Reborn Heiress: The Wolf's Vengeance Deal

I lay paralyzed on stiff white sheets, a prisoner in my own skin, listening to the rain lash against the window like nails on a coffin. My father, Elmore Franco, didn't even look at my face as he checked his clipboard. He just listened to the steady, monotonous beep of the heart monitor-the only thing proving I was still alive. Without a hint of remorse, he pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the Do Not Resuscitate order. My stepmother, Ophelia, stepped out from behind him, wearing my favorite pearl necklace and smelling of cloying perfume. She leaned close to my ear to whisper the truth that turned my blood to ice. "It was the tea, darling. Just like your mother. A slow, tasteless poison." She chuckled as she revealed that my fiancé, Bryce, had a two-year-old son with my sister, Daniela. My inheritance had been funding their secret life for years, and now that the money was secure, I was an inconvenience they were finally scrubbing away. As my father yanked the power cord from the wall, the beeping died, and the darkness swallowed me whole. I was being murdered by my own flesh and blood, used as a bank account until I was no longer needed. I died in that sterile room, drowning in the realization that every person I ever loved was a monster who had been waiting for me to take my last breath. Then, I gasped. I woke up in a luxury hotel suite surrounded by silk sheets, five years in the past-the very morning of my wedding. Next to me lay Basile Delgado, the "Wolf of Wall Street" and my family's most dangerous enemy. In my first life, I ran from this room in a panic and lost everything. This time, I looked at the man who would eventually destroy my father's empire and decided to join him. "I'm not leaving, Basile. Marry me. Right now. Today."

Chapters

Chapter 6

The noise hit her like a physical blow.

"Celeste! Celeste! over here!"

"Is the wedding off?"

"Who is that man?"

"Is that... is that Basile Delgado?"

The murmur turned into a roar as the crowd recognized him.

Basile didn't flinch.

He moved his hand from her fingers to the small of her back.

His hand was large, covering her spine, pushing her forward.

It was a claim.

They walked up the stone steps of the church.

The heavy oak doors burst open.

Elmore Franco stormed out.

His face was a mask of purple rage.

He looked deranged.

"You ungrateful little bitch!" he screamed.

He didn't care about the cameras.

He didn't care about the guests peering out from the vestibule.

He charged at Celeste.

He raised his hand, his heavy gold signet ring glinting in the sun.

Celeste stood her ground.

She didn't cower.

She stared at him, daring him to do it.

The hand came down.

But it never connected.

Basile caught Elmore's wrist in mid-air.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud.

Basile didn't just stop the blow.

He twisted.

Elmore yelped, his knees buckling.

Basile forced the older man down, bending his arm back at an unnatural angle.

"Careful, Elmore," Basile said.

His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the shouting of the paparazzi.

"Bones become brittle at your age."

Elmore gasped, his face draining of color.

"Let go of me!" he sputtered. "This is a family matter!"

Basile shoved him back.

Elmore stumbled, nearly falling down the stairs.

Ophelia rushed out, grabbing Elmore's arm to steady him.

She looked at Basile with pure venom.

"How dare you," she hissed. "Get security!"

"I am the security," Basile said.

He straightened his cuffs.

He looked at the reporters, who were frantically snapping photos of Elmore's humiliation.

Then he looked at Ophelia.

"And you," he said, pointing a finger at her. "Fix your lipstick. It's smudged."

Ophelia's hand flew to her mouth instinctively.

Basile turned to Celeste.

"Ready?"

Celeste looked at her father, who was cradling his wrist and glaring at her with hatred.

For the first time in her life, she didn't feel small in front of him.

She felt tall.

"Ready," she said.

Basile took her arm again.

They walked through the church doors.

The transition was jarring.

From the chaotic noise of the street to the hushed, organ-filled silence of the sanctuary.

Hundreds of heads turned.

The pews were filled with New York's elite.

They gasped.

Bryce was standing at the altar.

He looked perfect.

Perfect hair. Perfect tuxedo. Perfect smile that faltered as soon as he saw Basile.

Celeste felt a wave of nausea.

She had loved him.

In her past life, she had adored him.

Now, looking at him, she saw only a parasite in a bow tie.

Basile leaned down to her ear.

"Showtime, Mrs. Delgado," he whispered.

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