Rebirth: The Fake Heiress's Revenge

Her fiancé, Ethan Smith , was doing something unprecedented—throwing Abigail Rodriguez a birthday party. That had never happened before.

Blindfolded, she was led into a car, happily imagining a romantic candlelit dinner. She didn't suspect a thing.

The car stopped. Ethan took her hand and guided her into a room.

The air was cold and damp, thick with the smell of disinfectant.

His hand let go. Abigail stood still, surrounded by silence.

"Ethan?" she called out.

No one answered.

Suddenly, footsteps. Someone ripped off her blindfold. The fluorescent light burned so bright she couldn't open her eyes.

Before she could adjust, hands grabbed her and slammed her onto an operating table.

Four men pinned her down, tearing at her clothes.

Just as Abigail opened her mouth to scream, a hand clamped over it.

Her heavily pregnant belly made her freeze—she couldn't risk hurting the baby.

But the men didn't care. They strapped her to the table.

One man yanked her head back by the hair while his other hand slid into her underwear, roughly groping her breast.

The others touched her everywhere. Soon she was down to just her panties.

She turned her head desperately and saw Ethan sitting in the corner, watching with no expression.

Next to him, a video camera. Its red light glowed.

"Ethan—"

A penis shoved into her mouth cut her off.

She gagged. Her throat blocked. No sound came out.

The man held her jaw with one hand, forcing her mouth open as wide as it would go, while his other hand squeezed her breast so hard she thought it might burst.

Just as she began to choke, he thrust deeper. She could barely breathe.

Abigail stared helplessly toward Ethan. He didn't move. His face was blank.

Her hands clenched into fists. Her nails dug into her palms. Tears blurred her vision.

Someone masturbated over her. Someone licked her body. Someone else reached for her panties.

"Want to die?" Ethan's voice wasn't loud, but all four men stopped.

The one tugging at Abigail's panties laughed nervously. "I was just touching."

"Don't touch there," Ethan said calmly. "The baby in her belly can't be harmed."

"Right, right." The man nodded quickly and moved his hand elsewhere.

He grabbed Abigail's hand and wrapped it around his penis, forcing her to pump it. When she refused to open her fist, he pried her fingers apart one by one, breaking two of them.

Meanwhile, another man's cock was still sliding in and out of her mouth. All she could do was make muffled, gagging sounds.

Two full hours.

Abigail's face, hair, and neck were covered in sticky semen. The men had used her body however they wanted. Ethan just watched, expressionless.

When everyone left, only he and she remained in the basement.

Abigail lay on the operating table, shaking uncontrollably.

She opened her mouth and barely managed: "Why?"

Ethan walked over and looked down at her. "Then why did you have people bully Sandra? And take photos?"

"I didn't." Abigail tried to sit up but couldn't move.

After it was discovered that she had no blood relation to the Rodriguez family, they soon brought back their biological daughter, Sandra.

But from then on, she was constantly misunderstood—everyone believed she was bullying Sandra. No matter how hard she tried to explain, no one would believe her.

That is, until ten months ago, when Sandra accidentally fell into a lake and drowned.

"You had them strip her clothes off. Tear her sleeves. And you deny it?" Ethan's voice was soft, but his eyes were ice-cold. "She was so scared she didn't leave the house for three days. And you dare say it wasn't you?"

"It wasn't me. She didn't die—"

"She said it was you." Ethan cut her off sharply. "She heard your voice. You still want to lie?"

Abigail's mouth hung open. No words came.

Ethan leaned down, his eyes full of disgust. "You made her suffer. So you'll endure double the pain."

"If you dare release Sandra's photos, your video will appear on every platform. You'll never be able to erase it."

Abigail's eyes widened in terror.

Then the basement door opened. She jerked her head around, hoping someone had come to save her.

A medical team entered. A nurse pushed a cart of surgical instruments.

Leading them was the Rodriguez family's personal physician, Dr. Mark Larson.

When Mark saw Abigail like this, he instinctively stepped back and looked away. "Mr. Smith, the surgical tools are ready."

"Let's begin." Ethan nodded. "Sandra was traumatized. She's been wanting to see our child sooner."

He reached out as if to touch Abigail's belly, then withdrew his hand in disgust. "Since it's full term, we'll do a C-section."

The words "our child" stunned Abigail.

Ethan ignored her and looked at Mark. "Doctor, begin."

Mark nodded. "Anesthesiologist—"

"Anesthesia? No need." Ethan sneered. "Anesthesia might affect my and Sandra's child. The IVF finally worked—nothing can go wrong. Start the surgery directly."

Abigail's eyes went wide. "What IVF? Your and Sandra's child? Ethan, what the hell are you— Aaaah!"

A long cut sliced across her lower abdomen. Blood gushed out. The pain stole her voice.

But she forced herself to stay conscious, staring hard at Ethan.

Hearing her piercing scream, Ethan looked particularly satisfied. "Nonsense? If you hadn't pushed Sandra into the water, making her catch a cold and struggle to get pregnant, would I have gone through all this trouble to trick you?"

Abigail's mind went blank. Her body convulsed. She tried instinctively to explain: "It wasn't me. I didn't push her."

"It doesn't matter whether you did." Ethan's voice was cold. "I fed you well, treated you nicely for ten months, convinced you the Smith family had a tradition—you could only marry after the child was born. And you believed it? Idiot."

He savored Abigail's agonized expression, his eyes venomous. "For this child, Sandra had to fake her death and stay abroad alone for ten months. How sad she was. How much she suffered."

"And you dared to have people bully her. Threaten her."

"Now you pay the price. Dr. Larson, hurry up."

Ethan said nothing more. Mark pressed down hard with his hand, and Abigail let out a heart-wrenching scream.

Her body convulsed violently. The chains cut into her wrists and ankles until they were bloody and raw—bone showed through.

"Ethan, you won't get away with this." Abigail's eyes were bloodshot. "The Rodriguez family... won't let you get away with this."

"The Rodriguez family?" Ethan looked at her with contempt. "You think anyone in that family cares whether you live or die?"

Just then, Ryan Rodriguez's excited voice came from outside the basement.

"Sandra's not dead? That's wonderful. Just wonderful."

"Lock down the Rodriguez estate immediately. Don't let Abigail come back. Sandra definitely doesn't want to see her."

Then her third brother's voice, full of disgust: "Good idea. Don't let her come back. Getting pregnant before marriage—she's completely disgraced the Rodriguez family."

"Didn't she love to fake being sick? Perfect. Finnian signed an organ donation agreement for her. If she dies, donate her heart, liver, spleen, lungs. At least she'll do some good for humanity."

"Enough, don't waste time. The sports car I ordered for Sandra should have arrived. We need to make it up to her."

"Right. We have to make it up to her. I'll go find Finnian. The shares Abigail holds should go to Sandra too. She has no right to Rodriguez family shares."

The two voices faded away. Abigail's entire body went ice-cold. The pain made it impossible to breathe.

She never dreamed that her own family would abandon her life.