Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO Chapter 25: You Look Horrible

VANESSA BELMONT

The thought sent a wave of nausea through . I curled into myself, gripping the phone so hard the edges bit into my palm.

Here I was, in my precious second life, falling in love with my husband all over again.

Idiot.

Would I be dood to die on my wedding day again? Or worse, live as his nominal wife while he kept Fiona as his not-so-secret lover?

Oh, hell nah. I would burn the contract in front of his face and stomp on the ashes.

The photo was seared into my mind. Fiona’s smirk. Nathan’s closed eyes. The intimacy of the mont—real or staged—that I could never unsee.

Sleep ca in jagged fragnts, restless and unsatisfying. Every ti I closed my eyes, the image flickered behind my lids, disturbing my dreams, stabbing my heart.

My phone glowed unnaturally bright in the darkness, casting long shadows that slithered up the walls. I tried to scream but my mouth stitched itself shut, lips fusing together with invisible thread. My legs moved without my consent, carrying toward the door.

When my hand touched the knob, it burned. The door swung open to reveal a body on a tal table. The body was covered by a white sheet. All except the face. The face ... was mine. Nathan stood over my unconscious body holding divorce papers dripping in blood.

"Sign them," he said. Behind him, monitors flatlined in perfect sync with my real heart’s pounding. Fiona materialized from the shadows, her engagent ring pulsating on her finger. "He was never yours," she crooned. "Not in your first life and not in your second life."

I woke suddenly, heart pounding, sweat beading my forehead. My phone lay beside , its screen dark.

No ssages.

No Nathan.

What the hell was going on?

Morning light cut through the white curtains like a blade, dragging back to consciousness.

My head throbbed, my mouth felt like I’d eaten cotton balls. My phone lay where I’d left it—still dark, still silent.

No response from Nathan.

I sat up, my chest hollow. Maybe that was for the best. No excuses. No lies. Just cold, hard proof of what I’d always feared: I was nothing more than a business arrangent to him.

***|***|***|***|***

VANESSA BELMONT

I signed my discharge papers, my grip on the pen tight enough to crack it. The nurse gave a sympathetic smile. She probably thought I was in pain.

She wasn’t wrong.

I still hadn’t heard from Nathan. Not a call. Not a text. Not even a damn email.

Contract marriage. Corporate cooperation. Hard-hearted husband.

The hospital’s automatic doors slid open, and the morning air hit , crisp and cold. Carver leaned against his black sedan, arms crossed, his usual smirk painted on his mouth.

"Hello, Neenie. You look horrible."

"Oh, good. Because that’s how I feel."

Carver opened the front passenger door and I slid inside the car. He rounded the front of the vehicle and got into the driver’s side.

As he drove out of the parking lot, he said, "I figured I would have to fight Nathan to send you ho."

"Hah!"

His brows lifted, but he didn’t ask. Good. I wasn’t in the mood to explain the gut-punch of that photo—Nathan, shirt open, Fiona’s hand splayed on his muscled chest like she owned him.

I stared out the window at the black and grey buildings of Ash City.

"The marriage contract has penalties, right?" asked Carver.

"Yes. Big ones. It’s why I want Nathan to break it, and not . My parents already want to kill for even entertaining the idea of ending my relationship with him."

"I’ll pay the penalties."

"You might be able to pay the billion dollar break-up fee, but I would still have to give up my shares in both my family’s and the Jangs’ companies."

"What about the lawyer Grace ntioned?"

"I’ll contact him today."

Headlights flashed in the rear view mirror. A black SUV roared up behind us, swerving dangerously close.

"What the—?" Carver’s grip tightened on the wheel.

The SUV ramd us.

Tires screeched as we fishtailed. I braced against the dashboard, adrenaline rushing through . My heart felt like it would beat out of my chest.

"Hold on!" Carver jerked the wheel, but it was too late.

The SUV sideswiped us, forcing us off the road. The sedan lurched, skidding onto the shoulder before slamming into a guardrail. tal crunched. My head snapped forward, then back.

Dazed, I lay against the airbag, trying to catch my breath.

Carver groaned beside , blood trickling from his temple. "Vanessa ... run."

The car door wrenched open.

A gloved hand grabbed my arm, yanking out. I kicked, punched, struggled with every ounce of my being, but then my attacker clamped a wet cloth over my mouth. A sweet tallic scent suffocated .

My vision blurred.

The last thing I saw was Carver scrabbling from the car.

Then nothing.

***|***|***|***|***

Consciousness returned in pieces.

A throbbing headache. The scent of damp concrete. The bite of zip-ties digging into my wrists.

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light of a single, flickering bulb overhead. The room was small, windowless—so kind of storage basent. My stomach roiled with nausea as I struggled against my restraints, the plastic cutting deeper with every attempt to wiggle out of the bonds.

Footsteps echoed outside the door.

I stilled, holding my breath.

The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside—tall, broad-shouldered, his face obscured by a black ski mask. He studied for a long mont before speaking, his voice low and rough.

"Awake already. Good."

"Who are you?" My voice ca out hoarse. "Where’s Carver? What did you do to my friend?"

"So friend. He bailed on you." He stepped closer. "You’re going to make a call."

I scoffed. "To who? The kidnapper hotline?"

A backhanded strike snapped my head to the side, pain exploding across my cheek. I tasted blood.

"To Nathaniel Jang," he said. "You tell him to give up the Eastern Sun land deal. Or he’ll have to pick up the pieces of your corpse from the side of the highway."