MY WIFE KILLED ME—THEN I REBORN AS A BILLIONAIRE

Chapter 1: The Dead Man's Ears

The fluorescent lights above Ethan Moore's hospital bed buzzed like flies circling something rotten. His body was broken. Three cracked ribs, a punctured lung, and internal bleeding that the doctors had been losing the war against for two days now. Every breath felt like swallowing glass. But his ears worked just fine.

That was the cruel part.

Claire sat in the chair next to his bed. Not holding his hand. Not whispering prayers. She had her phone out, and her voice carried the casual warmth of someone discussing weekend brunch plans.

"I called the insurance company this morning. The payout is $750,000, but with the accidental clause, it bumps to 1.2 million." Claire crossed her legs and scrolled through her phone without looking up at him once.

Margaret leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest. "What about the stock options from his company? Those vest on death, don't they?"

"Already checked. Full vesting. Around $300,000 after taxes." Claire tapped her nails against the phone screen, her tone as flat as if she were reading a grocery list.

Ethan's fingers twitched under the thin hospital blanket. His eyes were closed. The morphine drip kept his body pinned to the mattress, but his mind was screaming. Every word landed like a hammer on his chest, and not one of them was about saving him.

Derek walked in holding a coffee from the hospital cafeteria. He took a loud sip and dropped into the second chair. "So who gets the Audi?"

"I do, obviously." Claire finally looked up, but only at her brother.

"Come on, Claire. That's an S5. You don't even like driving." Derek leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyes greedy and wide.

"Then I'll sell it and split it with Mom." Claire shrugged one shoulder like she was tossing away spare change.

"What about me?" Derek's voice pitched up like a child being told he couldn't have dessert.

Margaret waved her hand at him. "You'll get something. Stop acting like a stray dog fighting over scraps. There's plenty to go around once he's gone."

Once he's gone.

Ethan's throat tightened. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were too heavy. His heart monitor beeped a little faster, and nobody in the room even glanced at it.

These people are my family, he thought. I worked sixteen hour days for ten years to give them everything. I skipped my own father's funeral because Claire said we couldn't afford the flight. I ate gas station sandwiches for lunch so Lily could go to private school.

And now they were dividing him up like a Thanksgiving turkey before his body was even cold.

"Mom, can we go soon? This place smells weird." The voice was younger. Higher. Lily stood in the doorway holding her own phone, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Claire softened her expression for a moment. "In a bit, sweetheart. Come sit with Daddy for a few minutes."

"Why? It's not like he can hear us." Lily walked in and sat on the windowsill, swinging her legs.

"Lily, show some respect." Claire's correction was quiet and lazy, carrying all the weight of a feather falling on concrete.

"Mom, can I be honest about something?" Lily didn't look up from her phone.

"What is it?" Claire tilted her head slightly.

"You know he's not even my real dad, right?" Lily said it with the same energy someone would use to mention the weather.

The heart monitor spiked.

Margaret straightened up against the doorframe. Derek stopped mid sip. Claire's eyes flickered, but she recovered in less than a second.

"Lily, we talked about this. Not here." Claire's voice was low and controlled, her jaw tightening just enough to notice.

"Why not? He's basically already dead." Lily shrugged and kept scrolling. "I just want to know if I still get stuff. Because I really need a new phone. This one's been glitching for like a month."

Ethan's mind went white.

Not his daughter. Not his. The girl he had carried on his shoulders at county fairs. The girl he had stayed up with during thunderstorms because she was afraid of lightning. The girl whose college fund he had been building since she was three days old.

Not his.

And she wanted a phone.

The heart monitor screamed. A long, flat, endless tone that filled the room like a siren. Claire stood up. Margaret uncrossed her arms. Derek spilled his coffee. Lily finally looked up from her screen.

But none of them pressed the call button.

Not for six whole seconds.

Then everything went black.

Ethan's eyes snapped open.

Sunlight hit his face like a slap. He shot upright in bed, gasping, clawing at his chest. His hands found no tubes, no wires, no hospital gown. Just a plain white t shirt and cotton pajama pants.

He looked around. His bedroom. The old bedroom in the house on Maple Drive. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 6:47 AM. The date on the screen read June 14th, 2023.

Three years ago.

"That's impossible." His voice came out rough and cracked, his hands trembling as he touched his own face.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. No pain. No broken ribs. No punctured lung. His body felt whole and strong, like the accident had never happened.

But he remembered everything.

Every single word.

$750,000 payout. Stock options. The Audi. "He's basically already dead." "He's not even my real dad." "I really need a new phone."

Something cold and sharp settled in his stomach. It wasn't sadness. It wasn't even anger. It was clarity. Pure, vicious, crystal clear clarity.

A voice echoed inside his skull, calm and mechanical. Infinite Return System activated. Every dollar spent will return tenfold. No limit. No cooldown.

Ethan stood still for a moment, staring at the wall.

Then he pulled out his phone and searched for private security firms. He found one called Ironclad Solutions and dialed the number.

"Ironclad Solutions, how can I help you?" The voice on the other end was professional and crisp.

"I need full surveillance installation in a private residence. Hidden cameras, every room, every angle. Audio included. How fast can you do it?" Ethan's voice was steady and low, his expression completely blank.

"We can have a team there within four hours, sir. The deposit for a full residential package is $10,000."

"Done. I'll wire it now." Ethan hung up without another word.

He transferred the money. His bank balance dropped from $14,200 to $4,200.

Thirty seconds later, his phone buzzed. A deposit notification. $100,000. His balance now read $104,200.

Ethan stared at the screen for a long time. His face didn't change. His breathing didn't quicken. He just stared.

"Ethan? Are you up? We need to leave for the airport in an hour! The girls are already packing!" Claire's voice floated up the staircase, bright and cheerful and completely unaware.

"Coming!" He called back, his tone perfectly normal, perfectly calm.

He walked into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Same face. Same tired eyes. Same man who had worked himself half to death for people who were already counting his money before his heart had stopped.

But something behind those eyes was different now.

He straightened his collar. He fixed his hair. And he smiled. It was a small smile, quiet and cold, the kind that didn't reach the eyes at all.

The pushover is dead.

Revenge starts now.