Reborn To Marry The Disabled Billionaire
Bonnie Galvan woke up to the suffocating scent of lilies, staring at the mirror in the exact same seven-figure wedding dress she had worn seven years ago.
In the doorway stood her so-called best friend Itzel and her secret lover Erwin, desperately urging her to elope.
They warned her that her soon-to-be husband, the billionaire Arlington Townsend, was a crippled monster, and marrying him would ruin her life forever.
In her previous life, she blindly believed their lies and ran away from the altar.
Because of her public betrayal, the ruthless Townsend family completely bankrupted her father's company in retaliation.
Erwin and Itzel swooped in as her saviors, only to steal whatever was left of her family's wealth and power.
When she was finally stripped of her value, Erwin pushed her down an icy mountain slope during a brutal blizzard.
With a shattered ankle, she could only watch as Itzel smirked and Erwin coldly walked away, leaving her to be buried alive under the freezing snow.
As her lungs burned and her heart gave out in the agonizing cold, she was consumed by hatred.
Why did the man who swore to protect her and the friend she trusted with her life plot so meticulously to destroy her?
Opening her eyes again, Bonnie was back in the bridal suite, minutes before the ceremony.
This time, she didn't run.
She walked straight down the aisle, looked the terrifying Arlington Townsend in the eye, and firmly said her vows.
"I do."
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Chapter 2
Bonnie locked the door to the bridal suite, the heavy bolt sliding home with a satisfying thud. It wouldn't hold Itzel and Erwin for long, but she only needed a few minutes.
She reached under the voluminous skirt of her wedding dress, her fingers finding the clasps for the heavy crinoline cage. She undid them with practiced ease and kicked the cumbersome hoop skirt away. Then, she slipped off her satin heels and put on a pair of simple white flats she had insisted on having as a backup.
She couldn't let Arlington Townsend walk into that ceremony blind. A public humiliation would enrage him, and that rage would fall squarely on her and the Galvan family. Her only leverage, her only chance at gaining his trust, was to warn him.
She opened the door a crack, peering into the hallway. Guests in their Sunday best milled about, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. She waited for a gap, then slipped out, hugging the wall and moving down a less-trafficked side corridor.
Signs pointed the way to the groom's room, tucked away on the opposite side of the chapel. Two men in dark, impeccably tailored suits stood guard outside the door. They were built like refrigerators, their faces impassive.
One of them stepped forward as she approached, blocking her path with a polite but firm arm. "Ma'am, Mr. Townsend is not to be disturbed."
Bonnie didn't flinch. She met his gaze directly, her voice steady and clear. "I'm the bride. It's an emergency."
The guard hesitated, his professional calm wavering for a fraction of a second. He spoke quietly into a microphone on his wrist. "Sir, Ms. Galvan is here. She says it's an emergency." A moment later, a crisp, cold voice crackled through his earpiece.
"Let her in."
The guard stepped aside.
Bonnie pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dim, the air cool. And there he was. Arlington Townsend.
He was sitting in a high-tech wheelchair, his body silhouetted against the light from a stained-glass window. His long, elegant fingers rested on the armrest, perfectly still. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, were fixed on her, deep and unreadable. A chilling aura of absolute stillness surrounded him, a stark contrast to the chaos of her own rebirth.
A man with sharp features and an even sharper suit, Riley Page, stood beside him, his expression a mixture of suspicion and disapproval.
Bonnie walked towards Arlington, her flats making no sound on the thick Persian rug. She stopped a few feet in front of him, deliberately keeping her gaze level, refusing to show the pity or disgust he must be so used to seeing.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was like gravel and ice. "Are you here to say goodbye?"
So, he'd already heard the rumors. Or perhaps he was just that perceptive.
"No," Bonnie said, her tone direct. "I'm not running."
A flicker of something-surprise, maybe-crossed his features. His fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm on the armrest. He was assessing her.
She took a step closer, lowering her voice. "I'm here to warn you."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"In a few minutes," she continued, "when the priest asks if I take you as my husband, Erwin Woods is going to burst in and try to stop the wedding."
Arlington's gaze swept over her face, searching for any sign of a lie, any hint of a cruel joke. He found none.
"You know this," he stated, not a question. "So why aren't you with him? Why are you telling me?"
"Because Erwin Woods is a worthless piece of trash," Bonnie said, the words sharp and honest. "And I need the power of the Townsend name to save my family."
The blunt, transactional nature of her confession seemed to disarm him. He despised hypocrisy, and she had just laid her cards on the table.
A ghost of a smile, cold and sharp, touched his lips. "And what do you want from me?"
"Your cooperation," she said. "When he makes his scene, I need you to back me up. Don't let him succeed. And protect my father's dignity."
Just then, the deep, resonant chime of the church bells began to toll. The ceremony was about to begin.
Arlington held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes seeming to strip away every layer of her pretense, seeing the desperate, determined core beneath. He seemed to be re-evaluating everything he'd ever heard about the timid, flighty Bonnie Galvan.
He turned his wheelchair toward the door. As he passed her, his voice was a low command.
"Don't disappoint me."
Bonnie watched him go, the tension in her shoulders easing for the first time that day. She had gambled, and the first hand was a win.
Riley Page moved to push the wheelchair, but Arlington waved him off, maneuvering it himself. Bonnie fell into step behind them as they moved toward the main hall, a silent, unlikely pair of allies heading into battle.
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7.5
I am the biological daughter of the wealthy Fitzpatrick family, but I spent my childhood eating out of dumpsters.
When I was finally brought back to the estate at age seven, I thought I would experience my parents' love.
Instead, my biological parents looked at my dirty clothes with raw disgust. They only cared about Hallie, the fake daughter who lived like a princess.
The moment I walked in, Hallie hurled a heavy ceramic cup at my head, slicing my hand open.
"Get out of my house!"
My father didn't even look at the blood. He raised his hand to strike me, accusing me of bringing trailer park rules into his home.
In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged for their forgiveness. I endured their abuse, hoping they would eventually love me.
But they let the maids humiliate me, let Hallie steal my identity, and eventually threw me back onto the streets to die. Even my playboy Uncle Byron, the only person who ever showed me mercy, was driven to suicide by them.
I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much, or why a vicious liar deserved everything while I was treated like a jinx.
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the exact day I first returned to the estate.
As my father raised his hand to hit me, I didn't cower.
Instead, I looked at the family patriarch and pointed directly at my notorious, alcoholic uncle.
"I want him to be my new guardian."
9.1
Isabella thought she had the perfect life as the wealthy Conrad family heiress, complete with a loving childhood sweetheart.
Until she woke up drugged in a hotel bed, blinded by paparazzi flashes, as her fiancé pointed a shaking finger at her, screaming that she had drugged and seduced him.
"She threatened to ruin Kaylie if I didn't sleep with her!" he yelled to the cameras.
Kaylie, the newly discovered biological daughter, stood in the doorway weeping perfectly.
Within hours, Isabella's adoptive father publicly severed all ties, froze her assets, and kicked her out into a violent thunderstorm.
Fleeing the city, her car's brakes suddenly failed.
As Isabella lay dying in the crushed metal of her Porsche, Kaylie strolled up with a pristine umbrella and a genuine smile.
"The mechanic was quite expensive, but cutting the brake lines was worth every penny," Kaylie laughed.
Isabella coughed up blood, her heart turning to ice. Her twenty years of family, love, and loyalty had been nothing but a cruel joke, destroyed by a calculated frame-up.
She died suffocating on absolute betrayal and unadulterated hatred.
Then, she gasped for air.
She wasn't dead. She was sitting in the driver's seat of her car, staring at her flawless reflection in the rearview mirror.
It was exactly four years ago—the day the real heiress first arrived.
A chilling smirk curled the corner of Isabella's mouth. This time, she was going to rip their lives apart from the inside out.
9.2
Celestia woke up heavily sedated, her wrists bound tightly to the legs of a grand piano in a cold, opulent room.
Before she could even process the panic, a towering billionaire named Sterling Sinclair IV stepped in, looking at her like a possessed piece of art.
The head maid then handed Celestia a thick surrogacy contract with her perfectly forged signature.
"You are here to bear an heir for Mr. Sinclair," the maid stated flatly.
Celestia screamed that they had the wrong person, but her desperate cries bounced uselessly off the soundproof walls.
Stripped of her clothes, phone, and identity, she was trapped on an isolated island surrounded by high-voltage electric fences and armed guards.
When she furiously fought back, Sterling physically overpowered her, punishing her resistance with brutal, terrifying dominance until she lost consciousness on the marble floor.
She didn't understand who had kidnapped her from her normal life.
Why was her biometric data perfectly faked in a classified dossier?
Who had framed her as a willing, ten-million-dollar premium product for a ruthless billionaire?
Driven by pure survival, Celestia began aggressively consuming raw garlic and bathing in harsh white vinegar to destroy her fertility and repel his touch.
And when Sterling finally reviewed her bizarre, self-sabotaging dietary logs, the terrifying truth hit his calculating mind like a physical blow.
The broken, innocent woman he had been brutally tormenting all week was never his hired surrogate.
8.9
Seraphina, a broke single mother of triplets, snuck into a billionaire's charity gala just for the free food, desperate to fund her daughter's urgent heart surgery.
But her genius five-year-old son secretly hacked the gala's raffle system, thrusting them directly under the spotlight. The untouchable billionaire host, Donovan Vance, froze when he saw the star-shaped birthmark on her wrist—the exact same mark from a dark hotel room five years ago.
Cornered, Seraphina was forced into a five-million-dollar marriage contract to appease Donovan's dying father and secure his corporate empire. She swallowed her pride, took the money to save her daughter, and moved into the penthouse. But Donovan's obsessive childhood friend, Gwendolyn, immediately targeted her. She humiliated Seraphina for her poverty and violently grabbed her in the foyer.
"I dare you to get a DNA test. When the world finds out they're not his, he'll throw you into the street himself!"
Gwendolyn's vicious threat made Seraphina's blood run cold. She was suffocating in sheer panic. She didn't even know if Donovan was actually the father. If a test proved he wasn't, she would be destroyed, and her daughter would lose her only lifeline.
But to her absolute horror, Donovan's father overheard the threat and ordered a legally binding paternity test that very day to permanently silence all doubts. With the medical team arriving and nowhere left to run, the terrifying secret Seraphina had buried for five years was about to be dragged into the light.
9.6
I was the dedicated, "wolfless" Luna of the Blackwood Pack, bound to Alpha Damien for seven years.
Just three days before our marriage contract expired, Damien burst into my clinic carrying his mistress, Allena.
He used his Alpha Command to clear the room, humiliating me in front of my own medical staff.
The ultrasound revealed Allena was suffering from internal bleeding due to their uncontrolled mating frenzy.
Instead of feeling shame for his weakness, Damien shoved me brutally against a metal counter to protect her.
He threw a $100,000 check at me to buy my silence, treating my broken soul like a cheap transaction.
Later, when I refused to kneel and apologize to his mistress, he pushed me again, shattering my arm against a glass table.
As my blood soaked the pristine white rug, he stood over me, demanding my absolute submission.
He thought I was just a pathetic, weak Omega who would endure his cruelty forever because I had nothing else.
He didn't know that five years ago, after he threatened to kill any pup I bore him, I secretly built a massive offshore empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet over my bleeding arm and wiped my blood right over his heart.
"I am done with you."
Then I liquidated his thirty-five-million-dollar penthouse assets and walked out into the night, ready to show him who the real monster was.
9.6
I endured years of humiliation and forced sedatives from my billionaire husband's family, hoping my quiet obedience would eventually win his heart. When I finally discovered I was pregnant, I thought the child would be our anchor.
But when I rushed to his office to tell him, I found his untouchable first love sitting in his chair, rubbing her own swollen belly.
She smiled and whispered that she was the one who orchestrated the car crash that left my adoptive mother in a vegetative state.
When I lunged at her in a blind rage, my husband shielded her and shoved me backward with brutal force. My spine slammed against a marble table, and blood pooled at my feet.
"Kingston, please! I'm pregnant too!" I sobbed, clutching my stomach.
He just looked down at me with profound disgust.
"I had a vasectomy five years ago," he hissed, condemning me as a cheating whore before ordering his men to lock me up and forcibly abort the child.
I had never touched another man. I couldn't understand how the man I loved could order the murder of his own flesh and blood without a second thought.
To save myself, I stole his prized Aston Martin and drove it off a bridge into the freezing Atlantic, letting his pathetic, obedient wife drown in the wreckage.
Five years later, I returned to New York as a powerful European executive, ready to burn his empire to the ground.