Reborn From Flames: The Billionaire's Bride

The heavy iron door clanged against its rusted hinges. Alia hammered her bare fists against the scorching metal, thick black smoke forcing its way down her throat, her lungs burning with searing pain. Each breath felt like inhaling shattered glass. Her vision blurred, tears streaking down her soot-covered cheeks, but the heat baking her skin was nothing compared to the cold terror gripping her chest.

"Are you dead yet, Alia?"

Cherri's voice cut through the crackling of the flames. It was muffled by the heavy door, but the malice in her stepsister's tone was unmistakable.

Alia coughed violently, her knees hitting the concrete floor. She pressed her bleeding fingers against the gap beneath the door, greedily sucking in the thin stream of oxygen.

"Gaylen never loved you," Cherri laughed, her voice sharp and piercing. "He spent two years playing the devoted boyfriend just to get the security codes to the Vanderbilt family vault. You were nothing but a convenient, stupid key."

A sharp pain exploded behind Alia's ribs. Her stomach churned violently, nausea rising in her throat. Gaylen. The man she had turned against her entire family for.

"Oh, before you burn to ash," Cherri added, her voice dripping with malicious delight. "You should know that Collin cut the brake line on your mother's car. Your dear stepfather orchestrated that accident perfectly."

All the air left Alia's lungs. She bit down so hard on her lower lip that she tasted copper. Betrayal ripped through her nervous system, leaving her limbs numb and trembling.

Suddenly, the door to the room was violently thrown open from outside—it was Gaylen!

The gentleness he once had was nowhere to be seen. Blade raised, blade plunged, he stabbed Alia over and over, his voice venomous and cold:

"Why are you still wasting words on this worthless bitch? Anse is almost here. Let them be a pair of miserable lovebirds in the underworld!"

A tearing, heart-rending agony surged through Alia's entire body. Not because she loved Gaylen, but because only in dying did she realize just how profoundly foolish she had been!

The kindly father, the gentle stepmother, the innocent stepsister, the first love who swore eternal devotion—all of it, every last bit, had been a lie!

It was her own weakness and blindness, her own failure to see people for who they truly were, that had led her dearest friends and family to their deaths and caused her to fail Lu Jinyao.

The hatred—oh, the hatred was so overwhelming!

Above her, a massive wooden beam groaned under the intense heat. It snapped with a deafening crack and crashed down just a few feet away from her. A wave of scorching heat washed over her face, the skin on her arms beginning to blister and peel. There was no way out.

Suddenly, a thunderous impact shook the iron door. The rusted hinges screeched in protest. Another violent crash, and the door burst open, a figure charging through the wall of fire.

Alia squinted through the acrid smoke. Ansel.

His tailored suit was already on fire, the fabric blackening in an instant. He didn't hesitate. He threw himself onto the concrete floor, his tall frame fully covering her small, trembling body. Flames licked at his broad back, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat, but his arms only tightened around her like steel traps.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck. Alia felt wet droplets fall onto her collarbone, burning her skin more than any fire could. He was crying. The ruthless king of Wall Street was crying.

He lifted his head, his face streaked with ash and blood. He pressed his lips to the bleeding wound on her forehead.

"Little one," Ansel whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm here with you."

The warehouse roof collapsed. A massive fireball descended, swallowing the world in a blinding, agonizing white light. Alia closed her eyes, her heart shattering into a million irreparable pieces.

A violent sensation of falling jolted her awake.

Alia gasped, her eyes snapping open. Cold, air-conditioned air rushed into her lungs, freezing the sweat on her skin. She clutched her throat, expecting to feel burns, but her skin was smooth and unharmed. A strange, electric tingling sensation vibrated at her fingertips. Her senses were unnaturally sharp, as if a raw nerve had been exposed to the world. For a brief second, a vision of shattering, crackling flames and twisted metal flashed before her eyes, accompanied by the phantom smell of blood, before vanishing into the cold air.

She stared wildly at the ceiling. An exquisite crystal chandelier and heavy velvet curtains blocking the windows—none of these belonged in a warehouse. This was the penthouse suite of the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan.

She lowered her gaze to her hands. Ten perfectly manicured nails. No blisters. No blood. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird.

The mattress shifted. A thick, muscular arm was draped across her waist, pinning her to the sheets. The sheer weight of it sent a surge of panic racing up her spine.

Alia turned her head slowly. The faint light filtering through the curtains illuminated the sharp jawline and closed eyes of the man sleeping beside her.

Ansel Vanderbilt.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her chest heaving. She looked past his broad shoulder to the digital clock on the nightstand. The blinking red numbers displayed a date exactly five years ago.

The day of the scandal. The day Cherri and Gaylen had drugged her and set her up to be discovered in bed with Ansel, ruining her reputation and forcing her into a marriage she had spent five years fighting.

A surge of immense joy collided violently with the deep, murderous hatred in her chest. She gripped the silk sheets, her knuckles turning completely white. She was back.

She needed to move. Carefully, she slipped her fingers under his heavy arm, trying to lift it silently.

The slight friction of her skin against his was a mistake. The man beside her possessed the instincts of a predator.

Ansel's eyes snapped open. His pitch-black irises were clouded with a lingering, violent haze. Before Alia could pull her hand back, his shot out, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist like iron shackles.

He yanked her down, his tall frame shifting above her in an instant, blocking the faint light. His chest heaved violently, radiating a searing heat that seeped through the thin sheets.

He gazed down at her trembling body, a flicker of barely suppressed madness in his eyes. He lowered his head, his lips crashing onto hers with punishing force. He bit her lower lip, forcing her mouth open, and a wave of raw, aggressive male pheromones completely overwhelmed her senses.

Alia raised her hands, pressing them flat against his rock-hard chest, trying to push him away. Beneath her palms, his heart was pounding in a wild, erratic rhythm.

The image of him weeping in the firelight flashed before her eyes. The resistance in her muscles dissolved. In the painful hell of her previous life, the only person who had shed tears for her, the only one willing to embrace death beside her, was this man she had misunderstood and feared for half a lifetime. A complex wave of profound guilt, overwhelming shock, and bitter, aching sorrow surged into her chest, completely washing away her instinct to fight back. Her hands slid upward, gripping his broad shoulders.

Ansel froze. His entire body went rigid, disbelief flashing in his pitch-black eyes. He pulled back a microscopic fraction, searching her face for the disgust he expected. Finding none, he let out a groan and captured her lips again. This time, the kiss was achingly slow, a desperate, lingering exploration.

Alia closed her eyes. A single tear slid down her cheek, soaking into the pillow. She parted her lips, actively responding to the pressure of his lips.

The temperature in the room spiked. The friction of their bodies generated dangerous static electricity.

Then, faint sounds drifted through the thick oak door. The muffled, shuffling drag of multiple footsteps on the carpeted hallway.

Alia's survival instincts kicked in. She jerked her head to the side, breaking the kiss. She gasped for air, her eyes turning cold and sharp the moment they fixed on the ceiling.

"They're here," Alia whispered, her voice devoid of any warmth.