Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 36: The Third Life was the Charm

Chapter 36: The Third Life was the Charm

VANESSA BELMONT

I woke up in my bedroom at the Belmont Estate.

The scent of jasmine from the garden drifted through the open window, soft and familiar. Henry, my orange tabby, was sprawled across my pillow, his fuzzy head resting against mine. His loud purr vibrated against my cheek.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

I died. Again.

Again?

Really?

I sat up so fast Henry let out an indignant mrrp before flopping onto the mattress with a disgruntled flick of his tail. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. Yep. Six months until my wedding to Nathan Jang.

"I’m re-reborn," I whispered.

Another do-over? But I hadn’t seen the pink sparkles this time—the strange, glittering haze that had ushered me into my second life. Did that matter? No. Because the important part was this: Fiona Grand had killed me again.

That bitch.

How was this my life? Well, my third life, to be exact.

First time around, I’d been naive, blindly in love with Nathan, and completely unprepared for Fiona’s venom. She’d sabotaged me at every turn, culminating in a tragic "accident" the night before our wedding.

Second life? I’d been smarter. I’d exposed her lies, turned Nathan against her, and even gotten her to reveal her true colors. A chill slithered down my spine. I’d thought I’d won.

I’d been wrong.

Fiona had still found a way to kill me.

Well, the third life was the charm, right?

I grabbed a notepad and pen from my nightstand, flipping to a fresh page. If I was going to survive, I needed a plan.

1. Don’t marry Nathan Jang. (Fiona will literally kill you.)

2. Seriously. Don’t marry Nathan.

3. Don’t repeat mistakes from life number one or life number two.

4. Slap Fiona at every opportunity.

5. Eat as many carbs as I want. (Say yes to donuts.)

6. If I do end up marrying Nathan Jang again, make sure Fiona is in prison, stranded on an island, or thrown off the nearest cliff before the nuptials. (But try really, really hard not to marry him.)

I tapped the pen against the paper, considering. The biggest hurdle? The marriage contract. My parents and the Jangs had arranged this union years ago—a merger of fortunes, influence, and old-money legacies. Backing out wouldn’t be easy.

But I had six months.

And this time? This time, I wasn’t playing by anyone else’s rules.

The Belmont Estate was quiet at this hour. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of the grand hallway, casting jewel-toned patterns across the marble floors. I padded downstairs, my bare feet silent against the cool stone.

"Vanessa?"

I turned to see my mother standing in the doorway of the morning room. Her sharp blue eyes assessed me, taking in my rumpled pajamas and wild hair. "You’re up early."

"I feel like I just rose from the dead." Heh. Reborn humor.

"You look like a zombie." She sipped from her delicate porcelain teacup. "Well, now that you’re awake, we should discuss the wedding."

My stomach twisted. Yeah, yeah, let’s talk about my impending doom—er, wedding—to Nathan.

In my first life, I’d been giddy. In my second, cautiously optimistic. Now? All I felt was dread.

"Actually," I said, stepping closer, "I was thinking ... maybe you could take over the planning."

Mother’s perfectly sculpted brows arched. "Really? Yesterday, you made it very clear that you wanted to handle all the details."

I bit my lip, scrambling for an explanation. "I was wrong, Mom. You have experience planning auctions and galas. I know you’ll make my wedding perfect."

Not that I planned to be there. Not as long as Fiona was around and had access to weaponry.

She studied me for a long moment. "Vanessa, you’ve finally realized how important the cooperation is between us and the Jangs. You’re sure you want me to take over?"

"I’m sure. Very sure. The surest."

"Don’t regret it." With that, she turned and disappeared into the morning room.

I returned to my bedroom and started pacing. Henry sat on the bed, eyes half-closed, tail flicking. If I couldn’t stop the engagement, then I needed to neutralize Fiona before she could strike.

But how?

In my second life, I’d tried exposing Fiona. But she managed to escape unscathed.

I needed to get undeniable proof that she was rotten to the core. She needed to be ruined so thoroughly, no one could save her.

I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. Henry stretched out beside me, one paw batting lazily at my hair.

"Henry," I muttered, "if you were a murderous, scheming socialite, where would you keep the evidence of your crimes?"

He blinked at me, before rolling onto his back and presenting his belly. Right. Priorities. I gave him a quick scratch. I didn’t linger because I knew he liked to lay this trap for me. I would rub his stomach, he would yowl and claw my hand.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up Fiona’s Instagram. Ugh. There she was, posing in a designer gown at a charity gala, her smile as sharp as a knife. The caption: "So blessed to support such a worthy cause. Giving back is everything. 💕"

Excuse me while I vomit.

Scrolling further, I paused on a photo of her and Nathan from last month. His arm was around her waist, his smile easy, hers a little too calculated. The comments were a parade of "You two look so perfect together!" and "When are you getting married?"

Nathan, you ... you asshat.

In my second life, I thought exposing Fiona’s petty sabotage would be enough. But I was wrong. Hadn’t I learned in my first life that Fiona was good at covering her tracks? She’d spun every accusation into my paranoia, my instability.

No. This time, I needed to nuke that bitch.

I opened my notes app and started typing.

Fiona’s Weaknesses:

* Obsessed with her image.

* Desperate for Nathan’s approval.

* Dying to be accepted into society again. (But who could forgive the Grands? The one thing you never do is take away rich people’s money.)

* Skeletons in her closet. (Check out what she did for eight years abroad.)

I tapped my chin. The key was finding those skeletons before she could bury me in a shallow grave. Again.

My phone buzzed. A text from Nathan.

Nathan: Morning. Coffee later?

I stared at the message, my stomach doing a weird flip. Coffee? When did we become a meet-for-coffee kind of couple? Did Nathan even like coffee?

In this timeline, we were still engaged. He had no idea his precious Fiona was a homicidal maniac.

Vanessa: Sure. Where?

Nathan: Sunny’s Cafe. 10 a.m.

I tossed my phone aside and dragged myself to the closet. If I was going to survive this life, I needed to be smarter. More ruthless.

And maybe pack some pepper spray.

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