Reborn to Ruin Him Taking Everything from My Cheating Fiancé

Three days before our wedding, I stumbled across an anonymous post: "My fiancée supported me from selling cheap trinkets at flea markets to building an eight-figure empire. Now I want to marry the one that got away. How do I get her to call off the wedding without giving her half my assets?" The poster wrote that his fiancée was plain, uneducated, and too embarrassing to show in public. He claimed he was only marrying her out of obligation. Down in the comments, the original poster had even replied to himself: "Honestly, she caught wind of something and tried snooping through my phone. I deliberately changed my passcode to my muse's birthday. She tried three times, got locked out, and cried her eyes out. What an idiot." My hands trembled as I stared at the screen. Because the account belonged to Carter—my fiancé. In my previous life, I had confronted him with his phone in hand. He flew into a rage, accusing me of violating his privacy. That very night, he deleted every shred of evidence. Three days later, right in front of our entire company, he painted me as an obsessive stalker with paranoid delusions and had security throw me out of the very business we had built from scratch. Left penniless and disgraced, I threw myself into the river. When I opened my eyes again, I was right back to the day I saw that post. This time, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't even take a screenshot. I simply closed the app and called my lawyer: "Draft an agreement. I'm going to make sure he walks away without a single penny." I hung up on the lawyer, my finger lingering over the screen. Carter’s account was still open, and the comments under that post kept rolling in. Some called him a scumbag, some advised him to end things amicably, and others gave him tips on hiding assets. He had liked one particular comment. It read: "Transfer company control to your mom first, and get a prenuptial agreement signed. Clueless women like her never know how corporate shares actually work." I glared at the words "clueless women," memories of my past life rushing back. I truly hadn't understood. I signed whatever papers he put in front of me. When he said the company was bleeding money, I believed him. When he told me we’d have a real wedding once the business took off, I waited. I waited ten years, only to receive this post. My phone buzzed. A text from Carter popped up: [Business dinner tonight. Don’t wait up for me. Grab something yourself.] I replied with a simple: [Okay.] The exact same exchange as my previous life. Except this time, I didn't ask when he’d be home, who he was dining with, or whether I should leave the porch light on. He was so used to my lack of questions that he didn't even bother inventing a half-baked excuse. I put my phone down, walked into the bathroom, and studied my reflection in the mirror. My skin was dull, fine lines framed my eyes, and no amount of concealer could hide the dark circles from years of sleepless nights. My hair was thrown into a sloppy ponytail, and I was wearing a cheap set of pajamas he had picked out from a clearance rack for fifteen bucks because anything else was "too extravagant." Was I ugly? Not really. But standing next to Serena—his refined, high-society muse—I paled in comparison. Serena had flawless skin, dressed like an influencer, spoke with soft elegance, and boasted an Ivy League master’s degree. Meanwhile, I had dropped out before college to work odd jobs, barely knowing how to put together a pitch deck. In my past life, standing next to Serena made me feel like an underpaid housekeeper. In this life, I was going to make sure she ended up lower than one. Picking up my phone, I messaged the lawyer: [When will the agreement be ready?] His name was Julian. He had been a client back when I worked customer support, and he had eventually founded his own law firm. I had reached out to him in my last life too, but by then, Carter had backed me into a corner, leaving me with zero proof. This time was different. This time, I had screenshots of his post. While they might not hold up as ironclad evidence in court, they were more than enough to rattle Carter’s nerves. Julian replied almost immediately: [Tomorrow afternoon. But are you sure about this? You two haven’t officially filed the marriage certificate yet, so asset division shouldn't be this complicated.] Me: [I'm sure. I want him stripped of everything.] Julian: [You both own fifty percent of the company shares. If he refuses to cooperate, we'll have to litigate. Do you have any other evidence?] I scrolled through my phone. Nothing. Just like in my previous life, Carter had wiped his tracks clean. Even the post was anonymous. If I showed it to anyone, they’d dismiss it as female paranoia. I had gotten smarter. I didn't need immediate proof; I needed time. He thought I was still in the dark, so I would play the clueless fool. Come the wedding day, right in front of every single guest, he was going to receive a lovely little surprise. I closed the chat and ordered some spicy noodle takeout. In my past life on this exact evening, I had stayed up until two in the morning, reheating a pot of homemade soup three times for him. When he finally came home, he didn't even glance at it before locking himself in his home office. I sat in the dark living room all night, convincing myself he was just overwhelmed with work. Looking back, he had probably spent those hours in Serena's bed. When the food arrived, I ate alone in the cavernous living room. We had purchased this two-thousand-square-foot luxury condo last year, calling it our future marital home. During renovations, I spent three months hauling samples from home improvement stores, while he couldn't even be bothered to pick out a bathroom tile. Now, this place was mine.The next morning, Carter surprisingly sat down for breakfast at home. He was wearing a brand-new navy dress shirt with subtle cuff detailing—obviously designer. I took a quick glance and kept my mouth shut. In the past, I would have asked who bought it, how much it cost, and why he’d never worn it before. Now, all I could think was that the shirt was completely wasted on his face. He pulled out a chair, took a sip of his coffee, and casually asked, "How are the wedding plans coming along?" "Almost done," I answered, keeping my eyes on my bowl. "Who did you invite as your bridesmaid?" he asked nonchalantly. "Zoey." Zoey was my partner back when we sold goods at street markets. She had moved out of state, but we stayed in touch. In my previous life, I had invited her. She flew across the country just to watch me get publicly humiliated at the altar. Carter frowned. "Just her? Serena offered to step in as a bridesmaid for you. You two could get to know each other." A cold sneer ran through my mind. Serena as my bridesmaid? Standing beside me just to make me look like a frumpy background prop? "No need. Zoey is enough," I said flatly. Carter shot me an irritated look, but let it drop. He set his mug down, grabbed his car keys, and paused at the doorway. "We're holding an executive meeting at the office today. Don't bother coming." I looked up. "Why shouldn't I come?" "You wouldn't understand half of what's being discussed anyway. Just stay home." He pulled the door open and left. I sat alone at the dining table, finishing my breakfast. That company was built by both of us. Year one: we hawked inventory at flea markets; he handled the pitches, and I balanced the books. Year two: we opened an online storefront; he sourced the products, and I packed every single shipping box. Year three: we rented a warehouse; he managed logistics, and I handled customer support around the clock. Year four: we officially incorporated; he took the CEO title, and I held half the equity. From year five until now: he stepped into the spotlight, and I faded into the background. He claimed the company had grown too large and needed professional executives, telling me to rest at home. I believed him. And after five years of "resting," nobody at the company even recognized me. New hires thought I was part of the cleaning crew whenever I showed up in worn clothes, carrying homemade lunch containers for him. In my previous life, he stood before the whole staff and called me a delusional ex-employee obsessively stalking him. Everyone looked at me like I was a madwoman. In this life, I wasn't going to hand him that weapon. I unlocked my phone and texted Julian: [Is the agreement ready?] [It’s ready. Three o’clock this afternoon. Come by the office.] I also called our business bank to schedule an account audit. While we both held equity, Carter had sole administrative control over the company accounts. All I received each month was a five-hundred-dollar "allowance" transferred to my personal checking account. I refused to believe our company was only generating that much. Before I died in my previous life, rumors spread that he was planning a lavish destination wedding in Switzerland with Serena, budgeted at half a million dollars. Where did that half a million come from?At two-thirty that afternoon, I changed into my best clothes. The most expensive piece in my closet was a wool trench coat I had splurged on last winter for four hundred dollars. When Carter found out, he lectured me for an hour about wasting money. I threw the coat on, put on light makeup, and hailed a cab to Julian’s law firm. His office was downtown, boasting floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the financial district. Julian was a few years older than me, wore wire-rimmed glasses, and carried a calm, steady aura that instantly made you feel grounded. He slid a manila folder across the desk. "Look it over. I'll walk you through anything that needs clarification." I flipped open the document, reading line by line. The gist was simple: Carter voluntarily surrendered all personal and business assets—including company shares, real estate, and bank accounts—solely to Chloe. The agreement would take effect on our wedding day, legally binding the moment he signed. Staring at the words "voluntarily surrendered," I looked up. "What if he refuses to sign voluntarily?" Julian adjusted his glasses. "Then you need leverage that leaves him no choice." "What kind of leverage?" "Concrete proof of infidelity." I fell silent. I knew he was cheating; his post laid it all out. But an anonymous post wouldn't hold up in court. He could easily claim I fabricated it. I needed something far more damaging. "I can hire an investigator," Julian offered. "But that takes time." "We don't have time. The wedding is in two days." Julian pondered for a moment. "Then let's shift angles. You hold fifty percent of the voting equity. You have every legal right to audit the corporate books. If there are fraudulent transfers, he’ll fear a lawsuit far more than you do." The lightbulb went off. Only Carter knew how many millions he had skimmed from our business over the years. There had to be a paper trail. The moment I demanded a formal audit, he’d be forced to open the ledgers. He wouldn't dare. "I’ll hold onto the agreement," I said, slipping the folder into my bag. "Wait for my signal." Leaving the firm, I stood by the curb waiting for a ride. My phone rang. It was Zoey. "Chloe! I just landed at the terminal! Get your butt over here and pick me up!" Zoey was still the same loud, fiery hurricane she had always been. I flagged a cab and headed straight to the airport. When I spotted her, she was dragging a massive suitcase, holding two bags of local snacks from back home. The second she saw me, she barreled forward and wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. "Why are you so skinny?! Is that deadbeat starving you?!" I managed a soft smile. "No, just busy with wedding prep." "Busy with what? Have you sent out the invitations yet? How many guests are coming?" I froze. Invitations. I hadn't sent a single one. Not because I forgot, but because in my last life, Carter insisted he would take care of the guest list. In the end, he invited nobody from my side. The room was packed with his business associates and friends; Zoey was the only person there for me. Throughout the entire ceremony, I had felt like an intruder. "I haven't sent them yet," I admitted. Zoey’s eyes widened. "The wedding is literally tomorrow! And you haven't sent invitations?!" "Don't worry about it," I said, taking her suitcase. "Let’s get back to the apartment first." In the back of the cab, Zoey chattered non-stop about her new job and saving up for a condo down payment. Listening to her, my chest tightened. In my previous life, Zoey had cried at my wedding. Not tears of joy, but tears of pure fury at how I was being treated. She had grabbed my hand and said, "Chloe, you deserve so much better than this." And I had replied, "Carter loves me." She went silent. After my death, I often wondered if Zoey spent the rest of her life regretting that she didn't drag me away that day.Back at the apartment, Zoey dropped her luggage and immediately started inspecting my wedding prep. My dress was hanging in the closet—a minimalist white mermaid gown I had picked out myself. Carter had glanced at it once, dismissed it as too plain, and told me to pick something flashier. I refused. I paid for this dress with my own money, scrimping together three months of my measly allowance. Zoey took the dress out, held it up, and frowned. "The fabric is so cheap. How much did this cost?" "Two hundred bucks." "Two hundred?!" Zoey’s voice skyrocketed. "Your fiancé pulls in millions a year and buys you a two-hundred-dollar wedding dress?!" "I bought it myself." Furious, Zoey tossed the dress onto the bed. "Chloe, have you lost your mind? You gave him ten years of your life for this?!" I stayed silent. In my past life, I felt the sting too, but I kept making excuses for him. I told myself he cared, that he was just swamped with work. I didn't believe that lie anymore. He wasn't busy. He just thought I wasn't worthy. My phone rang. It was Carter. "There's a networking dinner tonight. You're coming with me." I paused. In our previous life, he had never once brought me to a business dinner. Not a single time. He always claimed I lacked social polish, couldn't hold my liquor, and would only embarrass him. "What kind of dinner?" I asked. "A few major suppliers. Just come and introduce yourself." "Alright." After hanging up, Zoey leaned in. "He's taking you out to dinner?" "Yeah." "Hell must have frozen over," Zoey scoffed. "Watch your back. It sounds like a total ambush." I changed into a little black dress Zoey had brought in her suitcase. She insisted the cut suited my frame and brightened my complexion. Standing before the mirror, I realized the dress looked infinitely better than anything I had ever bought myself. I wasn't ugly; I had just spent ten years neglecting myself. Carter had never pointed that out. He only ever muttered, "You look fine as you are," before running off to see Serena. Before stepping out, I messaged Julian: [I'm attending a dinner tonight with Carter's key suppliers. Can you look these names up for me?] Julian: [Send the names.] I forwarded the restaurant address and the guest list Carter had sent. When I arrived at the private dining suite, Carter was already seated. The moment he saw my dress, his eyes flickered with surprise, though he said nothing. Around the table sat seven or eight middle-aged executives, each accompanied by a glamorous, twenty-something girl. I took my seat, and Carter poured me a glass of wine. "This is Mr. Walker, and this is Mr. Miller. Say hello." I lifted my glass with a polite smile. "Nice to meet you, gentlemen." Mr. Walker looked me up and down, then turned to Carter with a grin. "So this is the bride-to-be? Much prettier than the photos, Carter." Carter offered a dry chuckle. "She usually doesn't dress like this." It sounded like a compliment, but the undertone was unmistakable: She usually looks like a mess; she just played dress-up tonight. I sipped my wine and remained quiet. Halfway through the dinner, Carter stepped out to use the restroom. Mr. Walker leaned toward me, reeking of expensive scotch. "So, Chloe, how many years have you been with Carter?" "Ten years." "Ten years is a long time," Walker sighed. "My wife’s been with me for twenty. Now she stays home with the kids, and I bring my assistants to these dinners." He gestured subtly toward the young woman draped over his arm. Nausea twisted in my gut. Every supplier at this table had brought their mistress. Carter was the only one who brought his fiancée. In their eyes, bringing me to a gathering like this meant Carter viewed me no differently than those arm candies. A temporary placeholder. To this circle of men, Serena was probably already accepted as the future Mrs. Hayes. If this were my previous life, I would have broken down in tears. Instead, I casually slid a pocket audio recorder out of my purse and tucked it beneath a throw pillow in the corner of the velvet booth. I stood up with an easy smile. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm going to powder my nose." With these sleazy men gathered together, I had no doubt Carter would let his guard down.