Reborn As The Cold Villain's Daughter

ousness ripped

ion coated her throat, like her airway was packed with thick, unyield

r eyes, but her arms felt heavy and uncoordinated. When her

re not h

mp. The fingers wer

g, but her vocal cords betrayed her. Instead of a shout, a

up, but her muscles felt entirely foreign and weak, her coordination laughably poor. A clumsy, desperate lurch wa

atic noise suddenly

he squeezed her eyes shu

voice echoed directly into her brain. You are dead in your origina

er head. This was a hal

ket into her mind. Images, names, and plotlines slam

d McC

mogul from the novel, the cold-blooded villain who ultimatel

d of any empathy. The child who, after being sent away to a state orphanage tonight, is off

t kicked in, overriding the panic. She focused her thoughts, scream

lure's self-destruction, the system replied. S

ing weight of that task, a violent cras

a wall. The sound made her t

oice shrieked through the heavy wooden door.

room seemed to

t o

uman warmth. It wasn't a shout, but the absolute authorit

was him. Edward McClure. The

lure is on the verge of a manic episode. He is curren

ore. But the biological mechanics of a six-month-old infant were impossible to overri

otsteps approached

nell. The oppressive weight of h

ad to change the tone. She forced herself to swallow the loud wai

d, letting the tears pool heavily in her lar

ogany door wa

rom the hallway floo

of expensive cologne mixed with a sharp hint of

ear-filled vision, Ha

but his expression was pure ice. He stared down at her, not with the warmth of a new fa

inkling. The faint smell of baby form

counted down. Pati

e call to the orphanage. She bit down on her toothl

ubby arm out from

s, she reached her hand up into the empty air to

's bod

e, but the sight of that tiny hand reachi

the small, trembling fist suspended in the air. For a fraction of a s