Reborn to Reject: A Million to Burn the Cheater’s Regret のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

The cold of the Brooklyn studio’s window seeped through **Sophia Reed’s** thin sweater, but she barely felt it. Her gaze was glued to the cracked smartphone in her hands, the screen casting a harsh glow on her gaunt face. **Lucas Montgomery’s** second wedding was trending—**Luna Carter**, in a custom **Vera Wang** gown that cost more than Sophia’s entire life savings, grinned as she slipped a diamond ring on her finger. The caption cut like a knife: *“Good riddance to dead weight. Finally, the real Mrs. Montgomery.”*Sophia choked on a sob, her chest heaving. She’d given up her career as a top luxury brand consultant for Lucas, quit the job that made her feel alive to cook his meals, clean his penthouse, and pretend his late nights were “client meetings.” Now, she was **38**, broke, and dying alone, her liver failing from the cheap wine she’d turned to after he left her for Luna. The last of her money had gone to rent this ratty studio; the fridge was empty, the walls lined with unpai

Sophia’s laptop hummed as she scrolled through Lucas’s hidden phone logs, Luna’s texts a masterclass in greed: *Baby, that Chanel bag is $40k—you owe me for being loyal!* *Sophia’s so boring—she’ll never suspect us.* *When are you gonna leave her and buy me that Tribeca penthouse?*Disgust curdled in her stomach, but she pushed it down. Rage was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She picked up her phone, calling the luxury concierge service she’d used in her consulting days.“Custom gift basket for Luna Marie,” she said, her voice modulated to sound like a Montgomery Tech PA. “Chanel, Dior, Cartier—but all with flaws. Misaligned stitches, faded logos, fake serial numbers. Anonymous delivery, with a note: ‘For the future Mrs. Montgomery.’”“Done by end of day,” the concierge replied.Next, she dug into Luna’s past. Using her consulting connections, she pulled public records—Luna Mae Carter, 22, from Millersburg, Ohio. A police report from 2022: $5,000 stolen from her hardware store employer

Sophia’s phone buzzed—a text from **Mike**, the PI. *“Suite 2801, The Standard. They’re inside, no security.”*Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel of her rental car, the leather creaking under her grip. **Suite 2801.** The same room where she’d broken in screaming in her past life, begging for answers that never came. The room that symbolized her lowest point. This time, she wasn’t the victim. She was the hunter.She grabbed her leather crossbody bag—inside lay the hidden recorder, the button camera, and the signed **NDA**—and walked into the hotel. She bypassed the main lobby, taking the service elevator to the 28th floor. The hallway was quiet, carpeted in black, the silence heavy with anticipation. She typed Lucas’s keycode—his birthday backwards, the same lazy password he always used—and the door clicked open.The suite was floor-to-ceiling glass, Manhattan glowing behind them like a crown. **Lucas** leaned against the balcony railing, shirt unbuttoned, champag

Ella slid the thick stack of divorce papers across her glass desk, her red lipstick smudged from too much coffee. “Everything’s airtight. Asset division is fair—you get 70% of the joint account, the penthouse, and full ownership of any future business ventures. No spousal support for him. Attached is every piece of evidence: the texts, the hotel video, the Veridian fraud proof.”Sophia flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the legal jargon. In her past life, she’d signed a lopsided agreement that left her penniless. This time, she held all the cards. “Perfect. File them after the banquet. I want him to have his moment of glory before it all comes crashing down.”Ella grinned. “You’re evil. I love it. What’s next? Hunt down Luna’s loan sharks? Leak her theft record?”“Not yet,” Sophia said. “Jake’s launching the blog tonight. ‘Upper East Side Insider.’ Anonymous, sleek, just credible enough to make waves. First post is a blind item about the ‘intern’ with fake designer goods and

The morning after the banquet, Sophia arrived at Lucas’s penthouse with Ella and a process server. The place was a mess—empty champagne bottles, crumpled napkins, Lucas’s suit jacket thrown over the couch. He stumbled out of the bedroom, his eyes bloodshot, his hair a mess.“What are you doing here?” he growled, his voice hoarse from screaming.“Filing for divorce,” Sophia said, holding up the papers. “Ella’s already served your lawyer. The court date is set for next month.”Lucas laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “You think this is over? You think you can destroy my reputation, my company, and walk away with half my assets? You’re delusional.”“Actually,” Ella said, stepping forward, “she’s not. The evidence is irrefutable: the affair, the Veridian fraud, the financial mismanagement. You’re lucky she’s not pressing criminal charges. Yet.”Lucas’s face turned red with rage. He lunged toward Sophia, but the process server grabbed him. “Get your hands off me!”“Calm down, Lucas,” Sophia