Reborn: Mafia Bride Self-Save Plan

Elizabeth Windsor had been imprisoned in a cold, damp basement for five whole years by Henry Aiden and his mistress, Vivian Brown.

The single lightbulb only flickered to life when they came to humiliate her, casting harsh shadows over her emaciated frame.

Long gone was the radiant beauty she'd once been. Chronic malnutrition and relentless psychological torture had reduced her to little more than a hollow shell.

Whenever Henry and Vivian worked themselves up, they'd perform their sick little sex show right in front of her. And when they finished, the insults would come, "Elizabeth, look at yourself now. Where's all that Windsor Family heiress glamour you used to have?"

"A used-up slut who spread her legs for some random guy—you think you're worthy of being my wife? If it weren't for your grandfather's fortune, I wouldn't waste a single glance on trash like you!"

Vivian, completely naked except for the massive diamond on her finger, extended her hand toward Elizabeth with a cold smile. "Elizabeth, see this? Henry just bought me this new ring. Isn't it gorgeous? He says only I deserve this kind of fire and brilliance. That dead grandfather of yours left behind some really nice things. More than enough to keep Henry and me for several lifetimes."

"You... you two will rot in hell!" Elizabeth's voice cracked.

As if sensing Elizabeth didn't have much time left, Vivian decided to be generous with the truth, "Elizabeth, you probably still don't know, do you? That short-lived grandfather of yours? His death wasn't exactly an accident. Daddy tampered with his medication a little."

Elizabeth had thought her heart had turned to stone after enduring starvation, candle burns, and needles shoved under her fingernails. But hearing this news shattered what little remained of her, and she wailed in anguish.

The more she suffered, the wider Vivian's smile grew. "You should've died already. You were supposed to die on that operating table with your bastard baby. But better late than never."

Chaotic footsteps approached. She was dragged out of the basement.

Having been deprived of sunlight for so long, the sudden brightness nearly blinded her instantly.

Her clothes were torn off. Her wrists burned with a slicing pain. Finally, she was shoved into a bathtub filled with water.

Whether she drowned or bled out, nobody knew. Nobody cared.

In her final moments, Elizabeth's mind drifted back five years—to when Hughes Tudor was still alive, before everything fell apart...

"Elizabeth, I'm talking to you. Are you even listening?"

A stern, impatient voice echoed from above her.

Elizabeth's eyes snapped open. She found herself kneeling in the center of a study, and her father, Charles, was seated behind that massive desk that symbolized his authority.

Beside him stood Sophie Green—the woman who'd been their housekeeper for over a decade but now carried herself like the lady of the house.

This scene... this was the seventh day after Hughes's death!

The moment Charles had forced her to break off her engagement and marry that man!

She'd been reborn! Sent back to this fork in the road that had sealed her fate!

Memories from her past life came flooding back, drenched in blood: On her eighteenth birthday, she'd been drugged. She'd spent a chaotic night with a stranger and ended up pregnant.

Hughes had shielded her from the gossip and scandal.

But the child was declared stillborn at birth. She never even got to see him.

Elizabeth barely survived the difficult labor, and her body paid the price—two full years of recovery.

Not long after, Hughes died suddenly of a heart attack.

Almost immediately, Jacob Smith—the powerful mafia don with overseas influence—proposed a marriage alliance.

At twenty-two, fresh from a family tragedy, Elizabeth had been terrified by Jacob's terrifying reputation. In a panic, she'd clung to her fiancé, Henry, like a lifeline, hoping he'd protect her from this nightmarish marriage.

She'd thought Henry, her childhood sweetheart, was destined to be her lifelong partner.

She hadn't known he was already in league with Charles, Sophie, and Vivian—the housekeeper's daughter Elizabeth had always treated like a sister.

They'd staged everything. Henry's gentle acceptance had been nothing but bait.

Five years of marriage. Five years in a frozen cage.

Henry used her lost virginity and stillborn child as justification for daily mental and physical abuse, slowly draining every asset Hughes had left her.

And Vivian, she flaunted her affair with Henry right in Elizabeth's face, constantly reminding her of her failure and shame.

Once they'd squeezed out every last drop of value, they staged her suicide.

"The Aiden Family is barely hanging on. Marrying into them will only drag you down." Charles's voice yanked her back from the blood-soaked memories. "I've already arranged your marriage into the Smith Family. Jacob is willing to marry you. This is your fortune—and the Windsor Family's opportunity."

Sophie immediately chimed in with her practiced, syrupy tone, "Charles! How can you do this? Do you know who Jacob is? He's a king of the underworld! A ruthless killer! I've heard he keeps former mercenaries around him—all armed! And he's got a three-year-old son with some unknown mother. They say the kid's strange—doesn't talk, totally withdrawn... If Elizabeth marries into that, she's jumping straight into hell!"

A three-year-old son...

Elizabeth's heart slammed against her ribs.

If her child had lived, he'd be three years old too. A three-year-old child without a mother, living in that kind of environment...

She knew marrying Henry meant repeating the same dead-end path.

But marrying Jacob? That meant stepping into an unknown abyss.

Yet beneath that abyss might lie her only weapon for revenge—and a fragile thread of "what if" she couldn't let go of.

Under Charles's scrutinizing gaze and Sophie's fake concern, Elizabeth slowly lifted her head.

Her face was pale, but her eyes held no tears—only the cold, steely resolve that settled after everything burned away.

"Fine." Her voice was hoarse from her rebirth but crystal clear and firm. "I'll marry him."

The study fell into stunned silence.

Every argument Charles had prepared stuck in his throat. He stared at his daughter, unable to recognize this woman who seemed reborn overnight.

Sophie froze, her performance cracking.

Henry, who'd just pushed open the door, heard those words and stopped dead in his tracks. The carefully rehearsed expression of pained reluctance shattered, leaving only disbelief.

Elizabeth took in their shock with cold satisfaction.

She said nothing more. Didn't even glance at Henry. Just turned and walked toward the door.

Her hand gripped the cold doorknob, the icy metal grounding her.

She pulled it open without looking back, leaving behind one sentence that echoed through the frozen study, "Tell Jacob I'll marry him."

In the darkness, a scorching hand with calluses roamed across her skin.

A heavy, burning male body pressed down on her, tearing her expensive gown into shreds without mercy.

Elizabeth abandoned all rational thought. Every drop of blood in her body was on fire, clouding her mind.

Primal desire drove her to chase the man's raw masculinity, tilting her lips up to match his brutal kiss.

It felt so good—his cool presence washed away her restlessness. She couldn't see the man in the darkness as he freed himself from constraints, gripping his massive length and moving toward her.

Her inexperienced body couldn't handle that size. The man tried several times but was instinctively evaded by the delirious girl. Frustrated, he flipped her over, leaving marks across her beautiful form.

His agile tongue, hot as fire, slithered into her like a serpent, making her scream.

She tried to escape the torment, only to be met in the next instant by tearing pain and a strange, drowning wave of sensation.

Elizabeth bolted upright, her silk nightgown soaked through with cold sweat and clinging to her back.

Outside the window, daylight blazed as if nothing had happened. But all she could hear was her own ragged breathing and the suffocating sensory memories left over from the dream.

After that night, her life had completely derailed.

The pregnancy. Henry's vicious insults. Hughes's protection until she gave birth. The news of the baby's death. Hughes's sudden passing right after. One thing after another, precise as clockwork—like a carefully orchestrated trap.

She was almost certain now that the man that night hadn't been there by accident.

Who was he? What was his goal?

She clutched the sheets until her knuckles turned white.

The flames of revenge burned in her frozen chest, but there were so few clues. Her enemies lurked in the shadows.

Just then, the brand-new phone on her nightstand rang out sharply, shattering the silence of the room.