Bound By Fate: The CEO's Reborn Bride

A bucket of ice-cold water crashed over Chloe Beaumont, ripping her out of the darkness.

The shock of it made her gasp, but the tape over her mouth turned the sound into a strangled, muffled sob. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Her arms were bound tightly to the back of a metal chair, the ropes cutting deep into her wrists. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from her ribs.

"Awake already?" A raspy voice emerged from the shadows.

A man in a silver mask stepped forward, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at a screen.

"Take a good look. The man you love, marrying your own dear sister. Tsk. What a touching wedding."

On the screen, her fiancé Braden was walking down the aisle with her half-sister, June Powell.

A lavish, extravagant wedding. Guests filled the pews—half the elite families, wealthy tycoons, and socialites from high society had turned out. Braden looked into the camera, his voice dripping with tenderness: "June, I want to thank you. Without your support, I wouldn't have achieved any of this. Having your love is the greatest luck of my life…"

Bastards.

Chloe's eyes burned crimson. Tears spilled down her cheeks in a relentless stream.

Only now did she finally understand. Her half-sister had been sleeping with Braden all along. They had conspired together—framed her, slandered her, bled her dry. Tricked her into marrying into a wealthy family, into the hands of a cold, paranoid devil confined to a wheelchair. They'd bled that family dry too, milking it for every penny they could steal. They had embezzled the inheritance her mother had left her. Her sister had stolen her identity, built a career as a designer on Chloe's blood, climbing higher and higher.

The masked man placed the expensive sole of his shoe on top of Chloe's head. His lips curved upward. "Enjoying the view?"

Through a tangle of disheveled hair, Chloe tried desperately to see his face.

"Oh? Still thinking about revenge?" The man laughed coldly. "You think anyone still gives a damn about you? You cheated on your husband—a man worth billions—with God knows who. His family stopped claiming you as their daughter-in-law a long time ago. Your own father has cut all ties with you. He's announced that you are never to set foot in his house again. And your grandfather—the only one who ever loved you? You gave him a heart attack. He collapsed and died on the street. Now? If you die, no one will even come to claim your body."

What? Grandpa, he…

Chloe's bloodshot eyes went wide with horror. A muffled wail escaped her throat as she thrashed wildly, lunging forward and sinking her teeth into the man's hand. She bit down hard.

His eyes turned savage. He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the coffee table.

Crack. A deafening thud sent bottles and glasses flying off the table. Liquor soaked into her matted hair. Chloe's face twisted in agony, pale as a ghost, as she crumpled limply to the floor.

The man looked down at her with pure contempt.

Her stepmother. Her half-sister. Her ex-boyfriend. Her best friend. Every single one of them had been feeding on her blood. And her? She had naively believed that after fourteen years of being cast out, she finally had a family. She thought she had been accepted. That she had finally found a new life. She had stupidly believed that once she finished their dirty work and left her so-called husband behind, Braden would come and marry her.

A man stepped into a beam of light falling from the ceiling. He wore a simple black mask that covered the upper half of his face, but his mouth was visible—twisted into a detached, clinical smirk. He methodically wiped a bloodstained blade with a dirty rag. His name was Silas.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "The best part is just beginning."

He set a tablet down on a rusted bucket in front of her. The screen lit up, showing a live feed of a grand wedding. A church filled with white roses, smiling faces, the air thick with happiness. It might as well have been a different world from this warehouse—the damp, metallic stench of rust and blood.

Chloe's heart stopped.

She recognized the groom standing at the altar. The tailored tuxedo. The perfect hair. The nervous, joyful smile stretched across his handsome face. That was Braden Santana. Her fiancé.

Then the bride turned. Her face glowed beneath the cathedral's stained glass windows.

June Powell. Her half-sister. The girl she had loved and trusted like her own flesh and blood.

A scream built in Chloe's throat—pure, raw, the sound of utter betrayal. It hit the inside of the tape and died, reduced to a pitiful, muffled whimper that shook her entire body.

"Ah, yes. That look," Silas said, almost conversationally. "The moment the world collapses. That's my favorite part."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They've been planning this for a long time, you know. While you were busy building your company, they were busy building their life over your grave."

On the screen, Braden and June were exchanging vows. They gazed into each other's eyes with a tenderness that made Chloe's stomach clench into a frozen knot.

"He never loved you," Silas continued, each word a tiny, sharp needle piercing her heart. "He loved your money. Your connections. June was always the prize. You? You were just the stepping stone."

Memories came crashing back. Braden asking to review her company's financial statements under the pretext of a "merger analysis." June "accidentally" spilling coffee all over Chloe's laptop the night before a major presentation. The coincidences. The lies. The small betrayals she had dismissed as paranoia. Now they snapped together, piece by piece, into a chilling mosaic of deceit.

"They framed you for insider trading," Silas said calmly. "A few forged emails. An anonymous tip to the SEC. By the time the news breaks tomorrow, your reputation will be destroyed. Your company's stock will plummet. Guess who's going to buy it all up for pennies on the dollar?"

On the tablet, Braden slid a ring onto June's finger. A simple platinum band, set with a flawless diamond. Chloe's breath caught in her throat. She had helped him pick out that ring. He had told her it was an anniversary gift for his mother.

June's bouquet was made of Juliet roses—rare, delicate flowers that Chloe had spent years cultivating in her small private greenhouse. A deeply personal, devastatingly cruel theft.

Silas's phone rang. He answered and put it on speaker.

"Is it done?" Braden's cold, impatient voice filled the cramped space. "Is that bitch dead yet?"

Chloe's blood turned to ice. That was the voice of the man who had kissed her just two days ago and told her, with deep sincerity, that he couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life with her.

"Not yet," Silas replied, a hint of mockery lacing his tone. "The client wants her to suffer a little first. We're at that part now."

A pause. Then Braden's voice softened, taking on a sickeningly sweet, false warmth. "Chloe, my love. If you can hear this, just know it's for the best. You were never good enough for me. Never good enough for our world."

And then, the final blow.

"Oh, and by the way," Braden said, pride swelling in his voice, "June is pregnant. It's a boy. A real heir."

Everything—Chloe's last shred of hope, all the love she had ever felt, everything she had believed she had—turned to dust. Despair pressed down on her, heavy as a living thing, crushing her lungs until she couldn't breathe. But quickly, something else replaced it. Something hot. Something sharp. Something burning.

Hatred.

Pure, all-consuming hatred. It drowned out everything else.

"Take care of her," Braden ordered, his voice turning cold again. "Make it clean."

"Of course," Silas said. "A pleasure doing business with you." He hung up and turned to Chloe. "Your Braden is a petty man. But he's not the only client I have tonight. There's someone else. Someone much more powerful. And they want you gone too."

Chloe stopped struggling. Her body went still, but her eyes—tear-streaked, bloodshot—remained locked on the screen. On the smiling faces. She carved their images into her soul. She burned every detail into her memory.

Silas stepped closer. The gleam of his blade reflected in her eyes.

He leaned in until his lips were near her ear, his warm breath brushing against her skin.

"Your worthless life," he whispered, "is their last wedding gift."

The knife sank into her heart.

The pain was sharp and immediate—then came the cold. A spreading numbness that seeped into her bones. Her vision blurred. The last thing she saw was the screen of the tablet. The last thing she heard was the booming voice of the officiant, echoing through the speakers.

"I now present to you—Mr. and Mrs. Braden Santana!"

The name that should have been hers.

As the darkness swallowed her whole, Chloe Beaumont made a silent, solemn vow.

If there is a next life. If there was any justice left in this universe. She would come back. She would drag every last one of them into a sea of blood and despair. And she would make them pay.