Reborn Heiress: My Ex-Husband's Ruin

Genevieve Merritt stepped onto the thick Persian rug of the second-floor hallway. The soft, woven fabric muffled her footsteps completely. The Reynolds mansion was dead silent at this hour.

She clutched the heavy legal folder against her pregnant belly. The thick stack of papers inside detailed the final transfer of the Merritt family trust fund. It was a massive financial commitment, but Clinton was her husband. She trusted him.

A sharp, sudden kick from the baby against her ribs made her pause. Genevieve caught her breath and smiled in the dim light. She rubbed her swollen stomach, the warmth of the life inside her easing the dull ache in her lower back.

She walked toward the study at the end of the hall. She reached for the heavy brass doorknob. The cold metal bit into her warm skin. She was about to turn it when she noticed the heavy oak door was already slightly ajar. A sliver of warm yellow light spilled onto the dark hallway floor.

Genevieve leaned forward to push the door open. The old hinges resisted slightly.

Then, a high-pitched giggle drifted through the narrow crack.

Genevieve froze. Her hand went entirely numb on the brass knob. She knew that laugh. It was her cousin, Carolynn.

Genevieve held her breath and peered through the narrow gap. Her vision adjusted to the dim lamplight inside the study. Carolynn was sitting on the edge of Clinton's massive mahogany desk. Her skirt was hiked up dangerously high.

Clinton stepped into Genevieve's line of sight. He wasn't wearing the gentle, loving smile he always reserved for his wife. His face was twisted into a cynical, arrogant smirk. He held a crystal decanter, pouring two glasses of expensive bourbon.

Carolynn reached out and accepted the glass. Her manicured fingers trailed deliberately over Clinton's knuckles.

"How much longer do I have to pretend?" Carolynn whined, taking a sip. "Playing the supportive, sweet cousin is exhausting. I hate looking at her."

Genevieve's lungs stopped working. The air in the hallway suddenly felt too thick to breathe. A block of ice formed in her stomach, heavy and sickening.

Clinton laughed. It was a cold, cruel sound that Genevieve had never heard before. He took a slow sip of his bourbon and adjusted his left cuff-a nervous habit he only displayed when he was feeling particularly superior.

"Relax," Clinton said smoothly. "The Merritt trust fund will be fully under my control by tomorrow morning. Once she signs those papers, we don't need her anymore."

Genevieve pressed her free hand against the hallway wall to steady herself. The rough texture of the expensive wallpaper scraped her palm. The hallway spun. Bile rose in the back of her throat.

"And the baby?" Carolynn pouted, her voice dripping with venomous jealousy. "I'm not raising her brat, Clinton."

Clinton set his glass down on the desk. The sharp clink of crystal against wood echoed in the quiet room. His eyes darkened.

"The child will never see the light of day," Clinton stated flatly. "Once the kidnapping is staged tomorrow night, they both disappear. Permanently."

Genevieve gasped.

It was an involuntary, sharp intake of air. In the dead silence of the hallway, the sound was incredibly loud.

Clinton's head snapped toward the door. His arrogant smirk vanished, replaced instantly by a sharp, suspicious frown. "Who is out there?" he demanded, his voice slicing through the quiet room. He set his glass down abruptly and strode toward the entrance. As he yanked the heavy oak door completely open, his eyes locked directly onto Genevieve's retreating figure. His expression twisted into deadly, panicked alarm.

Genevieve stumbled backward. Her heel caught on the thick edge of the Persian rug. Panic surged through her veins like battery acid. She turned and ran.

Behind her, Clinton threw the study door wide open. The heavy oak slammed violently against the wall.

"Get her!" Clinton yelled down the stairs.

Genevieve ran toward the grand staircase. Her heavy, pregnant belly threw off her balance, slowing her frantic pace. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, threatening to crack her chest open.

She reached the top of the stairs. She grabbed the wooden banister. She gripped it so tightly her knuckles turned stark white. She just needed to reach the front door.

Mabel Hicks stepped out from the shadows of the first-floor landing. The housekeeper, a woman Genevieve had trusted for years, stood perfectly still. In her right hand, she clutched a small, blinking two-way radio-the source of her perfect timing, proving this was a meticulously coordinated trap. She blocked the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes were dead and cold.

"Move, Mabel!" Genevieve demanded. Her voice trembled, but she tried to project authority. "Get out of my way!"

Mabel remained completely motionless. She stood like a stone wall between Genevieve and the front door.

Heavy footsteps thundered on the carpet behind Genevieve. Before she could take another step down, a large hand clamped down brutally on her shoulder.

Clinton yanked her backward. His grip was an iron vice, bruising her delicate skin instantly.

Genevieve struggled fiercely. She twisted her body, trying to break free. "Let me go! Don't touch me!"

Carolynn slowly descended the stairs behind Clinton. A mocking, triumphant smile stretched across her face. She crossed her arms, admiring Genevieve's absolute desperation.

"You're a monster!" Genevieve spit the words at her cousin. The sheer betrayal fueled a sudden burst of adrenaline. Genevieve swung her free arm backward. Her nails raked hard across Clinton's cheek, drawing a deep line of blood.

Clinton cursed loudly. He let go of her shoulder and backhanded her across the face with all his strength.

The sheer force of the blow snapped Genevieve's head to the side. She crashed hard against the wall.

Genevieve slid down the expensive wallpaper to the floor. A sharp, terrifying pain erupted deep in her lower abdomen. It was a tearing sensation that made her curl into a tight, protective ball. She clutched her stomach, gasping for air.

Clinton sneered. He wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. He looked down at her with absolute disgust.

"Take her to the secondary location. Now," Clinton ordered.

Mabel walked up the stairs. She held a thick rag in her hands. The pungent, sickeningly sweet chemical smell of chloroform flooded the narrow stairwell.

Genevieve kicked out weakly. She tried to lift her hands to cover her nose and mouth. But the intense abdominal pain paralyzed her muscles. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't fight.

Mabel pressed the chemical-soaked rag firmly over Genevieve's face.

The suffocating fumes seared Genevieve's lungs. Her eyes rolled back. The dark, heavy weight of unconsciousness dragged her under, pulling her into a black void.