the foyer, bringing Jasmin into our home for the very first time. This time, the scream building in my chest turned to ice. I didn't cry or throw a fit. Instead, I calmly swallowed a secret birth control pill, smiled at his mistress, and dialed the most ruthless divorce lawyer in Manhattan.”