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 8

"Ladies and gentlemen," Conrad announced, his voice booming. "I think it is time."

He snapped his fingers. Sterling stepped forward, holding a black velvet box.

Damian took the box. He turned to Elise.

The room hushed.

"Elise," Damian said. He went down on one knee.

Gasps echoed around the room. The Devil of Wall Street, kneeling?

He opened the box.

Inside rested The Vincent Star. A flawless, 30-carat, brilliant-cut pink diamond, surrounded by a constellation of smaller white diamonds. It wasn't just a ring; it was a statement of ownership, a glittering weight of power. It was gaudy. It was massive. It was worth more than the hotel they were standing in.

In her past life, Elise had laughed at it. She had called it a "dog collar."

Now, she saw it for what it was. A promise. A shield.

"Be mine," Damian said. "Officially. Irrevocably."

Elise extended her left hand. "I am yours, Damian."

He slid the ring onto her finger. It was heavy. It felt like an anchor.

He stood up and kissed her. It was a chaste kiss for the audience, but his lips were hot and demanding.

The band struck up a waltz.

"Dance with me," he commanded.

He swept her onto the floor. His hand splayed across the open back of her dress, skin on skin.

They spun. The world blurred into streaks of gold and light.

But Elise couldn't focus. Her eyes kept darting to the kitchen doors.

The lookalike was gone. But seeing him had unsettled her, a reminder of the snake she had just cut out of her life.

"Who are you looking for?"

Damian's voice was a whip crack near her ear.

Elise snapped her head back. Damian's eyes were dark. The jealousy was back, simmering under the surface.

"No one," she said.

His hand on her waist tightened painfully. He pulled her flush against him. She could feel the hard lines of his body.

"Don't lie to me, Elise. You're scanning the room. Is he here?"

"No," she said. "I'm just... overwhelmed. The music. The ring."

Damian stopped dancing. They were in the middle of the floor.

"If I find out you're planning to meet him," he whispered, "I will break his legs. And then I will lock you in the tower until you forget his name."

"Damian," she said softly. "Look at me. I'm wearing your ring."

A waiter passed by with a tray of red wine.

Someone bumped him.

The tray tipped.

A glass of Cabernet cascaded down the front of Damian's pristine white tuxedo shirt.

The red stain bloomed like a gunshot wound.

The music stopped.

Damian looked down at the stain. His breath hitched. His control, already frayed by jealousy, snapped.

The waiter dropped the tray. Crash. "Oh god! Sir! I'm so sorry!"

Damian's face went white, then purple. A vein in his forehead bulged. The uncontrolled, public nature of the filth sent a shockwave through his system.

He raised a hand, his fingers curled into a fist. He was going to strike the waiter.

"Dami!"

Elise stepped in front of him. She grabbed his raised hand with both of hers.

"Look at me," she commanded.

Damian's eyes were wild, unfocused. "Filth. It's filthy."

"It's just wine," Elise said calmly. She reached into his pocket and pulled out his silk handkerchief.

She dabbed at the stain on his lapel. Her movements were slow, rhythmic.

"Breathe," she said. "In. Out. It's just a shirt. We can burn it later."

Damian stared at her hands. He focused on her fingers moving over the fabric.

His breathing slowed. The murderous rage drained out of him, leaving him trembling.

"Get him out of my sight," Damian rasped to Sterling.

Sterling dragged the terrified waiter away.

Elise took Damian's arm. "Come on. Let's go upstairs. You have a spare suit in the suite."

"Yes," Damian said. He sounded exhausted. "Change."

They walked out of the ballroom.

As they reached the elevator, Elise saw a shadow move near the garden entrance. It was the same man from before, the investigator. He was signaling to Jill, who was trying to look inconspicuous near the exit.

Elise's eyes narrowed.

She rode the elevator up with Damian. She helped him take off the ruined jacket.

"I need to powder my nose," she said. "I'll meet you back down there."

Damian was in the bathroom, scrubbing his hands. "Hurry back."

Elise walked out of the suite.

She didn't go to the bathroom. She kicked off her heels, picked them up, and ran toward the service stairs.

Down to the garden.

It was time to take out the trash.

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