Reborn To The Wife of a Billionaire with Disabilities

Four black Range Rovers tore through the streets of Century City. The convoy moved in a tight, aggressive formation, projecting absolute dominance.

They descended into the private underground parking garage of the Aura Entertainment building. Tires screeched as they boxed in the elevator entrance.

Three paparazzi hiding behind a concrete pillar raised their cameras. Before they could press the shutters, two massive bodyguards in black suits slammed into them, shoving the lenses down hard against the pavement.

Eileen stepped out of the center vehicle.

Her four-inch stilettos clicked against the concrete. Flanked by four guards, she walked straight into the VIP elevator. She hit the button for the top floor.

The doors opened to the executive suite.

Eileen pushed open the frosted glass door to Gwen's office. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hit her face.

Gwen was pacing furiously in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Crumpled newspapers and printed screenshots littered the floor. In the corner, huddled on a leather sofa, sat Mindy, the team's junior assistant. She was chewing her fingernails, looking terrified.

Gwen spun around at the sound of the door. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sight of the four towering bodyguards filling the hallway choked the words in her throat.

Eileen waved her hand dismissively. The guards stepped back and pulled the door shut, sealing the room.

Eileen ignored Gwen's glaring eyes. She walked over to the wet bar, picked up a crystal glass, and poured herself some ice water. The cold liquid soothed her dry throat.

Gwen marched over to her desk and slammed a stack of glossy, high-definition photos onto the wood.

"What the hell were you doing?" Gwen hissed. "Look at these!"

Eileen took a sip of water. She walked slowly to the desk and looked down.

The photos showed a woman with a similar build to hers, standing in the shadows of a hotel stairwell, entangled with a tall man. The lighting was terrible. The faces were obscured.

Eileen let out a short, derisive scoff.

She reached out and tapped her index finger hard against the glossy paper, right on the woman's wrist.

"Look at the shape," Eileen said, tapping the photo. "That's the Alhambra clover. I have a documented nickel allergy, and I've always found that specific design incredibly tacky anyway. I haven't worn a metal bracelet in five years. You know this."

Gwen frowned, leaning in to squint at the blurry gold chain.

The detail was slightly blurred, but the distinct four-leaf shape was undeniably there. It was a fatal flaw in the setup.

"Second," Eileen continued, her tone turning surgical. "The Beverly Hills Hotel has military-grade security on the VIP floors. Paparazzi do not accidentally wander into the twelfth-floor fire escape."

Eileen turned her head slowly. Her gaze swept across the room and locked onto the girl shrinking into the sofa.

"There is only one explanation," Eileen said, her voice echoing in the quiet office. "Someone sold my room number and my private itinerary to the press."

Mindy's shoulders jerked violently. The tablet in her lap slipped and clattered onto the floor.

Gwen whipped her head around, staring at the assistant. "Mindy? You've been with us for three years."

Eileen set her water glass down on the desk. She walked toward the sofa. Her stilettos sank into the plush carpet, muffling her steps, making her look like a predator stalking prey.

She stopped right in front of Mindy, looking down at her.

"Where were you between three and four o'clock this afternoon?" Eileen asked. The question was soft, but heavy with pressure.

"I... I went down to the lobby to get coffee," Mindy stammered, her eyes darting everywhere except Eileen's face.

Eileen leaned down, bringing her face level with the assistant's.

"It takes an hour to get a coffee?" Eileen sneered. "And why does the hem of your skirt have a grease stain on it? The kind of grease you only get from brushing against a car bumper in an underground parking garage."

Mindy gasped. Her hands flew down to cover the edge of her skirt in a desperate, guilty reflex.

Gwen realized the truth instantly. She lunged forward, grabbing Mindy by the collar of her blouse. "You sold her out? Who paid you?!"

Tears spilled out of Mindy's eyes. She started shaking her head frantically. "No! I didn't! You have to believe me!"

Eileen stood up straight. She was done playing detective.

She turned to Gwen. "Revoke all her email access. Deactivate her keycards. Cut off her company phone. Tomorrow morning, have the legal department pull her bank records."

At the words 'legal department' and 'bank records', Mindy's legs gave out. She collapsed back onto the sofa, her face turning the color of ash. She began to sob hysterically.

Eileen picked up her water glass and slammed it down on the glass coffee table. The sharp crack made Mindy flinch.

"You're fired," Eileen said coldly. "Get out of my sight."