Reborn as the Villain's Wife

I died in a mangled wreck of metal and fire, abandoned by the man I thought was my soulmate. But instead of the void, I woke up pinned against a cold marble wall, staring into the turbulent, storm-gray eyes of Damian Vincent. This was the night I destroyed my life. In my past world, I spat in Damian's face and ran into the arms of Eddie, a parasitic loser who was secretly plotting with my cousin Jill to strip me of my inheritance. My "escape" turned into a slow-motion suicide. My brother Donavan died in a horrific car crash while racing to save me from another one of my messes. Damian, consumed by a toxic mix of grief and vengeance, crushed the Nelson family empire until my father was a broken man. I spent years as a drugged-up social pariah, finally dying alone while the people I trusted laughed at my funeral. The most bitter realization didn't hit me until the end. The "controlling monster" I spent years fighting was the only person who ever truly protected me. I had traded a man who would burn the world for me for a man who would burn me for the world. Opening my eyes three years in the past, I find myself back at the airport, the rain lashing against the windows. My brother is pleading with me to run, and Damian is standing there, braced for the slap he thinks is coming. But I don't strike him. I press my palm to his burning cheek and give him the only piece of my soul he couldn't buy. "I'm not going anywhere, Dami. Keep this as my collateral." The game has changed. This time, I'm not the victim-I'm the one holding the match.

Chapters

Chapter 5

The Grand Ballroom at The Plaza Hotel smelled of lilies and old money.

Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the guests below. The elite of Manhattan stood in clusters, sipping champagne and murmuring.

Damian stood alone near a pillar. He held a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched. His tuxedo was sharp, tailored to perfection, but his posture was rigid.

"She's not coming, Damian," Conrad Vincent said, walking up to his grandson. The old man leaned on a cane, his face a map of disapproval. "The girl is unstable. You're making a fool of this family by waiting for her."

"She'll be here," Damian said. His voice was tight.

"She's probably high in a gutter somewhere with that painter," Conrad scoffed.

Across the room, Arthur Nelson looked at his watch and wiped sweat from his forehead. Jill stood next to him, looking sympathetic.

"I'm so sorry, Uncle Arthur," Jill said loudly enough for the nearby guests to hear. "I tried to call her. She just... hung up. You know how she gets when she's having an episode."

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. Poor Arthur. Saddled with that disaster of a daughter.

Damian's grip on his glass tightened. If she didn't show... if she had run...

The heavy double doors at the entrance swung open.

The room went quiet.

Elise Nelson stood in the doorway.

She was flanked by Donavan, but no one was looking at him.

The emerald velvet dress caught the light, shimmering with every movement. Her black hair cascaded over one shoulder. Her head was held high, her chin tilted at an angle of absolute arrogance.

She didn't look like a disaster. She looked like a weapon.

She stepped into the room. The crowd parted for her like the Red Sea.

Jill dropped her fork. It clattered loudly against her china plate.

Arthur Nelson gasped. For a second, he thought he was seeing his late wife.

Elise walked straight toward Damian. She didn't look at the guests. She didn't look at her father. She only had eyes for him.

Damian felt the air leave his lungs. He had seen the photo Sterling sent, but the reality was visceral. She was stunning. And she was walking toward him.

Elise stopped in front of him. She smiled-a small, private smile that didn't reach the rest of the room.

"Sorry I'm late, Dami," she said, her voice smooth like honey. "Traffic was murder."

She reached out and took his arm.

Damian looked down at her hand on his sleeve. He covered it with his own. His thumb stroked her knuckles.

"You're not late," he said, his voice rough. He looked up, challenging the room with a glare. "We haven't started."

Jill recovered from her shock. She marched over, her face a mask of concern.

"Elise! Oh my god, you actually came. And you're wearing... velvet? In June? That's certainly a choice."

Elise turned to her. She looked Jill up and down.

"And you're wearing white, Jill," Elise said. "Trying to communicate your innocence? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

A few guests snickered. Jill's smile faltered.

"I was just worried," Jill said. "We all were. We thought you might have... relapsed."

"Relapsed into what?" Elise asked innocently. "Good taste? Clearly, it's not contagious. You should try to catch it sometime."

Damian let out a short, sharp laugh. He looked at Elise with a mixture of shock and delight.

Irma Hayes, Jill's mother, bustled forward. She was a large woman in a dress that was too tight.

"Elise!" she barked. "Show some respect to your cousin! She has been organizing this dinner for weeks while you were out partying!"

Elise opened her mouth, but Damian stepped forward. He placed his body between Elise and Irma.

"I kept her," Damian said coldly. "She was with me. Do you have a problem with my schedule, Mrs. Hayes?"

Irma's mouth snapped shut. She shrank back under Damian's glare.

"No... no, of course not, Mr. Vincent."

Damian looked down at Elise. "Hungry?"

"Starving," she said.

He led her to the head table. As she sat down, she felt Conrad Vincent's eyes on her. The old man was studying her like a bug under a microscope.

She met his gaze and nodded politely.

Conrad didn't smile. But he didn't look away either.

The game was on.

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