Reborn: Exposing My Fiancé's Trap

"@everyone: Nina is stranded at the downtown bar in this blizzard. Ella, your brother drives an SUV, right? Have him go pick her up ASAP!"

In my last life, I caved. I read the Slack message from Duke, my boss and fiancé, and sent my brother out into the storm. That single mistake cost Jeffrey his life. He was beaten to death in jail over a rigged rape charge. Meanwhile, Duke stole my inheritance. He locked me in a psych ward, leaving me to swallow a fistful of pills.

Now, I open my eyes. I stare at the exact same glowing notification on my screen. I smirk. I swipe it away. Then, I lock my brother safely in his room and turn on his Twitch stream.

You want a scapegoat to cover up your cheap office affair, Duke? Not tonight. Enjoy the storm. This time, you and Nina are going down together.

Ella's POV

"She's just a kid, Ella. Are you literally going to stand by and watch her freeze to death out in Brooklyn?"

The shrill ping of a notification pierced my brain like an ice pick. I gasped for air, bolting upright in my velvet bed. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Manhattan apartment, hurricane-force winds slammed heavy snow against the glass, howling like a dying animal.

Drenched in cold sweat, I looked down at my hands. They were smooth. There were no raw friction burns from the padded room's straitjacket. No purple bruises from the daily sedative injections.

I was back. I was breathing. It was December 2023, the night of the storm of the century.

Just a few hours ago, the mayor had issued a code-red state of emergency. The entire city's transit grid was completely paralyzed.

My phone lit up on the nightstand. The company Slack channel was blowing up.

Nina, our twenty-year-old intern, just posted a pathetic selfie. In the photo, she was huddled under the awning of a closed bar. Snowflakes dusted her blonde hair, and her eyes were rimmed red with fake tears.

Nina: [The snow is getting so deep. I can't get an Uber anywhere, and the subways are dead. I'm so cold. I can't even feel my fingers anymore…]

Right on cue, my fiancé—and a senior partner at our investment firm—stepped in. Duke tagged me directly in the main channel.

Duke: [@Ella Your brother Jeffrey drives that modified Ford Raptor, right? Brooklyn isn't that far from your place. Have him go pick up Nina. Come on, we're a team. We can't just leave her out in the cold.]

Staring at those familiar words, the memories of my past life crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Last time, I caved. Swayed by Duke's guilt trip and the echoing agreement of our coworkers, I knocked on my brother's door. I asked him to brave the dead of night to rescue her. Jeffrey was a good kid. He didn't even hesitate. He grabbed his keys and drove right into the freezing hellscape.

And for what?

The next morning, Nina walked into a precinct with torn clothes and scratched arms. She cried to the cops, swearing that Jeffrey pulled into a dark alley and raped her. Duke, acting as her noble boss, testified that my brother had a history of "harassing" Nina whenever he visited our office.

Buried under their forged evidence and media outrage, my twenty-year-old brother was thrown into Rikers Island. Less than a month later, he was beaten to death in his cell by inmates.

When I tried to reopen the case, Duke had me forcefully committed to a psychiatric ward, claiming the grief had made me legally insane. I rotted in a cell, watching helplessly as he absorbed my trust fund and my company shares.

The phone buzzed in my hand, snapping me back to the present. A private message from Duke.

Duke: [Are you reading the chat? Reply. Don't make yourself look like a cold-blooded bitch in front of the whole firm.]

I stared at the screen. A slow, glacial smile crept across my face.

Cold-blooded? Oh, Duke. You haven't seen anything yet.

I flipped back to the main channel. My thumbs flew across the keyboard, hitting send without an ounce of hesitation.

Ella: [@Duke My brother is a college junior, not the FDNY. His truck is a Ford, not Noah's Ark. The snow is over two feet deep and even the city plows are stuck. Are you planning to pay for his funeral if he flips on the bridge?]

The bustling chat channel went dead silent. For a full sixty seconds, nobody typed a word.

They were probably in shock. At work, I was always the peacekeeper, the perfect, obedient fiancée who always had Duke's back. Nobody expected me to publicly humiliate a founding partner.

Duke's furious reply popped up moments later.

Duke: [Jesus! Ella, are you out of your mind? Nina is our employee! Are you just going to let her freeze? Your brother is a big guy, what's the big deal? Since when did you become so damn selfish?]

Right on cue, the office kiss-asses started chiming in.

Tom: [Yeah Ella, this is a life or death situation. Jeffrey's truck has high clearance, he'll be fine.]

Sarah: [Nina is always so sweet in the office. How can you be so heartless?]

Reading their pathetic attempts at moral kidnapping, I let out a dry laugh. I typed my final reply.

Ella: [Since you're all overflowing with sympathy, @Duke, you have a Tesla and a decade of driving experience. Go be a hero. @Tom @Sarah, you live closer to Brooklyn. Why don't you walk over and bring her a blanket?]

Ella: [Let me make this crystal clear: my brother isn't going anywhere. If anyone else tries to guilt-trip me into risking his life, I'm sending these chat logs to HR and the Department of Labor. I'd love to know what New York law allows a boss to mandate an executive's family member to act as a free rescue squad off the clock.]

Before anyone could respond, I switched a channel to 'Do Not Disturb' and tossed the phone onto the bed.

I threw off the covers. Barefoot and still in my silk pajamas, I sprinted down the hall and shoved open the door at the end of the corridor.

Inside, Jeffrey was hunched over his glowing dual monitors, a heavy gaming headset clamped over his ears. His fingers were flying across his mechanical keyboard.

"Cover me! Cover me! Flanking right!" he yelled at the screen.

"Jeffrey." I marched over and snatched the headset off his head.

"Hey, what the hell, out of bounds—wait, sis? What's wrong? You look pale."

He spun around in his gaming chair. That young, bright, clean face looked up at me. He was alive. He was breathing.

My vision blurred. A suffocating wave of grief and pure, murderous rage clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it down. I reached past him, grabbed his Ford keys off the desk, and shoved them deep into my pajama pocket.

"Sis, why are you taking my keys?" he asked, blinking in confusion.

"The blizzard is lethal tonight. I don't care if you get a sudden craving for late-night pizza. No matter who calls you, no matter if the goddamn sky falls, you are not stepping one foot out of this room. Understand?" I stared dead into his eyes, my voice carrying a terrifying weight.

Jeffrey shrank back into his chair, immediately throwing his hands up in surrender. "Wow. Relax, okay? I'm doing a subathon on Twitch tonight for Warzone. There's like twenty thousand people watching my stream right now. I have to put a timer on just to go take a piss. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." I squeezed his shoulder, my gaze darkening. "Keep the VOD running. Save the recording. It's going to be the smartest thing you've ever done."

I walked out and pulled his door shut until I heard the lock click.

Back in my bedroom, I stood by the glass window, watching the pitch-black hurricane of violently swirling snow. I placed my hand against the freezing glass.

Nina. Duke. Last time, you used this blizzard to destroy my family.

This time, I'm going to let the ice bury you alive.