Reborn And Crowned: She's Now Her Own Queen

"You're asking to die, Chelsey Moore!"

On the kingsize bed, the man's face was a mask of raw savagery. His hand clamped around her throat, knuckles white with fury.

No air.

Chelsey had just woken up when the grip on her windpipe tightened, her mind a terrifying, silent blank.

She felt the air in her lungs vanish, the edges of her vision starting to go dark. Pure instinct took over. She clawed at his hand, trying to pry his fingers away.

But he only tightened his hold, his intention brutally clear. He wasn't letting go. Her vision blurred, the room dissolving into shadows as a loud ringing filled her ears.

The door burst open.

The butler charged in and froze for a split second, the color draining from his face. He lunged forward, grabbing the man's arm. "Mr. Marshall, you have to let go! You'll kill your wife!"

"She deserves to die!" Vincent Marshall's eyes were cold with murderous rage, each word a venomous hiss through his clenched teeth.

Finding he couldn't pull Vincent away, the butler dropped to his knees in desperation. "Mr. Marshall, if Mrs. Marshall dies, your late grandmother will never rest in peace!"

Grandmother?

Something flickered in Vincent's eyes. His grip loosened a fraction.

Seizing the moment, Chelsey tore his hand away and scrambled backward across the bed until her back slammed against the headboard, her face ashen.

Seeing the shift in Vincent, the butler pressed on urgently. "Your divorce is being finalized today. After this, you'll never have to see her again! Her mother saved your grandmother's life. Please, just spare her this once. You must calm down!"

Hearing this, Vincent went still. He got off the bed, pulled on a silk robe, and when he finally spoke, his voice was as cold and final as a death sentence.

"Kellan Fowler will deliver the divorce papers. Sign them and get the hell out. I don't want to see a single trace of you by the time I get back."

With that, Vincent turned and strode from the room without a backward glance, the butler trailing silently behind him.

The door slammed shut with a force that seemed to rattle her skull. She clutched her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her whole body trembled, a persistent ringing still echoed in her ears, and her face was completely drained of color.

She looked down, and her eyes widened in horror. She was naked, her body covered in dark, angry red marks.

The sheer terror of being choked had been so overwhelming that she hadn't even registered the dull ache spreading through her limbs. But now that the shock was fading, Chelsey felt like she'd been taken apart and put back together wrong. Every single muscle screamed in protest.

...

In the walkin closet, Chelsey couldn't find a single piece of women's clothing. Her gaze swept across rows of crisp white shirts and severe black suits—a cold, oppressive space without a hint of softness.

She grabbed a shirt and a pair of trousers at random. The fabric swallowed her whole, the pant legs pooling on the floor around her feet.

Her body still ached, her temples throbbed with every frantic heartbeat. She shuffled out of the closet, barely able to move, and collapsed onto a sofa, closing her eyes. And then the memories came, flooding her mind in a disorienting wave—memories that were not her own.

A long moment later, Chelsey opened her eyes. She had sifted through the memories of the original Chelsey and reached two conclusions.

Hannah Lowell was dead. She had been reborn as Chelsey.

And this new body's life was a complete wreck. Her mother had died of illness, her father was a spineless failure, and she herself had been a useless, lovesick rich girl who was pathetically, desperately in love with Vincent.

Someone rapped on the bedroom door.

A cold, disembodied voice followed. "Mrs. Marshall, are you in there?"

Chelsey rolled up the enormous pant legs and opened the door. A tall, sternfaced man stood before her, a file in his hand.

Kellan. She quickly scanned the borrowed memories, putting a name to the face.

His expression was unreadable. He thrust a pen and the file toward her. "Mrs. Marshall, Mr. Marshall sent me to oversee your departure. This is the divorce agreement."

Chelsey glanced at the papers, and a few facts clicked into place. Today was both their wedding anniversary and the day their twoyear marriage contract expired.

It had only been an hour. That was all the time it had taken him to have the divorce papers drawn up. The message was crystal clear: Vincent loathed her.

Without a second thought, she took the papers, flipped to the final page, and signed "Chelsey" with a decisive stroke. The entire process took less than thirty seconds.

"Done." She capped the pen and handed everything back to him.

A flicker of surprise crossed Kellan's otherwise stoic face. Vincent had expressly instructed him that if she put up a fight, he was authorized to use any means necessary to ensure her compliance.

"Mrs. Marshall, you don't wish to review the terms?" Kellan asked, not taking the papers back yet.

Chelsey arched an eyebrow. "No need."

"You're not curious about the settlement?" he pressed, his brow furrowing slightly in the first crack of his professional facade.

Chelsey hitched up her oversized trousers, a slow, knowing smile touching her lips. "What's to be curious about? I don't need to read it to know the options. It's either door number one: I leave crushed under a mountain of manufactured debt. Or door number two: I leave with nothing. For his pack of battlehardened lawyers, neither outcome is a challenge."

Kellan's expression became unreadable again. He took the signed papers. "Mr. Marshall is simply having you leave with nothing, Mrs. Marshall."

"Then give him my thanks." She meant it. The original Chelsey might have been pathetically in love with Vincent, but she was not.

A violent bastard who'd tried to strangle her the second she woke up? She didn't want him. She'd been given a second chance at life, and she wasn't about to waste it on a man like that.

Kellan's gaze inadvertently dropped to the vivid, brutal marks marring the delicate skin of her neck.

"Do you need me to call a doctor, Mrs. Marshall?"

A brief flash of confusion crossed her face before she remembered. She raised a hand to her throat, and a phantom sense of suffocation washed over her.

She shook her head. "No need. It won't kill me."

"In that case, please pack your belongings as quickly as possible," he said, his tone returning to its cold, professional default.

Chelsey gave a curt nod. Without a moment's hesitation, she hitched up her pants and padded out of the room on bare feet to find her own bedroom. Vincent's sheer disgust for her meant their rooms were on opposite ends of the sprawling mansion.

It was a long, painful walk before she finally reached her door.

The room had originally been a storage closet, converted into her bedroom after their hasty courthouse wedding. Pushing the door open, Chelsey navigated the cramped, narrow path between the clutter, the dragging hem of her trousers threatening to trip her with every step.

The space was so small that with a bed and a modest dresser crammed inside, there was barely enough room to turn around.

Her possessions were just as pathetic. Aside from a mess of cheap cosmetics on the dresser, she didn't own a single decent piece of clothing. She changed into her own clothes, crammed a few items into a suitcase, and lugged it out of the miserable little room.

"All packed. I'll be going now. Goodbye forever, Kellan," she said, her tone impossibly breezy as she dragged her suitcase through the main hall.

"And where do you think you're going, Chelsey?" The voice dripped with condescension. Chelsey stopped. Stepping out of the elevator, blocking her path, was a woman in a sharp designer suit and impossibly high heels, looking at her like she was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Chelsey stopped short, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the woman approaching.

Valerie Collins, her halfsister—and every bit the picture of manipulative innocence Chelsey remembered.

Valerie's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as she positioned herself directly in Chelsey's path. "Chelsey. Moving out, are you?"

Chelsey rolled her eyes, her own smile completely hollow. "Still asking questions you already know the answer to? Some things never change, Valerie."

Valerie's face tightened, a spark of rage flaring in her eyes. But she recovered fast, slipping back into her fragile, pitiful act.

"I was only worried about you. How can you think so poorly of me?"

Worried?

More like she was here to enjoy the show.

Kellan stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Mrs. Marshall, it's time to go. Mr. Marshall will be back soon."

Chelsey's lips twitched. She pointed at Valerie while addressing Kellan. "I'd love to, but an annoying person is blocking the way."

Kellan said nothing.

Valerie's eyes welled up instantly, tears trembling on her lashes, her voice dripping with feigned hurt. "Chelsey, I knew Vincent was divorcing you today. I was worried you'd be upset, so I dropped everything to come see you. How... how can you say such things? I'm your sister."

"We're not family. And we are not sisters." Chelsey's denial was sharp and absolute. She looked back at Kellan. "You see? How am I supposed to leave?"

A muscle in Kellan's jaw twitched. His cold composure cracked just slightly as he turned to Valerie. "Ms. Collins, please step aside."

Valerie bit her lip, fury simmering just beneath the surface as her hair fell forward, partially hiding her face.

"Kellan," Chelsey said, her voice laced with deliberate smugness, "some creatures just don't understand human speech."

Valerie's hands clenched. She glared at Chelsey. Chelsey tilted her head slightly, a slow, taunting smile spreading across her face as she watched Valerie struggle to maintain control.

Valerie's breath caught at the sight of that unapologetic smile.

What was going on? Chelsey had always been timid, easy to manipulate, pathetically grateful for any scrap of attention Valerie threw her way. Where was this sharptongued defiance coming from? The change was jarring.

"Ms. Collins." Kellan's tone was noticeably sharper now.

Valerie pressed her lips together, suppressing her questions. "Mr. Fowler," she said, her voice deliberately soft, "it's not that I'm stopping her. It's... Mr. Marshall's orders."

Kellan and Chelsey both froze.

"Vincent knew I was coming. He specifically asked me to watch Chelsey pack and make sure she leaves with nothing." Valerie paused, letting the words settle. "The divorce agreement states she forfeits everything. She's not to take a single item belonging to the Marshall family." Valerie's gaze slid to the suitcase beside Chelsey.

"So I'll need you to open it so I can check."

Chelsey frowned. "It's just some clothes. I didn't take anything from the Marshalls."

Valerie stepped forward and grabbed the suitcase. "That's not for you to decide, is it? And if you've really taken nothing, what's there to hide?"

Without waiting for a reply, Valerie tipped the suitcase onto its side and unzipped it.

Inside, a few pieces of clothing lay in a messy pile. That was it.

Valerie's jaw tightened. She hadn't expected Chelsey to actually leave with only a handful of clothes. Still unwilling to let it go, she rifled through the clothes again and again, as if determined to find some evidence of theft.

It was only a few items, yet Valerie spent several long minutes rummaging through them.

"Done inspecting?" Chelsey looked down at her, one brow raised.

"Chelsey," Valerie said, keeping her voice syrupy sweet, "I'm only following Vincent's orders. Better to be thorough."

"Keep searching, then. I don't want them anymore." Chelsey shrugged. The ache still lingered in her body from earlier, and she had no interest in dragging this out with Valerie. More than anything, she didn't want to be here when Vincent returned—not after what happened this morning. The memory of his hand around her throat was still too fresh.

She stepped around Valerie and headed for the elevator. Kellan followed close behind.

Just then, the elevator chimed.

The doors slid open. Before Chelsey could step inside, an icy presence washed over her. It was so sharp and sudden that she shivered, her feet freezing to the floor.

First, a pair of polished leather shoes. Then, as her gaze traveled upward, Vincent's icy features cut into view.

"Mr. Marshall." Kellan recovered first, lowering his head in deference.

Vincent's deep eyes blazed with cold fury, his deep voice thick with restrained rage. "Chelsey. It seems you've forgotten what I told you this morning."

The moment she saw him, the memory surged back—his hand around her throat, the suffocating pressure, the blackness creeping in at the edges of her vision. Her heart jolted with raw, instinctive terror.

She forced herself to hold his gaze. "I remember."

"You remember? Then explain why you're still here!" He closed the distance between them in two long strides, his voice rising dangerously.

Chelsey stumbled backward until her back hit the wall. There was nowhere left to go. She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment, then forced herself to meet his glare.

"You should ask Valerie." Her words came out in a desperate rush. "I was trying to leave. She appeared out of nowhere and blocked me. I—"

"Chelsey!" Valerie rushed forward, cutting her off, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"How can you lie like that?"

"I'm not lying!" Chelsey shot back instinctively, mentally cursing Valerie to hell. If it weren't for that manipulative brat, she'd have been long gone. She would never have been standing here when Vincent came home.

Shit.

Valerie looked on the verge of tears. "Vincent, I swear I wasn't stopping her. I only checked her things because you asked me to—just so she wouldn't walk off with anything that belonged to you." She paused, her voice trembling with manufactured hurt. "Chelsey's always been dishonest, but I didn't think she'd lie even now." Valerie's words were like gasoline on a flame.

Vincent's expression turned murderous. "Are you trying to die?"

Suddenly, his hand closed around her throat. Her head slammed back against the wall with a sickening thud. Chelsey didn't have time to think. Her hands flew up, clawing at his grip. Pain exploded at the back of her skull as the world swam around her.

"Vin Vincent, " she choked out, her voice strangled and hoarse.

Vincent's voice dropped, icy and merciless. "Who gave you permission to test my patience?" God, she couldn't breathe.

No matter how hard she pulled, his hand wouldn't budge.

Panic seized Kellan. He rushed forward and dropped to one knee. "Mr. Marshall, if anything happens to Mrs. Marshall, the board will use this to attack you. It will block your plans to consolidate power."

"Get out!" Vincent snarled. His fingers, still locked around Chelsey's throat, had gone white at the knuckles.

Kellan stared at the floor, his breath catching in his throat. He didn't dare make a sound.

She didn't want to die.

The thought gave Chelsey a final surge of strength, and she clawed at Vincent's hand. The pressure on her throat eased just enough for her to drag in a ragged breath. She glared at Vincent, her eyes bloodshot.

"VVincent..." she rasped. "If I... die today, I die as your wife. And when you die, you'll be buried right beside me in the family plot. My name will be tied to yours for eternity. I'll be a curse on your legacy until you're nothing but dust."

Her voice was a raw scrape, her face a blotchy red. Her grip on his hand faltered, weakening as the world began to blur and her consciousness frayed.

"You think you belong in the Marshall family cemetery?" Vincent's voice was ice. "That you're worthy of a tombstone with our name on it? When you're dead, I'll have your body burned and your ashes dumped in a landfill. That's where trash belongs—rotting with the rest of the garbage."

And then, Chelsey laughed.

Vincent's eyes narrowed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "What the hell is so funny?"

"Burn my body, Vincent. It won't change a thing. Legally, on every family record, I am your wife. You hate me, don't you? But you will never be rid of me. Even in death, I'll be a stain on your precious name."

Vincent's eyes blazed. His grip tightened, and a strangled gasp escaped Chelsey's lips. A single tear traced a path from the corner of her eye.

Just as her vision swam, the image of that couple from her past life flashing in her mind, Vincent abruptly let go, hurling her to the floor.

Chelsey slammed onto the floor. The impact sent a jolt of agony through her, so intense it felt as if every bone in her body had shattered. The slightest movement made cold sweat break out on her skin.

She coughed violently, her pale lips parted as she desperately gasped for air.

Kellan shot Chelsey an impassive glance before lowering his head. "Mr. Marshall, I failed to escort Mrs. Marshall out. I will accept my punishment."

Valerie, who had gone pale from the murderous intent rolling off Vincent, looked on in fright. She gave a nervous, shallow bow. "Vincent, I... I'm sorry. I should have inspected her belongings faster. She used the delay to lie and stall." Chelsey's chest throbbed, and she coughed again, the effort excruciating.

"I... I didn't steal anything..." she rasped, her voice frail.

Vincent pulled a wet wipe from his pocket and methodically cleaned each finger that had touched Chelsey, his handsome face a mask of undisguised disgust.

"Didn't steal?" he scoffed. "The very clothes on your back were bought with my money. Nothing you have is your own."

Chelsey's lips pressed into a bloodless line. She had nothing to say to that. Her own clothes had been burned long ago, on the very day she married him. Valerie had called her wardrobe "tacky," insisting Vincent would be repulsed. And so, like a fool, she had set fire to everything she owned.

"Strip her. Throw her out." Vincent's voice was glacial. Without a backward glance, he strode away, Kellan following close behind.

The moment they were gone, Valerie rose to her feet. Her meek act vanished, replaced by smug triumph as she sauntered over to Chelsey, stilettos clicking on the floor.

"You lived under his roof, even shared his bed? So what? He still threw you out like trash. Did you honestly think a fat, ugly pig like you could ever win him over? God, you're pathetic. All that makeup, all that weight you put on... you actually believed that's what he wanted? I only told you that to make him despise you more. And you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker."

Chelsey's face was ashen, but she didn't even glance at Valerie. She stared straight ahead, her expression impassive, treating the other woman like nothing more than a gnat buzzing in her ear.

Valerie's expression darkened. "What's with that look, Chelsey?" she seethed, grinding her teeth.

A soft, mocking laugh escaped Chelsey's lips. "Valerie... you're just pitiful."

The quiet laugh cost her. A sickening, wrenching pain twisted through her insides, but she refused to let it show on her face.

Showing even a flicker of weakness would only invite more cruelty from Valerie. Chelsey knew that, so she endured.

"What did you say?!" Valerie's eyes widened. The scornful curl of Chelsey's lips had clearly struck a nerve.

Drawing a painful, shuddering breath, Chelsey enunciated each word with cutting clarity. "I said you're pathetic. It's almost sad. Is being an illegitimate daughter so shameful that you've spent your whole life trying to steal what's mine? As the rightful heiress of the Moore family, my position was always secure. But you... you're just the daughter of a homewrecker. A stain on your family, never fit for polite society."

The words hit their mark. "Shut up!" Valerie shrieked. "Shut your mouth, Chelsey!"

But Chelsey only smiled. "For two years, you used my trust. You preyed on my desperation for Vincent's affection and manipulated me into humiliating myself at every turn. You fanned his indifference into pure disgust, until the very sight of me seemed to soil him. You must have been so proud of yourself."

Valerie's hands clenched into fists, her gaze venomous. "That just proves what an idiot you are."

"You're right. I was an idiot." Chelsey's admission was stark. Thinking of her past self's foolishness made her want to crawl into a hole and die.

An heiress from a prestigious family, living like a brainless parasite. She'd been dealt a winning hand and had managed to lose everything.

"At least you have some selfawareness," Valerie sneered, her laugh dripping with condescension.

"A neardeath experience tends to do that. Too bad you haven't had one." Chelsey had to know if anything was broken. She pressed her palms against the floor, trying to push herself up. Agony lanced through her torso, and she nearly collapsed again.

Biting down hard against the pain, she clawed at the floorboards, sweat beading on her forehead as her knuckles turned white with strain.

Valerie's face fell.

"You're at death's door! What right do you have to judge me? You're not Mrs. Marshall anymore! Maryanne Marshall is dead; there's no one left to protect you. If you had any sense, you'd be on your knees begging me to convince Father to let you back into the Moore family home!"

At the mention of Maryanne Marshall, Chelsey's composure wavered for a fraction of a second.

Maryanne had handpicked Chelsey to be Vincent's wife, but she had fallen terminally ill not long after the wedding. In life, she had been Chelsey's staunchest protector—the one person who ensured she could hold her head high in the Marshall family.

"Once I divorce Vincent," Chelsey said, "do you honestly think you'll just waltz in and take my place as the lady of the Marshall Group?"

Valerie puffed out her chest. "And why not? If a worthless thing like you could do it, why can't I?"