Reborn Heiress: Reclaiming My Monster Billionaire

For three years, nineteen-year-old Ella Campbell rotted in a freezing psychiatric isolation room. Her billionaire family didn't visit her once, only pulling her out today to force her to publicly apologize to Ashlyn, the perfect sister who had framed her. At Ashlyn's glamorous engagement gala, Ella was treated worse than a stray dog and forced to watch her childhood sweetheart propose to her sister. When Ella showed no jealousy, her brother Ivan dragged her onto a dark balcony and nearly choked her to death. Her mother didn't even check if Ella was breathing, merely ordering a makeup artist to paint thick concealer over the dark purple handprints on Ella's neck so the family's stock price wouldn't drop. Standing under the blinding stage lights in a shapeless gray dress, facing three hundred mocking Wall Street executives, Ella was supposed to be the broken, obedient psycho the Campbells needed. "I am deeply sorry for the pain I caused." She was supposed to end the apology there and bow to her abusers, but Ella didn't shed a single tear. "My only regret is that I didn't insist on waiting for the police to arrive that night. I deeply regret that I didn't demand a full, legal toxicology report to prove to everyone exactly what happened." As the ballroom erupted into suspicious whispers and her paralyzed twin brother finally saw the violent bruises hidden beneath her makeup, Ella's counterattack against the Campbell family officially began.

My husband, Jackson, the Alpha of the Dorsey Pack, was supposed to be my partner, my equal. I paid for everything, from his suits to our private jet. Today, the man I loved told me I wasn't flying with him to the Alpha Summit. Instead, he declared his mistress, Amber, "fragile" and needing my jet, while I got an economy ticket. His mother, Cornelia, added my healing "aura" was too "intense" for Amber. My heart shattered from the public humiliation. Jackson kissed Amber, a tenderness denied me for years, while the pack looked away. He even blocked our mind-link, the ultimate rejection. A searing, cold rage erupted. For five years, I suppressed my royal White Wolf blood, enduring their disdain for a man who now cast me aside like trash. As my jet lifted into the sky, something inside me unleashed. I pulled out my phone, fingers trembling with resolve. "Cancel the Gulfstream's flight. Ground them. Cut everything. The game is over."

For years, I lived as the meek, invisible orphan taken in by the wealthy Sterling family. But on the night of our class trip, my "sister" Ivy handed me a spiked glass of champagne. I woke up in a hotel bed, paralyzed by drugs, with a greasy man unbuckling his belt and a mob of reporters waiting just outside the door. In my past life, this was the night my reputation was completely destroyed. I was publicly ruined, cast aside by my fiancé Chase, and eventually pushed off a high-rise balcony. As I fell to my death, I learned the horrifying truth. The Sterlings had only kept me around to embezzle my massive inheritance. And my only value to Chase was acting as a living blood bank for his sick true love, Blair. They lived in my house, spent my parents' money, and called it charity. They thought I was just a disposable sacrifice on their altar of greed, completely oblivious to their deceit. "Gisele gets what she deserves," I heard Ivy sneer from the hallway. But as the drug burned in my veins, the memories of my past life awakened, cold and sharp as broken glass. This time, I wasn't going to be the prey. I grabbed the heavy brass lamp cord, wrapped it tight around the man's throat, and waited for Ivy to walk into her own trap.

My husband, mafia Don Leo Falcone, detonated the door to my safehouse with forged syndicate papers in hand. He came to force me to take the fall for his mistress, Serena, threatening to cut off my sister Chloe's medical funds if I refused. What he didn't know was that Chloe had already succumbed to her agony three years ago because Serena stole her money. And he didn't know that I had bled out in a dark alley five years before that. He had exiled me to protect Serena, and I was cornered and stabbed thirteen times by the relatives of the rivals his syndicate killed. Suspended near the ceiling as a ghost, I watched him aggressively demand my whereabouts, fully believing I was just throwing a tantrum. "If she does not show up in three days to sign these papers, I will cut off every single dime," he threatened. It wasn't until his Tracker handed him my cremation documents and the gruesome crime scene photos that he finally broke. For five years, he had pampered the true venomous snake while I rotted in the ground, paying for her fatal mistakes with my life. I watched the invincible Don reduced to a sobbing wreck, feeling no pity at all. After personally sending Serena to a federal supermax, Leo returned to our old apartment, swallowed a bottle of pills, and slumped against the wall to die. "This time, I am not looking for anyone else. Just you," he whispered. But as he took his final rattling breath, I simply turned away and left him in the dark forever.

Khloe was pinned inside a crushed car, cold metal piercing her abdomen as she slowly bled to death on the highway. Desperate and fading, she called her fiancé, Brenton, for help. But the call connected to the sound of an orchestra and a cheering crowd. He was marrying a billionaire heiress that very day, standing at the altar in the custom suit Khloe had spent six months tailoring for him. "I was in an accident... Please help me," she begged, coughing up blood. "Don't play these games," Brenton hissed with pure venom. "It would be better for everyone if you just disappeared. Die, for all I care." The line went dead. The silence was heavier than the twisted metal crushing her. As she flatlined in the back of an ambulance, memories of her pathetic life flashed before her. She was just the orphaned daughter of their driver, a charity case they bullied, used, and discarded. His sister stole her designs, and Brenton's love was nothing but a manipulative chain to control her. She had given that family her entire life, her talent, and her heart. Why did her absolute devotion only earn her a cruel, lonely death while he celebrated his new marriage? When Khloe opened her eyes again, the agonizing pain was gone. She was standing in the Waldorf Astoria suite, wearing the pristine white silk gown from her engagement party a year ago. Staring at the drugged champagne Brenton expected her to drink, she picked up a heavy crystal decanter instead. This time, she would make the rules.

My son Leo had just died, and the silence in our cramped apartment felt like a physical weight crushing my chest. Before I could even process the grief, my husband, Preston, kicked the door open and threw divorce papers onto the table. Behind him stood Gloria, wearing a pristine cashmere coat and the diamond pendant Preston swore he had pawned to pay for Leo's hospital bills. "Sign it," Preston said coldly. "You get nothing." Gloria smirked, mocking me for failing to keep my sick child alive. When I tore up the papers in a blinding rage, Preston slapped me to the floor. Then, my biological mother, Jerilyn, walked in. Instead of helping me, she pulled a serrated kitchen knife from her bag and plunged it deep into my stomach. As I lay dying in a pool of my own blood, Jerilyn leaned in and whispered the devastating truth. "I swapped you in the nursery. Gloria is my blood, and you belong in a Manhattan mansion. I can't let you ruin her life." Until my lungs stopped working, I was consumed by a roaring, violent hatred. My own mother had traded my life of privilege for poverty, let my son die, and then murdered me to protect the fake. Opening my eyes again, the dingy ceiling and the agonizing pain were gone. I was sitting at a wooden desk, surrounded by the chatter of teenagers. I was back in high school. And this time, I was going to make them pay.