Reborn Heiress: Reclaiming My Monster Billionaire

Ginny hovered near the warehouse ceiling, tangled in the churning, black smoke. Below her, her physical body was fully engulfed. Roaring orange flames licked at blackened, splitting flesh. She felt no heat. No pain. Just a hollow, ringing silence where sensation should have been. A thin, distant wail threaded through the crackle of the fire. Sirens. Fire trucks. Police. Too far. Much too far. Then a deeper, more savage roar swallowed the sirens whole. A massive black armored SUV plowed through the locked iron doors. The heavy metal buckled and tore off their hinges with a shriek, spinning into the flames. The vehicle skidded across the concrete, tires screaming, and slammed to a halt just yards from the blazing wall of fire. Before the SUV fully stopped, the driver's door was kicked open with brutal force. Bedford Parks hurled himself out of the vehicle. His surveillance team had flagged a suspicious offshore cleanup payment an hour ago, pinging Brant's encrypted burner. The signal led straight to this abandoned industrial graveyard. He was seconds late. Seconds. Two large men in tactical gear scrambled from the back doors. One lunged forward, locking his arms around Bedford's chest, boots skidding on the concrete. "Mr. Parks! You can't—!" Bedford spun. His face was a bloodless mask of pure, feral insanity. His dark eyes were blown wide, unhinged. He reached to his waist, drew a black handgun, and rammed the barrel hard under the bodyguard's chin. The man froze. Slowly, he raised his hands and stumbled backward. Bedford didn't waste a breath. He turned and sprinted directly into the wall of fire. Suspended near the ceiling, Ginny's soul convulsed. She stared down, paralyzed with shock. Bedford Parks. The silicon monster. Ruthless, cold, pathologically germaphobic. The man who never let anyone touch him. Now he was running straight into a blazing inferno. Flames licked at his expensive tailored suit. The fabric smoked and curled. He didn't flinch. He didn't slow. He reached the concrete pillar and dropped to his knees on the blistering floor. His hands reached out, and he gathered her charred, smoking body against his chest. The sound that tore from his throat made Ginny's soul tremble. A raw, guttural, animal scream ripped from the very bottom of his lungs. It was the sound of something being slaughtered. He shrugged off his heavy fire-resistant tactical jacket with frantic, jerking movements and wrapped it tight around her ruined form, smothering the flames still eating at her clothes. High above, the warehouse structure groaned. The intense heat had warped a massive steel support beam. With a sound like a cannon blast, the metal snapped. Bedford looked up. The burning beam was falling straight toward them. He didn't try to run. He didn't roll aside. He threw his body over hers, broad shoulders curling inward, forming a human shield over her remains. The heavy steel beam slammed into the center of his back. The sickening crunch of his spine snapping echoed over the roar of the fire. Bedford's body jerked violently. A great spray of dark red blood burst from his mouth, splattering across the concrete and the jacket wrapped around Ginny. His arms didn't loosen. He locked every muscle, holding his weight suspended so the beam wouldn't crush her. Ginny screamed—a silent, soul-rending shriek—and dove downward, arms outstretched to grab him, to pull him away. Her transparent hands passed straight through his broad, bleeding shoulders. She clutched at nothing. She was nothing. Bedford's head drooped. His blood-slick cheek pressed against the blackened skin of her forehead. His breathing was wet and shallow. His lips moved, barely stirring, struggling through the blood filling his throat. "I love you." His eyes slid shut. His chest stilled. His last breath sighed out into the superheated air. Ginny threw her head back and let out another soundless, agonized scream. The pain in her chest was worse than the fire. Worse than the chains. It was a crushing, obliterating weight. She had hated him. She had feared him. And he had just died for her. Suddenly, the roaring flames froze mid-lick. The black smoke stopped churning. The space around her twisted and warped. Concrete walls stretched like pulled taffy. An invisible, colossal force seized her and yanked her backward with terrifying velocity. A blinding, pure white light exploded in front of her eyes, erasing the warehouse, the fire, and Bedford's broken body. Ginny gasped. Cold, sharp air rushed into her lungs. Her chest heaved violently, sucking in breath after desperate breath. She snapped her eyes open. She was staring at the back of a plush, cream-colored leather car seat. The smooth, expensive material was inches from her face. Cold air blasted from the air-conditioning vent, raising goosebumps across her bare arms. She blinked. She lifted her hands. They were not charred. Not bleeding. The skin was smooth, pale, perfectly unblemished. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped, frantic bird. She pressed her palms flat against the leather seat. Solid. Real. She was alive.