Reborn From Ashes: Loving My Ruthless Husband

The blistering heat peeled the skin from her bones.

Scarlett Sinclair choked on thick, black smoke, her lungs screaming for oxygen that no longer existed in the abandoned warehouse.

Flames roared like starving beasts, devouring the wooden crates around her.

Through the deafening crackle of the fire, Celeste's mocking laughter echoed in her fading consciousness.

"You really thought he loved you, Scarlett? You were just the key to the Sinclair vault."

The ultimate betrayal tasted like ash and copper on her tongue.

Then, a figure tore through the wall of fire.

It was Damian Blackwood.

His immaculate, bespoke charcoal suit was catching fire, the expensive fabric melting into his skin.

He didn't care. He was screaming her name, the sound tearing his throat apart.

Damian violently shoved a burning steel pillar out of the way, his bare hands sizzling against the scorching metal.

He reached her just as the ceiling groaned above them.

He threw his massive body over hers, shielding her completely.

A heavy, flaming beam crashed down directly onto his back.

Damian's body jerked violently.

Hot, thick blood dripped from his mouth, splashing onto Scarlett's soot-covered cheek.

She realized it then. The insane, terrifying, deeply hidden love this man harbored for her.

She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing against his ruined, bloodied face.

"I will always protect you," Damian whispered, his voice a broken rasp against her ear.

His weight collapsed fully against her.

Her vision went completely black as the rest of the warehouse caved in.

A sudden, violent rush of freezing air hit her lungs.

Scarlett gasped, her back arching off the mattress as if she had been struck by lightning.

Her eyes snapped open.

She wasn't staring at a burning ceiling. She was staring at the massive, familiar crystal chandelier of the Blackwood Manor penthouse master suite.

Her hands flew to her face, her fingers frantically tracing her cheeks, her jaw, her neck.

There were no burns. No peeling skin. Only a layer of freezing sweat.

Her chest heaved, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard it bruised.

She turned her head.

The digital clock on the mahogany nightstand glowed in the dark.

The date displayed was exactly three years in the past.

Scarlett scrambled out of the massive king-sized bed, her legs tangling in the heavy silk sheets.

Her knees hit the cold marble floor with a sharp crack, but she didn't feel the pain.

She dragged herself up, rushing to the floor-to-ceiling vanity mirror.

She stared at her reflection.

Her face was younger. Unscarred. Her eyes were wide with a terror that belonged to a ghost.

A profound, physical wave of realization slammed into her stomach.

She had been miraculously reborn.

She gripped the sharp edge of the marble vanity, her knuckles turning bone-white.

She breathed heavily, the cold air burning her throat.

Tears of absolute, crushing regret welled up in her eyes, spilling over her lashes and dripping onto the marble.

The memories of her past life's foolishness crashed into her.

She remembered how she fought him, how she drugged him, how she leaked his company's secrets just to escape.

And she remembered Damian's tragic, bloody sacrifice in the flames.

She aggressively wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

Her expression shifted. The sorrow evaporated, replaced by a cold, absolute determination. The tears were not for her own death, but for his. And that debt, she realized with chilling clarity, could only be repaid in blood and ruin for their enemies.

She vowed silently, her nails digging into her palms until they bled.

She would protect Damian this time.

And she would utterly, mercilessly destroy Celeste and Chase.

A soft buzz vibrated against the wood of the velvet chaise lounge behind her.

Scarlett turned her head slowly.

She walked over, her bare feet silent on the thick Persian rug.

She picked up the phone, her fingers steadying.

A text message lit up the bright screen.

It was from Chase Vanderbilt Jr.

"I'm waiting by the rose maze. Hurry. The car is ready."

Scarlett's grip on the phone tightened until the glass screen protector cracked under her thumb.

She remembered this exact night.

This was the night she was supposed to elope with him.

The night that was actually a trap set by Celeste to ruin her reputation permanently.

A cold, calculating smirk replaced her previous tears.

Scarlett pressed the screen and deleted the message permanently.

She walked over to the massive walk-in closet.

She completely bypassed the dark, practical clothes she had prepared for the escape.

Instead, her fingers brushed against a delicate, white silk nightgown.

It was thin, clinging, and made her look incredibly fragile and innocent.

She stripped off her pajamas and slipped into the silk nightgown.

She deliberately ran her fingers through her hair, messing it up to look as though she had just rolled out of a restless sleep.

She was preparing to turn the trap entirely against Chase.

She turned toward the heavy oak door of the bedroom.