They Waited for Me to Die, But I Returned to Destroy Them

Scarlett's POV

The icy wind cut across my face like shattered glass as I stood at the edge of the Manhattan Bridge, three documents clutched so tightly in my fingers they nearly broke skin.

The first was our family's bankruptcy liquidation notice. "Ashworth Estate - Final Settlement Complete" blazed in bold black letters, the red stamp beneath like dried blood. A century of family legacy—from the business empire my great-great-grandfather built to the empire my father would have died for—reduced to this weightless piece of paper. My last apartment, Mother's jewelry, everything seized to pay debts.

The second was my parents' accident report. "Cause: Wet roads, driver error, case closed as accidental." I traced those words with my fingertip, feeling the rough texture of the paper. But it had been sunny that day. Dad had driven for twenty-plus years without a single accident. Mom had been laughing that morning, promising to make my favorite mushroom soup for dinner. The cops called it an accident. Nobody wanted to hear from the sobbing wreck of a girl whose family was already circling the drain.

The third was my death sentence. Rare cardiomyopathy with poor prognosis. Three to six months, the doctor said.

I laughed at the black Hudson River below, the sound torn apart by wind, tears mixing with ice-cold spray on my cheeks. How fucking ridiculous. The girl who once ruled New York's social scene, now needing five hundred thousand dollars just to buy the right to keep breathing.

My bank account held $3,847. Enough for one month's rent, a few bottles of painkillers, but not even close to covering a full cardiac workup.

"If this is fate, then I'm choosing my own ending."

I opened my hand. The three documents spiraled down into the river like broken birds. Then I closed my eyes and jumped.

The freezing water swallowed me whole. Suffocation wrapped around me like vines, the pain in my chest exploding. Through the haze, I saw flashes—Mom smiling as she fastened her ruby necklace around my throat, Dad's hand on my shoulder saying "Our Scarlett's going to run corporations someday." Nathaniel at my twenty-first birthday party, white roses in his arms, promising "My whole future revolves around you." Sebastian, my childhood shadow, slipping me chocolate at family dinners and whispering "Don't let your dad's rules kill your spirit."

Those memories burned brighter as my heart seized. I hadn't always been this pathetic. They hadn't always thrown me away like garbage.

I used to wear custom Chanel suits and Mother's ruby necklace, commanding charity galas with the kind of confidence that made rooms go quiet. Every socialite in New York orbited around me. Who didn't envy the Ashworth heiress? Nathaniel would charter helicopters to the Hamptons because I mentioned wanting to watch the sunrise. Sebastian would steal me away in his Porsche after Dad's lectures, driving to Brooklyn Bridge with ice cream and promises that "Scarlett's perfect just as she is." The way they looked at me then—like I was made of spun glass and starlight, something precious beyond measure.

All of it shattered the moment my parents died and the money disappeared.

Nathaniel changed first. Late nights, dodged calls, conversations that felt like pulling teeth. When I finally swallowed my pride and asked for help—just enough to keep us afloat—he actually winced. "Scarlett, money doesn't grow on trees for me either." His voice had gone cold, distant, like I was already a stranger. Turns out he was already courting other heiresses, terrified that my ruin would drag him down too.

Sebastian's betrayal cut deeper. He'd been my constant since childhood—I thought he'd be the last man standing. But after the bankruptcy hit the papers, he vanished. Dozens of texts, countless calls, all ignored. Then I spotted him on Fifth Avenue, laughing with his new crowd. When our eyes met, he looked away and walked faster. Didn't even pretend to see me.

I became a ghost haunting my old life, hiding in that cramped studio apartment, too ashamed to show my face anywhere. I knew I looked like hell, but the isolation was eating me alive.

The divorce papers took five minutes to sign. I walked away from every settlement Nathaniel offered—back then, I still had enough Ashworth pride left to refuse his pity money. God, what a joke that was.

After that? Burned through my savings, bounced between shitty jobs, slept on friends' couches until they got tired of my sob story. Last week, chest pain dropped me in the ER, and I finally got my expiration date.

"Wake up! Come on, wake up!"

Someone was slapping my face. Harsh fluorescent lights made me squint.

"You're lucky, Miss Ashworth." Dr. Kane stood beside the hospital bed, his coat reeking of antiseptic. "Harbor patrol fished you out, but your heart can't take much more. You need surgery immediately if you want to live. Cost is five hundred thousand."

Five hundred thousand.

I started laughing—not from despair, but pure rage. Fury at my own weakness, at those backstabbing bastards, at this whole goddamn mess. The laughter turned my chest into a furnace, but I couldn't stop.

I caught my reflection in the window—hollow cheeks, bruised eyes, cracked lips, all the light gone out of me. This wasn't me. This wasn't who I was supposed to be.

Twenty-one-year-old Scarlett would never have let herself fall this far. She was fierce, unbreakable, too proud to bow to anyone. Even if the world ended, she'd find a way to rebuild it.

"Enough." I bit down hard, wiped my face with the back of my hand, nails digging crescents into my palm. The pain cleared my head.

I wasn't going to die.

Not before I got justice for my parents. Not before I made every single person who kicked me while I was down pay for it. Not before I took back everything that belonged to the Ashworth name.

Death wanted me? He'd have to fight for it.

I grabbed my phone, fingers shaking but steady enough to dial the number I knew by heart. Three rings, then voicemail. A text came through seconds later: "Make it quick."

Nathaniel.

I stared at the screen, typing fast: [Time to settle old scores.]

The message went through, and I felt something I hadn't felt in months—power coursing through my veins like electricity.

I'd lost everything once because I was too weak and too proud. But I was done being a victim.

Now I was taking it all back.