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I Died for Love, Then Took His Millions
Novelix
Completed
In my first life, I gave up college to become Julian Sterling’s kept woman—and died for it. Reborn on the night we met, I take his five million dollars, his condo, and his Ferrari, then walk straight into Hudson University. This time, I choose knowledge over love. But when a jealous heiress tries to destroy my hands, steal my research, and even kill me, I fight back until she loses everything. And Julian? The man who once bought me becomes the one begging to stand beside me.
Chapters (4)
第1章
The night Hudson University releases its admission decisions, I once again find Julian Sterling bleeding in a dark, damp alley in my hometown of Newburgh.
He is near one of his family’s redevelopment sites, leaning against a brick wall with his eyes half-closed.
Julian is the sole heir to one of New York’s most powerful families.
Without a word, he wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth and holds out a black card.
“There’s five million dollars in the account linked to this card, plus a condo and a sports car. Consider it a thank-you gift. You’ll never have to worry about money again.”
He pauses and studies me.
“If that isn’t enough, you can ask for one more thing. Just don’t get greedy.”
In my first life, I was blinded by love and refused to take a single dollar.
I even gave up my place at Hudson University, despite graduating as valedictorian and winning a medal in a national physics competition. I willingly broke my own wings to become Julian’s kept woman.
In the end, Sloane Whitmore, the woman he grew up with, crushed me beneath her heel, tortured me, and left me to die in a freezing basement.
Now I am back.
I take the card and slip it into my pocket.
“Thank you. Please have the assets transferred as soon as possible. Also, could your driver take me to Manhattan right now?”
To hell with being his kept woman.
To hell with tragic love.
This time, I only want to go to college.
Julian’s bloodstained hand goes still.
He searches my face, as if he expects this to be some kind of game.
It isn’t.
He pulls out his phone and makes a call.
Minutes later, a black Rolls-Royce stops at the entrance to the alley. The driver hurries toward us with an umbrella.
I ignore Julian and climb into the back seat.
Julian gets in beside me, filling the car with the metallic scent of blood.
“Manhattan,” he tells the driver.
As we leave Newburgh behind, I pull up Hudson’s applied physics program on my phone.
“You’re not worried I might go back on my word?” Julian asks.
“The watch on your wrist costs more than most people earn in a year, and one phone call brought a chauffeured Rolls-Royce to an alley in Newburgh.”
“If you break your promise, I still get a free ride to Manhattan.”
Julian leans back. “What’s your name?”
“Nora Hayes.”
“You need money?”
“Of course. Money solves ninety-nine percent of the problems in this world.”
Less than two hours later, we stop outside a luxury building in Tribeca.
Julian takes me upstairs to a fully furnished condo and tosses a set of keys onto the counter.
“The condo is yours. There’s a red Ferrari in the garage. My attorney will bring the transfer papers tomorrow.”
I pick up the keys.
“Pleasure doing business with you. I hope you recover soon.”
Julian stares at me for a moment, then leaves without another word.
The moment the door closes, I connect to the Wi-Fi and open Hudson University’s enrollment portal.
My acceptance letter is waiting for me.
In my last life, I never accepted it.
This time, I click ACCEPT.
A green confirmation banner appears on the screen.
I breathe.
The next afternoon, a Sterling family attorney arrives with the transfer documents.
I read every page, make sure there are no hidden conditions, and sign my name.
I cut my waist-length hair to my chin.
The girl in the mirror has short hair and clear eyes.
The Nora Hayes from my last life died in that basement.
This time, I trust only the money in my account and the knowledge in my head.
第2章
In September, I move into Hudson University’s first-year residence hall in Manhattan.
I wheel my suitcase into a four-person dorm room, choose the bed by the window, and unpack my books.
The door flies open.
Sloane Whitmore walks in wearing Chanel, with my other two roommates trailing behind her. One carries her bags. The other pushes two designer suitcases and gives me a disgusted look.
Sloane stops in front of me and wrinkles her nose.
“So you’re Nora Hayes, the valedictorian.”
Her gaze travels over my plain clothes.
“You smell like cheap shampoo.”
I turn away and continue arranging my books.
One of the girls slaps her hand down on top of them.
“Didn’t you hear her? Move your things. Sloane wants the bed by the window.”
I grab her wrist and push it away.
She cries out and stumbles backward.
Sloane’s expression hardens. “Did you just put your hands on her?”
I wipe my hand with a tissue and throw it away.
“This room belongs to all four of us. If cheap shampoo bothers you that much, go get your own apartment.”
Sloane pulls a thick envelope from her Prada bag and drops it on my desk.
“Ten thousand dollars for the window bed. Take it and move your things to the bed by the door.”
She looks me up and down.
“You’re smart. Take the money and don’t make this difficult.”
I pick up the envelope and weigh it in my hand.
One roommate laughs. “Look at her. She’s never seen that much money before.”
I toss the envelope back at Sloane.
“If you want people to worship you, go buy them somewhere else.”
“Do you have any idea who my family is?” Sloane snaps.
“No.” I sit down and open my textbook. “And I don’t care.”
Her face twists with rage.
“You’re going to regret this.”
She kicks my suitcase aside and storms out, slamming the door behind her.
That night, I return from the library and find my mattress soaked through.
Water drips from the sheets onto the floor. An empty plastic basin lies beside the bed.
My roommates sit across the room, trying and failing to hide their smiles. Sloane leans against her headboard, scrolling through her phone.
“What happened?” I ask.
She glances up. “The basin slipped.”
“I see.”
I walk to her desk and pick up the white Chanel bag sitting beside her perfume bottles.
Her smile disappears. “Put that down.”
I carry it into the bathroom, place it in the sink, and turn on the faucet.
Water pours over the pale leather.
Sloane rushes after me. “Are you insane? That bag is limited edition!”
“Sorry.” I hold it beneath the running water. “My hand slipped.”
She grabs for it. I let go.
The waterlogged bag hits the floor with a heavy thud.
Sloane raises her hand to slap me.
I step aside, catch her wrist, and slap her first.
The crack silences the room.
I lean close enough for only her to hear me.
“Touch my things again, and next time, I won’t stop at your bag.”
For the next week, Sloane leaves my bed alone.
Sloane only got into Hudson’s physics program because of her family’s connections. She can barely follow a lecture.
But with Whitmore money behind her and half the campus eager to earn her favor, she never has to fight her own battles.
Someone will always be willing to do it for her.
第3章
Then Hudson announces its freshman welcome gala.
Sloane will perform the final act.
As a member of the student council's event team, I am in charge of the stage lighting.
The Sterling Group is the gala's largest sponsor, and Julian Sterling will attend on the company's behalf.
The Whitmore family supplies all the lighting equipment for the night. They claim it is a generous donation to Hudson, but everyone knows they want the Sterlings' attention.
Sloane wants it most of all.
She has spent weeks preparing a cello solo for Julian. The dress, the lighting, even the angle of the final spotlight have all been chosen to make her look like Hudson's perfect heiress.
Ten minutes before the gala begins, the control-room door swings open.
Sloane walks in with the student council president and a man wearing a Whitmore Stage Technologies badge.
She points at my chair.
“Get up.”
I look at her. “Why?”
“My family provided every light in this auditorium. I want our professional lighting engineer controlling them during my performance.”
The student council president immediately steps forward.
“Nora, just let him take over. The Whitmores sponsored the equipment. If anything goes wrong tonight, can you afford to take responsibility?”
I turn to the engineer's screen.
He has replaced the tested program with a new sequence. At the climax of Sloane's solo, every spotlight in the auditorium is set to reach maximum power at once.
“The current program already passed its load test,” I say. “This one didn't.”
Sloane folds her arms. “So?”
“If he pushes every spotlight to full power, the control board could burn out.”
Her face darkens.
“Are you jealous because I'm performing for Julian while you're hiding backstage?”
The engineer gives a dismissive laugh.
“Don't try to scare us with something you read in a textbook. I've been running live shows since before you ever touched a control panel.”
I look at the load warning flashing on his screen.
Then I step away from the console.
“Fine. But remember that I warned you.”
Sloane smiles as if she has won.
“Now get out.”
I leave the control room and stand at the side of the stage.
The gala continues without trouble until the final performance.
Sloane walks onto the stage in a glittering silver gown and sits beneath a single spotlight. Julian is in the center of the front row, his expression unreadable.
She lifts her bow and begins to play.
At first, everything works perfectly.
Then the music reaches its climax.
Inside the control room, the engineer pushes every light to full power.
The stage turns white.
Sloane smiles and draws her bow across the strings.
A deafening bang cuts through the auditorium.
Black smoke pours from the control console. Every stage light dies at once.
Screams rise from the audience as the room falls into darkness. A few seconds later, the emergency lights flicker on.
Sloane sits frozen in the middle of the stage, her bow still raised.
In the front row, Julian stands. His security team escorts him toward the exit without waiting for the performance to resume.
As he passes me, his eyes settle on mine.
He gives me a slight nod and keeps walking.
Sloane is hurrying offstage with one hand clutching her skirt. She sees the entire exchange.
Her humiliation twists into rage.
The student council president rushes into the control room with a flashlight. Sloane follows close behind.
“Nora!” he shouts. “Did you do this? This is a serious safety incident!”
Sloane also storms toward me and points a shaking finger at my face.
“You sabotaged my performance! You couldn't stand watching me play for Julian, so you destroyed the lights to humiliate me!”
I slap her hand away.
“The system logs every command. Your engineer triggered the overload.”
Her expression stiffens.
I point to the camera above the control-room door.
“And this room records audio and video around the clock. It recorded me warning all of you, and it recorded you ordering me to leave.”
The engineer goes pale.
Sloane opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Brains are useful,” I say. “Too bad money can't buy you one.”
I walk past her toward the exit.
“Repairs will cost twenty thousand dollars. Make sure your family pays the bill.”
The next day, Sloane receives a formal disciplinary warning, and the Whitmores are ordered to cover the full repair cost.
Her family loses twenty thousand dollars, and she loses what little dignity she has left.
But humiliation never teaches girls like Sloane a lesson.
It only makes them crueler.
第4章
Not long after, we have the most important physics lab assessment of the semester.
Professor Collins spends the entire class standing beside Sloane’s table.
He adjusts her equipment himself. He repeats instructions she should already know. When her group’s readings still refuse to appear, he does not blame her.
Instead, he looks at my table.
“Nora, give Sloane your precision sensor.”
My group falls silent.
I look up from my results. “Without it, we can’t complete the assessment.”
“It’s one grade,” Professor Collins says impatiently. “The Whitmores are considering a major donation to this department. Don’t make things difficult.”
Sloane leans back in her chair, a smug, dismissive smile on her lips.
I unplug the sensor and place it on her table without another word.
So this is her revenge. I almost laugh. This is all she can do?
Then I turn toward the lab’s shared terminal.
A program is running on the screen.
Or trying to.
Red error messages flash across a black background.
ORBITAL CALCULATION FAILED.
TRAJECTORY UNSTABLE.
The program belongs to Professor Collins’s research team. They have been working for months to calculate a stable orbit for a new satellite project.
Everyone in the department knows the simulations have failed every time.
I stare at the numbers racing across the screen.
“The correction sequence is wrong,” I say.
Professor Collins barely glances at me.
“What?”
“The satellite isn’t losing its orbit because of the data.” I point at the screen. “Your program is correcting the trajectory too late.”
For the first time, he looks annoyed.
“That project is far beyond undergraduate work.”
Sloane laughs.
“She can’t even finish a basic lab without a sensor, but she thinks she can fix your satellite program?”
A few people around us snicker.
Professor Collins steps between me and the computer.
“Don’t touch the research terminal, Nora. If you corrupt those files, I’ll personally make sure you’re removed from this lab.”
I meet his eyes.
“Fine.”
Then I return to my unfinished experiment.
By the time class ends, Sloane has my sensor, Professor Collins has praised her “effort,” and my group has no results to submit.
Sloane pauses beside my table on her way out.
“You should learn your place,” she says softly. “Not everyone gets to stand in the spotlight.”
I look at the red errors still flashing on the terminal.
Then I look back at her.
“You’re right.”
She smiles.
“You don’t belong in mine.”
She walks away before I can answer.
That night, after the building empties, I return to the physics lab.
The hallway lights have been dimmed. Outside the windows, the campus is dark and quiet.
The shared terminal is still running.
Red error messages flash across the screen.
Over and over.
I sit down.
For the first hour, I trace every calculation and correction sequence.
My fingers keep moving across the keyboard. I test one calculation after another, delete broken lines, and start again.
When the sun rises the next morning, the red ERROR messages are gone.
The satellite finally holds its course.
I lower my head onto my folded arms, the stable orbit still glowing on the screen.
