The Jilted Heiress And Her Karmic Revenge

I woke up in a sweltering attic, my body covered in overlapping whip scars. I was Alice Morrow, a top-tier occultist, but now I was trapped in the body of a girl who served as a human punching bag for the wealthy Wallace family. Before I could even catch my breath, my adoptive sister Britney Wallace kicked the door open. She pointed a silver revolver right at my forehead. She had been siphoning my luck through a parasitic karmic tether, using me as a sink for all her misfortune. "Go to hell, you useless freak," she screamed, pulling the trigger. But she didn't know the absolute rule of the tether: any malicious attack reflects back to the sender. The massive recoil blasted backward, snapping her wrist in half. I walked out of that hellhole and was found by my biological family, the incredibly powerful Morrows. But Britney wasn't done. She sent them deepfake photos to frame me for cursing them, and even planted a deadly amulet to kill my biological grandfather. My own uncle threw the photos at me, his eyes full of disgust. "She's a rabid dog raised by the Wallaces! She's been cursing her own blood!" I didn't argue. I simply rolled up my sleeves to reveal the mangled flesh, burn marks, and protruding bones the Wallaces had left me with. As my real family broke down in tears of agonizing guilt, I smiled and gripped my ancient copper coin. It was time to show the Wallaces what real karma looked like.

Chapters

Chapter 3

The truck rumbled down the interstate. Alice kept her eyes locked on the writhing black mass clinging to the back of Byron's neck. The curse was feeding on his vitality, thick and aggressive. Her eyes grew cold.

Byron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of her stare. He cleared his throat, desperate to fill the silence.

"So," he started, his voice gruff. "What subjects do you like at school?"

"History. Philosophy," Alice lied smoothly, leaning her body slightly forward. She closed the physical distance between them.

Byron's fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. His knuckles turned white.

"Those bastards probably didn't let you study properly," he said, his voice thick with suppressed anger. "Don't worry. Even if I have to sell scrap metal, I'll put you through college."

A genuine pang of warmth hit Alice's chest. She reached out her right hand.

"You have some dust here," she said softly, brushing her fingers against the shoulder of his flannel shirt.

The moment her skin made contact with the fabric, Alice silently chanted an ancient exorcism syllable in her mind.

A surge of invisible, razor-sharp arcane energy shot from her fingertips. It pierced directly into the core of the black curse.

The dark energy let out a silent, agonizing shriek. It dissolved instantly, melting away like snow hit by boiling water.

Byron suddenly gasped. He rolled his shoulders. The chronic, crushing migraine that had plagued him for months vanished in a split second. The heavy weight on his spine was just gone.

He cracked his neck, looking confused. He figured slamming that guard onto the hood must have popped a kink out of his back.

Alice pulled her hand back, leaning into the worn seat. She took another small bite of the dry sandwich.

Byron glanced at her in the rearview mirror. His eyes were soft. "Like I said, we might be poor, but I swear to God, you'll never suffer again."

Alice smiled and nodded. In her head, she was already calculating how many high-paying exorcism jobs she needed to take to buy her uncle a better truck.

The Ford exited the highway, merging onto a tree-lined boulevard on the outskirts of Boston. The traffic began to thicken.

Suddenly, a metallic scent flooded Alice's nose.

It wasn't physical blood. It was the scent of a fate line snapping.

She dropped the sandwich. Her hand dove into her pocket, pulling out three ancient copper coins covered in green patina.

Byron caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He thought she was playing with a toy. "I'll buy you the newest game console when we get home," he chuckled.

Alice didn't answer. She cupped the coins in her hands and shook them violently three times.

She tossed them onto the rough denim of her jeans.

The coins settled. The hexagram was absolute. Absolute death. A bloodbath.

Alice's head snapped up. Her eyes locked onto the massive intersection a hundred meters ahead.

The traffic light was green. Byron's foot shifted, pressing down on the gas pedal to speed through.

"Brake!" Alice screamed, her voice cracking like a whip. "Now!"

Byron jumped in his seat. The sheer authority in her voice shocked him. He turned his head, his mouth opening to ask why.

Alice didn't wait. She lunged across the console, her hands clamping onto the steering wheel. She violently jerked it to the right, aiming the truck toward the shoulder.

Byron panicked. Fearing the truck would flip and hurt her, he slammed his heavy work boot down on the brake pedal with all his strength.

The tires shrieked against the asphalt. The massive truck violently lurched forward, stopping less than three feet from the intersection's white line.

Horns blared behind them. Drivers screamed curses out their windows.

Byron's heart hammered against his ribs. He turned to Alice, his face red with anger, ready to scold her for grabbing the wheel.

He opened his mouth.

A massive, heavily loaded dump truck blew through the red light from the left. It was doing speeds well over the legal limit, its engine roaring with an unnatural, mechanical fury.

It didn't even brake.

The truck plowed directly into the intersection, violently T-boning three sedans that were crossing perfectly legally.

The sound of tearing metal was deafening. One of the sedans was pushed sideways, its gas tank rupturing as it scraped against the asphalt, sending a shower of sparks into the air that ignited a terrifying fireball.

Right in the exact spot where Byron's truck would have been.

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