Reborn And Remade: Escaping The Cold CEO

A gasp tore from Avery's throat, sharp and ragged in the silent room.

The ceiling was unfamiliar. White, impossibly high, with ornate molding that seemed to mock her. A wave of nausea rolled through her, the kind that came from a hangover, but she hadn't had a drink last night. She was sure of it.

Her head throbbed, a dull, heavy pulse behind her eyes.

She tried to sit up, but the silk sheet pooled around her waist, heavy and slick against her bare skin. She was naked. A cold dread, sharp as ice, slid down her spine. Her gaze dropped, catching sight of faint, purplish marks blooming on her collarbone.

Her breath hitched. The air in her lungs turned to stone.

Slowly, as if moving through water, she turned her head.

The other side of the king-sized bed was not empty.

A man lay there, turned away from her, his profile sharp and unforgiving even in sleep. Black hair, a strong jaw, the curve of a shoulder muscled and powerful.

Dominic Baxter.

The name was a brand on her soul, a curse she had carried to her grave. The man who had destroyed her family, her life, everything she had ever loved.

Avery's vision tunneled. The luxurious suite, the silk sheets, his presence—it all blurred into a single, terrifying thought. This was hell. This had to be hell.

Her limbs trembled uncontrollably as she scrambled out of the bed, her legs threatening to buckle. She snatched a plush white robe from a nearby chair, pulling it tight around herself as if it could ward off the contamination of his presence.

Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering expanse of Port Sterling. The Grand Hyatt. The presidential suite. A place she'd only ever read about in magazines.

Then she saw it. On a sleek, minimalist desk, a digital clock glowed with the time and date.

The date.

It was five years too early. Five years before the day she had finally bled out on a cold, concrete floor, a prisoner in one of his forgotten properties.

The realization struck her not like a gentle dawn, but like a lightning bolt, splitting her mind in two. This wasn't hell. It was a second chance. A nightmare reborn into reality.

The memories of her first life crashed over her in a brutal, unrelenting torrent. Her father, clutching his chest as Harding Industries filed for bankruptcy, his face a mask of grey despair. Her brother, Caleb, his car a mangled wreck of steel and glass after a suspicious "accident." And herself, locked away, forgotten, wasting away under Dominic's cold, indifferent watch.

A sob, dry and painful, clawed its way up her throat. Hate, pure and undiluted, coiled in her stomach like a living thing. Her fingernails dug into her palms, the sharp pain a welcome anchor in the storm of her past.

She stared at the man on the bed. He hadn't moved. His breathing was deep and even, lost in a drunken stupor.

And then she remembered.

In her past life, on this exact day, the news had been full of him. Dominic Baxter, missing after a yacht party. It was Seraphina Vance, the city's darling, who had miraculously found him, pulled him from the sea, and become his savior. His angel.

But he wasn't in the sea. He was here. With her.

A horrifying, sickening truth bloomed in her mind.

Flashes of memory, fragmented and chaotic, assaulted her. The shock of icy water. The desperate struggle, her arms burning as she towed a dead weight through the waves. The grit of sand on her cheek before everything went black.

She had saved him.

She had pulled the devil from the water, and that snake, Seraphina, had slithered in and taken the credit, setting in motion the entire tragedy.

The humiliation was a fresh wave of nausea. The rage was a fire.

She walked back to the bed, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. He was completely vulnerable, his handsome face slack in sleep. The face of a monster.

She thought of Caleb's laughter, silenced forever. She thought of her father's pride, shattered into a million pieces. She thought of the years she had lost, each one a slow, agonizing death.

Her hand rose, trembling with the force of her hatred.

All that pain, all that loss, converged into the palm of her hand. She swung with every ounce of strength she possessed.

The sound of the slap was shockingly loud, a clean, sharp crack that echoed in the stillness of the suite.

Crack.

Dominic's brow furrowed in his sleep. A low groan escaped his lips, but his eyes remained closed.

A sharp, stinging pain radiated up Avery's arm, her hand numb from the impact. But beneath the pain, a dark, satisfying pleasure bloomed in her chest.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. But it was a start.

Her mind cleared, the fog of emotion replaced by a chilling clarity. She had to get out. Now. Before he woke up. Before anything else could go wrong.

She scanned the room, spotting her crumpled evening gown tossed over a sofa. Her movements were swift, efficient. As she pulled the dress on, her fingers brushed against her bare wrist.

Her bracelet. The rose quartz bracelet her mother had given her for her eighteenth birthday. It was gone.

A frantic search of the immediate area revealed nothing. The carpet, the sofa cushions, the bedside table-empty. Time was running out. She couldn't risk him waking up. She had to leave it.

Avery took a deep, steadying breath, wiping the hot tears from her face with the back of her hand. When she looked up again, her reflection in the dark window showed a stranger. The tear tracks were there, but her eyes were no longer soft. They were chips of ice.

She walked to the door and pulled it open, pausing on the threshold for one last look at the man in the bed.

This time, it would be different.

This time, she would be the one holding the knife. She would protect her family. She would take back everything he had stolen from them.

And she would make him pay.