Reborn To Marry My Billionaire Rival

The coarse fibers of the hemp rope bit into Felicity's wrists, tearing through the top layer of her skin. She collapsed onto the freezing wooden floorboards of the abandoned Aspen cabin. Her muscles twitched involuntarily. A violent gust of negative-twenty-degree wind howled through the shattered window. The blizzard slammed into her thin silk evening gown. Her teeth chattered so hard her jaw ached. She dragged her numb fingers toward a jagged shard of broken glass a few inches away. The rope yanked her wrists back. The friction burned her raw flesh. She was half an inch short. Felicity bit down hard on the tip of her tongue. The sharp, metallic taste of warm blood flooded her mouth, forcing her brain to stay awake. She dragged her body forward, the wood splinters tearing through her pantyhose. Her fingertips finally grazed the cold edge of the glass. She flipped it into her palm. The razor-sharp edge sliced deep into her palm. Warm blood welled up, but the sub-zero air froze it into a sticky, dark crimson paste almost instantly. Ignoring the stinging pain, she twisted her wrists and began sawing at the thick rope behind her back. Her shoulders screamed in agony. After dozens of frantic, bloody strokes, the thick fibers finally snapped. She rolled onto her back, her chest heaving. Her breath plumed into thick white clouds in the dark cabin. She stared blankly at the rotting, drafty ceiling. Her trembling hands reached into the hidden pocket of her gown. She pulled out her backup phone. Her fingers were completely stiff, the joints locked from the cold. She couldn't press the power button. She brought the phone to her mouth, biting down on the edge of the device, using her teeth to force the button down. The screen flickered to life. The harsh white glare stabbed her dilated pupils. Three percent battery. Panic seized her throat. She clumsily tapped the screen with her bloody knuckle, opening her contacts. She hit the dial button for Brandt, her fiancé. The signal bar hovered at a single, weak dot. The agonizing, drawn-out ringing echoed in the silent cabin, competing with the howling wind outside. Just as the call was about to drop, the line clicked open. A deafening blast of heavy bass and electronic dance music exploded from the tiny speaker, piercing her frozen eardrums. "Brandt..." she croaked. Her throat was so dry it cracked. The taste of copper coated her tongue. Her voice was a pathetic, raspy whisper, instantly swallowed by the blizzard. A frustrated, dismissive scoff came through the receiver. In the background, a woman let out a high-pitched, breathy giggle. "Felicity, are you kidding me right now?" Brandt's voice was laced with irritation. "Another PR stunt? Really? Faking a disappearance to force a wedding date?" "I'm in Aspen," she gasped, her lungs burning with every intake of icy air. "Kidnapped... dying. Please." "Stop trying to manipulate the media, Felicity," Brandt snapped, his tone as sharp as a physical blade sliding between her ribs. "It's pathetic. I'm done playing your games." The line went dead. The screen flickered, the battery icon flashing a desperate, violent red, clinging to its final one percent of life. The dim backlight barely pierced the absolute, suffocating darkness. Felicity let her arm drop, her fingers still loosely curled around the device. She tried to push herself up, to find the door. Her legs were dead weight. She collapsed, her ribcage slamming violently against the hard floorboards. A sickening crack echoed in her chest. Her breath hitched, trapped in her throat. She curled into a tight, agonizing ball. The wind whipped snow directly into her face. Ice crystals formed instantly on her eyelashes, sealing her eyes shut. She rubbed her bare arms frantically, but her frozen muscles generated zero heat. Her core temperature was plummeting off a cliff. Dark spots danced behind her eyelids. Hallucinations crept in. Brandt's perfectly styled hair and mocking smirk floated in the pitch-black void. Pure, unadulterated despair swallowed her whole. Instinct drove her toward a pile of rotting blankets in the corner. She dragged her body across the floor, sharp wood splinters gouging deep into her exposed knees. She grabbed the moldy fabric and pulled it over her shivering frame. It was useless. The cold had already chewed down to her marrow. Her heart rate slowed to a sluggish, heavy thud. Her chest felt like it was packed with crushed ice. She closed her eyes. A heavy, suffocating wave of exhaustion washed over her brain. Somewhere in the distance, the haunting howl of a wolf pierced the storm. She didn't even have the strength to flinch. The blood in her veins felt like sludge, slowly grinding to a halt. A bizarre, terrifying warmth began to spread through her chest-the final stage of hypothermia. Memories flashed behind her eyes. Every time Brandt had used her fame, every red carpet he had hijacked. Regret clawed at her throat. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. It rolled down her cheek and froze solid the second it hit her jawline, a sharp prick of ice that tethered her to her last shred of consciousness. She gripped the fading phone in her hand, her knuckles bone-white. A violent surge of hatred flared in her chest. Just as her mind began to slip into the final, endless dark, a sharp vibration buzzed against her palm. Her backup phone, in its absolute final breath of battery, had just received a message.