Reborn To Ruin Her Rivals - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

The next afternoon, the sun broke through, casting a warm glow.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, wrapping Arielle in a soft, toasty embrace.
Last night, Henry and Sharon had laid it out. "Want something? Speak up. Wanna hit the town? The driver's ready."
So, Arielle decided it was time to take care of a little something she'd been putting off.
When she mentioned cruising around Theoria City to check out the sights, Sharon didn't blink. She just told Ethan Booth, their driver, to take her wherever.
The car pulled up at a mall, but after a quick "catch you later" to Ethan, Arielle skipped the shops.
Instead, she strolled down familiar streets, taking her time, soaking in the rare vibe of being free.
'Man, being alive feels so damn good,' she thought. 'Like, really good.'
Half an hour later, she hit her destination: Theoria City's liveliest entertainment district, all flash and dazzle after dark.
She'd been here before in her old life, but those memories? Not exactly warm and fuzzy. Every time, she'd spot her fiancé, Gavin, cozying up with Meredith.
Back then, she was naive. Total sucker. Meredith would spin some BS about "just business," and Arielle bought it hook, line, and sinker.
Other friends were always around, so she'd talk herself out of any doubts.
'My sister's awesome, and Gavin's head over heels for me,' she'd think. 'I'm just being paranoid.'
She'd feel like crap for doubting them, even told Gavin to "keep an eye" on Meredith.
Now, she saw it clear as day: it was all a scam. Their whole "love story" was a setup from the get-go. Why? Her shares in the Bradford family.
Her grandma, the only one who ever gave a damn about her, was in a nursing home—and she'd left all her shares to Arielle.
Lost in thought, Arielle wandered into the heart of the district.
By day, this city felt quiet, almost hollow compared to its nighttime buzz. A few people shuffled past, bundled up in coats, scarves, and hats, only their eyes peeking out against the crisp wind.
The sky looked like a soft painting, with sunlight draped gently over the clouds. A few yellow leaves floated down, twirling in the breeze before rolling off to the side, leaving a quiet, lonesome vibe.
As dusk settled in, the world dimmed, shadows creeping over the streets.
Arielle stopped dead in her tracks outside the bar, tilting her head back to catch the name blazing in neon: Bygones Club.
The place practically oozed money and glitz, a magnet for anyone chasing a good time.
She headed for the entrance, but a hulking bouncer blocked her path. "Whoa, hold up, darlin'. You're way too early. Place ain't even open yet."
His eyes flicked over her—faded jacket, scuffed-up bag hanging off her shoulder—and he smirked, like he had her all figured out.
'Another gold-digger looking for a rich guy to latch onto,' he thought.
Arielle didn't flinch at his attitude. "I'm here to see someone," she said, her voice calm but firm, not giving an inch.
Her icy tone caught the bouncer off guard. When he met her gaze—sharp as a knife—he hesitated. 'How's a kid like her got eyes that intense?'
Not wanting to push it, he played it cool. "Who you looking for?"
"Vanna," she replied.
Inside, the bar was all class—golden light pouring over intricate wall murals, polished wood carvings giving off a sultry, upscale feel.
A beam of light sliced through the stained-glass door, painting the floor with a patchwork of colors.
Arielle sank into a plush sofa, clutching a highball glass. She took a tiny sip, just enough to wet her lips, her face unreadable in the soft, amber glow.
Across from her, Vanna lounged like she owned the place—red lipstick popping, big wavy hair, a cigarette glowing between her perfectly manicured fingers.
Smoke drifted up in lazy curls as her two bodyguards stood like stone, one on each side, eyeing Arielle like she was a problem about to happen.
Vanna blew out a puff of smoke, giving Arielle a skeptical side-eye. "You waltz in here, sit there all quiet-like, and think I'm gonna care? You got one minute, kid, before I kick you to the curb."
Arielle set her glass down with a soft clink, meeting Vanna's gaze without blinking. Her lips barely moved. "I'm here to talk business."
Vanna let out a sharp, mocking laugh, her eyes raking over Arielle's thrift-store getup. 'This broke kid? Talking business?'
She was already over this meeting. Arielle looked like she couldn't afford a coffee, yet here she was acting like she had something worth hearing.
If she weren't so young, Vanna would've had her goons toss her out with a lesson she wouldn't forget.
"You for real, kid?" Vanna said, giving her a quick once-over. "You know my line of work? And you show up like that to talk business?"
She stood, flicking a hand. "Get her out." She could spot a fake from a mile off.
'Waste of my time,' she thought.
But as she turned, a calm voice cut through. "What if you could see your daughter again?"
Vanna froze, heart skipping. She turned slowly, staring at the girl who sat there, cool as ice.
She dropped back onto the couch, raising a hand. Her two burly guys nodded, slipped out, and shut the door.
The attitude was gone. Vanna leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you? What's your game?"
Arielle softened, catching Vanna's nerves. "Ivanna Sawyer, I told you, I'm here for business. And I'm about to spill."
The name "Ivanna" hit like a brick. Vanna hadn't heard it in years.
She'd ditched it at sixteen for Vanna, a new skin for a life of hustling since she was ten.
Hearing it now made her pause, head spinning like she'd stepped into a ghost story.
Arielle kept going, voice firm. "One promise from you, and I'll give you news about your daughter."
Vanna's jaw tightened. 'A promise? This kid has balls. Her daughter was dead. How dare she play that card?'
Her hands balled into fists, voice low and dangerous. "Don't screw with me, kid, or you're done."
"She's alive," Arielle said, each word clear, unflinching.
Her gaze didn't waver—no sign of a lie.
Vanna's chest tightened, mind reeling. 'Alive? Impossible.'
She'd seen the video: her five-year-old girl, stabbed over and over, blood pooling, her tiny body dumped in the sea.
The knife—white going in, red coming out—her daughter's pained face haunted her dreams.
'No way. It couldn't be true,' she told herself.
But even if it was a lie, Vanna wanted to believe. Her little girl Eve had been so small, so bright.
After years of burying that grief, here was someone dangling hope in front of her.