They Sent Me to Rot, I Came Back with a Crown Novel – My father was a mafia boss. My mother was a socialite born into one of the most powerful families in Haven City. And my older brother? He treated me like a princess, spoiled me to the bone. My life had been so charmed that it was the envy of everyone around me. So when I realized I had been reborn, I was certain I was in for an even happier second act.
But the moment the nurse carried newborn me into my father’s arms, everything changed. The man who once adored me barely glanced my way. His eyes were cold. Detached. “You already enjoyed a lifetime of privilege as a Langford heiress,” he said flatly. “This time, that life belongs to Lila.” He handed the nurse a check, his face expressionless. “Find her a good adoptive family. And make sure she never crosses my path again.” The nurse carried me out the back door of the hospital. But before she could go far, someone struck her from behind.
Through my infant eyes, I made out a familiar face—my brother, Brandon Langford. Relief flooded me. I thought he’d come to save me. But then his hand clamped over my mouth. He strode through several dark alleys before stopping behind an underground club. His eyes were sharp and twisted with hate. “I promised Lila I’d make sure you rot in this hellhole. I want you to experience what it’s like to wallow in the mire of a brothel and be looked down upon by everyone.” I lay on the cold floor, my heart feeling as though it were being torn in two.
The pain was so real, so suffocating, I could barely breathe. Why? Why would my father and brother do this to me? Just moments ago, we’d been ambushed by our enemies. I had been the one to take the wheel, luring them away—driving off a cliff to save them. Yet now, in this second life, their first act was to strip me of my name, my status, my family and discard me in a den of iniquity—all for Lila Monroe. But I had never, ever harmed her.
I closed my eyes, my throat aching with the kind of grief that couldn’t even find tears. “Hey… what’s that?” A small voice broke through the dark. A little boy—five, maybe six—peeked at me curiously. Something poked my cheek. “Why isn’t it moving? Is it dead?” Annoyed by the poking, I forced my heavy eyelids open. I stared at him blankly, no emotion left to give.
He gasped in delight. “She’s alive!” Then he scooped me up and started running, his little feet pounding against the pavement. But before he could go far, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out of the shadows ahead of us. The boy froze, then tried to bolt in the opposite direction—but the man was faster, easily blocking his path. I blinked, startled. The man was clearly trained—a professional bodyguard.
I thought the boy must have gotten himself into trouble, and that this was the end for him. But then the man’s tone turned deferential, almost exasperated. “Young Master, I assure you, there are no ‘demons’ in this establishment. Please, you must stop trying to sneak in here.” Wait—what? “You’re lying!” the boy protested, puffing out his cheeks. “If there’s no demon, then why does Mrs.
Thompson always yell at her husband for coming here to see one?” The man was at a loss for words. After an awkward pause, he signed. After a long pause, he sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow, I’ll take you inside properly during the day, and we’ll search every corner, alright?” “No need.” The boy rose on tiptoe, holding me up proudly toward the man. His eyes sparkled with triumph. “Look! I found a little ‘demon’ right at the door! When she grows up, if anyone makes me angry, I’ll have her steal their soul!” For a second, our eyes met—his bright with mischief, mine dull with confusion and embarrassment. And in that absurd, impossible moment, I almost forgot how much it hurt to be abandoned.