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Rebirth: The CEO's Hidden Heiress
Chapter 1 – Death and Rebirth
The fragrance of roses lingered in the air, but to Serena Vale, it was the stench of betrayal.
She stood in the middle of the grand ballroom, her wedding gown glowing like a beacon under the chandeliers. White silk flowed around her feet, delicate pearls stitched into the fabric, every detail screaming perfection. To the hundreds of guests, it was a fairy-tale wedding. To her, it was the prelude to a nightmare.
A sharp pain pierced her abdomen, sudden and vicious. She staggered, clutching her stomach, her fingers coming away red.
Blood.
The warmth of it seeped between her fingers and down her gown, staining the once-pristine fabric. Gasps echoed through the hall as Serena collapsed to her knees. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, vision blurring, while cruel laughter slithered into her ears.
From the corner of her dimming sight, a woman in crimson heels stepped forward, her smile mocking and triumphant.
"Serena, oh Serena…" Vivienne Storm bent slightly, her red lips curved in disdain. "Did you really believe Damian would ever love you? You were nothing but a placeholder. A legal wife on paper, a tool for convenience. Did you actually think you could compete with me?"
Her voice sliced through Serena's chest more sharply than the blade had.
Serena's eyes trembled as they shifted to the tall figure just beyond Vivienne. Damian Cross, her husband. The man she had admired from afar, loved with her whole being, and finally married despite his coldness.
He stood there in his dark suit, shoulders broad, expression unreadable. His gaze—those stormy gray eyes that had haunted her heart for years—wasn't on her. Not once.
It was on Vivienne.
The mistress. The woman who held his true affection.
Serena's lips parted, words dying in her throat as blood bubbled up. The sight of him, unflinching and distant, was the final cruelty.
Her heart cracked.
Not because she was dying, but because even in her last moments, he could not spare her a glance.
Her mind reeled back through every wound she had endured—every betrayal she had naively brushed aside.
Her father, Gregory Vale, had stripped her of her inheritance with a forged signature. "Don't argue, Serena. You're a woman. What use do you have for a company? Leave the business to me."
Her stepmother, Isabella, had smiled sweetly while poisoning her against her own mother's legacy. "You're too soft-hearted, darling. Let us handle things for you. We only want what's best."
Her stepsister, Clara, had taken her dresses, her friends, her place in society. "Oh, Serena, don't pout. You don't need these things, you're the wife of Damian Cross now. Isn't that enough?"
And Damian himself—her husband, her once unreachable dream—had given his loyalty to Vivienne Storm. He had let another woman laugh as Serena bled out on her wedding night.
Her lungs burned as she choked, the laughter around her fading into a cruel echo.
She had been too trusting. Too foolish. Too blind.
If there was such a thing as another chance… if fate could be rewound…
Serena's fingers curled tightly around the blood-soaked fabric of her dress as her last breath trembled past her lips.
"If I had another chance… I'd never be this weak again…"
Darkness swallowed her whole.
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Warmth.
Sunlight pressed against her face, golden and soft.
Serena gasped, bolting upright, clutching her chest. No pain. No knife. No blood. Only the erratic pounding of her heart as her eyes darted around the room.
This… this was not the wedding hall.
It was her bedroom. Her old bedroom, bathed in morning light, the silk curtains swaying gently in the breeze.
Her body trembled as she pushed off the sheets, her gaze snapping to the vanity mirror across the room.
A young woman stared back at her.
Her face was smooth, untouched by grief. Her eyes still carried the brightness of youth, not the lifeless dullness of betrayal. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves, not the disheveled mess she remembered from that final night.
And on the nightstand—her heart nearly stopped—a calendar sat, its pages neat and crisp.
Her eyes locked on the date.
Three years before her death.
The breath caught in her throat.
"No… impossible…" she whispered. Her hands trembled as she touched her reflection in disbelief. "I… I've returned?"
Memories of her wedding night slammed into her mind again—the knife, Vivienne's sneer, Damian's indifference.
Her lips curved into a cold, dangerous smile, so unlike the naive girl she had once been.
"Rebirth…" Her voice was a whisper of steel. "Then this time… none of you will succeed. I will take back everything you stole from me."
A sudden knock interrupted her vow.
Her entire body tensed.
"Serena," came a deep, familiar voice, steady as stone. "Get ready. We're leaving for the Cross estate."
Her breath stilled. That voice…
Damian Cross.
Her fiancé.
In her past life, she had clung to him desperately, begging for his affection, mistaking coldness for mystery, cruelty for indifference. It had destroyed her.
But now?
Her lips curved into a faint smirk, her eyes cold.
If Damian Cross wanted indifference, she would give him ice. If her family wanted a pawn, she would play their game—until she held the board. And if Vivienne Storm dared to cross her path again… Serena Vale would crush her before she ever had the chance to laugh.
The door creaked open, revealing him—Damian Cross, tall and commanding, his tailored suit emphasizing the sharp cut of his frame. His expression was as unreadable as ever, his gray eyes glinting with detached authority.
"We're late," he said curtly.
Serena met his gaze, steady and unflinching. In her past life, his coldness had pierced her like knives. Now, it was nothing but ice she would walk across barefoot without flinching.
"Then wait," she replied evenly, sweeping past him with the poise of a queen.
For the first time, Damian's gaze flickered, the faintest trace of surprise breaking his calm mask.
Behind her, the corners of his lips twitched, though he quickly concealed it.
Serena's heels clicked against the marble as she walked ahead, her resolve blazing silently in her chest.
She had been given another chance.
This time, she would not simply survive.
This time, she would reign.
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