Reborn As The Tycoon's Hated Ward

A sharp, splitting pain fractured the back of her skull.

Helena gasped, her lungs pulling in air so cold it burned her throat. She opened her eyes. The space around her was massive, lined with dark mahogany shelves and row upon row of expensive, custom-tailored men's suits. The scent of cedar and faint, masculine cologne filled her nose.

She looked down. Her stomach dropped.

She was wearing a black silk slip. The fabric was practically sheer, clinging to her skin. Goosebumps erupted along her arms and thighs.

Memories that did not belong to her crashed into her brain like physical blows. Helena Hancock. New York socialite. A ruined reputation. A desperate, pathetic plan to seduce her legal guardian, the head of the Hancock Group, to secure her trust fund.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She was inside the romance novel she had read before falling asleep. She was the villain. And she had just executed the exact plot that got the original Helena thrown out on the street.

"Helena, your time is up. Get out."

The male voice coming from the other side of the heavy wooden door was flat. It held no anger, only a freezing, absolute authority.

Her breath hitched. That was Hayward. The Wall Street wolf. The man who could destroy her life with a single phone call.

She spun around, her bare feet slapping quietly against the hardwood floor. She needed clothes. She could not face him like this. She tore through the racks, her hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the hangers. Everything was massive. Men's dress shirts. Tuxedos.

She grabbed a heavy charcoal cashmere overcoat. She pulled it on, wrapping the thick material tightly around her small frame. The hem almost touched her ankles, swallowing her completely.

The brass doorknob turned. The click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Helena scrambled backward, pressing her spine against the back panel of a suit rack. She held her breath until her chest ached.

The door pushed open.

Hayward stepped into the closet. He wore a white terrycloth bathrobe. Water dripped from the ends of his dark hair, landing on the collar of the robe. His jaw was locked tight. His eyes swept the room, sharp and predatory.

He did not search. He simply turned his head and locked his gaze directly on the gap between the suits where she was hiding.

He stood perfectly still. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Helena pressed her fingers into the soft cashmere seam of the coat, rubbing the fabric to ground herself. The original Helena would have cried right now. She would have thrown herself at his feet and begged.

She could not do that. She needed an excuse. A reason for being in his closet that did not involve seduction.

"Playing hide-and-seek?" Hayward asked. His voice was a low, mocking drawl. "How original."

Her brain snapped into focus. Hide-and-seek.

She stepped out from behind the rack. She let her shoulders drop. She forced her eyes to widen, relaxing her facial muscles until she looked completely blank.

She ignored Hayward. She turned to the empty cabinet next to her. She opened the door. She stared at the empty shelves. She closed it. She opened it again.

A muscle ticked in Hayward's jaw. He watched her, his eyes narrowing.

Helena leaned close to the wood paneling. "Eleanor, are you in there?" she whispered. "It's my turn to hide now."

She turned her head slowly and looked at Hayward. She blinked, keeping her expression entirely vacant.

"Sorry," she said, her voice soft and airy. "I'm playing hide-and-seek with my other self. She's very good at hiding."

Hayward went completely rigid. His eyes dug into her face, searching for the lie. He was looking for the smirk, the calculation, the usual manipulation.

Helena gave him nothing. She turned back to a different cabinet. She opened it and gasped softly.

"Found you," she whispered to the empty space.

The disgust in Hayward's eyes shifted. It morphed into a dark, twisted curiosity. He stared at her as if she were a puzzle with missing pieces. He thought she was either losing her mind or playing a game so sick he could not figure out the rules.

Helena did not wait for him to process it. She pulled the lapels of the oversized coat tighter around her neck. She walked forward, keeping her steps slow and uneven.

She brushed past his arm. The heat radiating from his body made her skin prickle.

"I should go to sleep now," she murmured, staring straight ahead at the hallway. "Eleanor says she is tired."

She walked out of the closet. She kept her back straight, though she had to fist the heavy material at her sides to keep from tripping, feeling the heavy weight of his stare burning into her spine.

Hayward did not move to stop her. He stood in the center of his closet, watching the oversized coat swallow her small frame as she disappeared into the hall.