Reborn To Ruin Her Rivals - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Glenn pointed at her face, a sick grin spreading. "Peel it off clean, and we've got a damn masterpiece."
'Peel it off?' A chill ripped through Arielle. 'Are they for real? How could they be this twisted?'
Glenn and Roy's eyes roamed over her, cold and calculating, like they were picking the best spot to start carving.
"Gotta keep that face flawless. Big money's riding on it," Roy said, grabbing his tools and stepping closer.
Arielle let out a hoarse scream, her throat raw, the sound barely a growl. "No! Back off! Get the hell away!"
Her voice was gone, stolen, just another thing they'd ripped from her.
The more she panicked, the brighter their eyes gleamed with twisted thrill.
Roy jabbed a needle into her shoulder. Glenn spun his scalpel. "Go light on the drugs. Too much, and the skin's trash."
"No shit, I got it," Roy shot back. "Let's take her eyes first. Those beauties? They'll sell for a mint. And the heart—boss wants it out for the next job."
"Yeah, quit yappin'. Let's do this."
When they tore out her heart, a strange calm washed over her. Her soul slipped free, hovering over the wreckage of her body.
She was done. Free.
Her pale body lay still on the cold metal table. Glenn and Roy moved like pros, their hands quick and precise. Glenn slid her eyes into some fancy machine.
Roy cut open her skull, pouring in some weird liquid. Together, they peeled her skin off, slow and steady, like it was some sick art project.
Her body was mangled, unrecognizable, but the pain was gone. Her soul floated higher.
Panic hit hard. 'No. I can't leave. Not yet,' she told herself.
Her revenge was still raw, unfinished. Just walking away? Not an option.
If she crossed over to whatever "heaven" was waiting, she'd lose it all—every last shot at making them pay.
She wanted those monsters to burn.
"God, just give me one chance," she whispered, her voice rough. "Make me a ghost, let me tear through those bastards, and I'll waltz into hell without a peep.
"Even if it rips my soul to shreds, even if I'm stuck reliving this nightmare, I'll take them out myself.
"Bring it on—hell's worst can't scare me. Just let me settle this score."
"No! Get away!" Arielle thrashed, clutching at thin air.
She snapped awake, heart pounding, and bolted upright in bed. Cold sweat soaked her back.
She touched her face, half-expecting… what?
Hands, feet—all there. Skin smooth as silk. Eyes, nose, mouth, ears—everything in place.
'What the hell?' she wondered. 'I died, didn't I? Is this heaven?'
She glanced around. Her room at the Bradford family's house. That snakeskin bag in the corner? Definitely not some North Lugra knockoff.
Barefoot, Arielle darted to the dresser and froze at her reflection. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
The girl in the mirror was gorgeous: long, lush lashes, arched brows, a touch of baby fat softening her cheeks.
She raised a hand, and the reflection mirrored her—slender fingers, flawless.
It was her. Sixteen-year-old her. She'd time-traveled.
It hit her like a punch. In her old life, she'd poured her heart out to people who didn't care. Family, love—they never gave her a second glance.
Not this time. She was done chasing.
A knock at the door broke her thoughts. "Hey, Miss Bradford, you up?"
It was the maid Lexi Maynard's voice.
It clicked. Last night, the driver had grabbed her from the boonies and dropped her here at one a.m.
Everyone was asleep. No Bradfords in sight. Lexi had set her up in the guest room.
'Perfect. No drama yet,' she thought.
Arielle threw on clothes and swung the door open.
Lexi smiled. "Morning, Miss Bradford. Mrs. Bradford wants to see you."
Her stomach knotted. Back then, she'd been a wreck going downstairs—shaky, hopeful.
She'd brushed her teeth twice, washed her face twice, and picked her best outfit to meet the mom she'd always longed for.
Now? Just hate.
Sharon Bradford, the fake "perfect mom," had sneered and jabbed at her, forcing her to apologize every time Meredith threw a tantrum.
Arielle clomped down the stairs.
The living room was a jaw-dropper, walls flaunting famous paintings that screamed big money.
Plush carpets and a jumble of antiques clashed hard with her drab, worn clothes. Total outsider vibes.
Outside, a tall fence wrapped the yard, crawling with bold, thorny roses.
Two crazy-expensive lounge chairs sat pretty, catching sunlight that danced across the lawn, screaming wealth.
She tugged open a heavy, carved door and stepped into a hall that was next-level fancy.
Golden light poured through deep green curtains. A stunning woman sprawled on a sofa, flipping through a book like she owned the place.
"Ma'am, Miss Bradford's here," Lexi said.
Sharon didn't look up, her fingers flicking pages, totally in her own world.
Lexi tried again, polite but firm. "Ma'am!"
Nada. Sharon was lost in her book, zoned out.
Lexi's cheeks flushed, a bit thrown. She leaned toward Arielle and whispered, "Mrs. Bradford's way into her books. Probably didn't hear."
She stepped closer, voice a touch louder, still soft. "Ma'am…"
Sharon's fingers froze, her brow twitching. She snapped the book shut, slid it onto the shelf, and turned. Her sharp eyes flicked to Lexi, who scooted aside.
"Ma'am, Miss Bradford's here," Lexi said again.
Sharon's gaze hit Arielle, sizing up her cheap, homespun getup.
A sneer flashed as she raised a hand to her nose, like something stank. "Lexi, get her cleaned up and into something decent. She looks like she's begging for change.
"No Bradford lady dresses this raggedy."
Her words cut, but her tone was silky, all charm and faint smirks.
Lexi blinked, stunned. Sharon was usually sweet—dissing the young miss to her face? Sure, it came with a smile, but ouch. Lexi braced for Arielle to wilt.
Then a cool, steady voice fired back. "My clothes are clean and new. What's dirty? What's torn? Maybe get your eyes checked, Ma'am."
Arielle's tone was calm, her face unbothered, staring Sharon down like it was nothing.
Sharon's eyes widened, thrown by her daughter's first-meeting nerve.
Lexi's jaw dropped. 'Calling out Sharon's eyesight? Bold move.'
Sharon's shock sparked into anger, but a glance at a shadow upstairs made her rein it in. She slid back into her polished, elegant act, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt and resentment.