Reborn Heiress: My Cheating Husband's Downfall

Cordelia gasped for air.

Her lungs burned. The phantom sensation of cold steel slicing through her abdomen vanished, leaving only the frantic hammering of her heart against her ribs.

She stared blindly at the vaulted ceiling of the master bedroom. Cold sweat slicked her skin, pasting her silk nightgown to her spine.

The sound of a flatlining heart monitor echoed in her ears. It clashed violently with the quiet, rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock out in the hallway.

Her hands shook violently as she reached for the nightstand. She grabbed her iPhone. Her thumb slipped twice on the glass screen before she finally managed to unlock it.

The screen illuminated her pale face. She stared at the date. Her heart gave a sudden, violent lurch as she stared at the glowing numbers. It was today-the exact day her past life's nightmare had begun and Julian brought Ava Monroe into their home.

Cordelia dropped the phone. It hit the thick carpet with a soft thud.

The realization of her rebirth hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. She doubled over, gripping the edge of the mattress until her knuckles turned white. She wasn't dead. She wasn't bleeding out on a sterile delivery bed while her husband signed a Do Not Resuscitate order.

She forced herself out of bed. Her legs felt like lead. She stumbled slightly on the plush Persian rug but caught herself against the wall.

She walked into the master bathroom. She turned the silver faucet, letting the cold water run. She splashed it over her face, shivering as the icy droplets washed away the lingering dread of death.

She gripped the edges of the marble sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She traced her pale cheeks with trembling fingers. Her skin was warm. Her eyes were clear. She was young, healthy, and whole.

The crunch of tires on gravel broke the silence.

Cordelia stiffened. She walked out of the bathroom, crossed the massive bedroom, and pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains. She looked down at the courtyard below.

A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the front steps. Robert, the chauffeur, hurried around the vehicle to open the rear door.

Julian Astor IV stepped out. His tailored Tom Ford suit fit him flawlessly. His dark hair was perfectly styled. His expression, usually so rigid and cold, was unusually gentle.

Julian turned back to the car. He extended his hand inside.

He carefully helped a frail-looking Ava Monroe step out onto the pavement.

Ava clutched Julian's sleeve. She looked around the massive estate with wide, intimidated eyes. She played the perfect traumatized earthquake victim.

Cordelia watched Julian wrap his arm protectively around Ava's waist.

A wave of physical nausea hit Cordelia's stomach. Acid burned the back of her throat.

In her past life, she had run down the stairs crying. She had screamed. She had begged him to explain.

This time, Cordelia simply let the curtain fall shut. Her face hardened into a mask of pure ice.

She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the tremor that originated from the very depths of her soul. The grief and terror belonged to a past life; in this life, she lived only for vengeance. She walked to her walk-in closet. She bypassed the bright, soft colors Julian used to like. She pulled out a sharp, structured navy blue blazer and matching slacks.

She sat at her vanity. She applied a bold, blood-red lipstick to hide her pale lips. She was arming herself for war.

Cordelia walked out of the master suite. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the hardwood floor. The sound echoed down the grand staircase.

She descended the stairs just as Julian and Ava entered the grand foyer. The heavy oak doors closed behind them with a solid thud.

Julian looked up. He expected Cordelia to run to him with a welcoming, naive smile. He stopped short when he saw her cold, detached posture.

Ava shrank behind Julian's broad shoulders.

"I'm so sorry for intruding," Ava whispered, her voice trembling. She kept her eyes down, waiting for Cordelia to explode.

Cordelia paused on the bottom step. She looked down at them with absolute indifference. She didn't even acknowledge Ava's existence.

Julian cleared his throat. He adjusted his cuffs, adopting his authoritative CEO tone.

"Cordelia. Ava will be staying in the guest wing," Julian stated. "She has severe PTSD. She needs a quiet place to recover."

Cordelia did not argue. She did not cry.

She simply turned her head toward the head housekeeper, who was standing nervously by the archway.

"Maria," Cordelia said calmly. "Prepare the east wing suite."

Maria hesitated. She looked at Julian, then back at Cordelia, shocked by the lack of resistance. She nodded quickly and rushed off to follow the order.

Julian frowned. His brow furrowed in deep confusion. He stepped forward, trying to gauge her bizarre compliance.

Cordelia immediately stepped back. She put a physical distance between them.

"I have a migraine," Cordelia said. Her voice was flat and hollow. "I need to rest."

She turned her back on them. She walked straight toward the library.

She left Julian standing in the middle of the grand foyer, completely unsettled by the sudden, chilling shift in his wife.