The Reborn Tycoon: Taking Back My Life

Rising from the Dead

Three days later.

The scent of dark coffee and slightly burnt toast filled the air of the wooden cabin. Sienna sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace, reading an anatomy book while occasionally glancing over at the wooden table where Martin’s body lay as completely still as a mummified statue.

The heart monitor continued to beep at a slow, steady pace. For three full days, the man had been in a deep coma following massive blood loss.

Suddenly, Martin’s right index finger twitched slightly.

Sienna immediately set her book aside and walked over. She carefully observed the subtle shift in the man's breathing rhythm, which was slowly beginning to quicken.

Gradually, Martin’s unbandaged right eyelid fluttered open millimeter by millimeter. His vision was incredibly blurry. The dancing light from the fireplace seared his sensitive retina. He tried to swallow, but a severe, stinging dryness made his throat feel as though it were on fire.

"Where... am... I?" Martin whispered in an incredibly hoarse, broken voice that sounded almost like two dry stones grinding together.

"You are at the absolute edge of hell, and I happen to be the doctor who dragged you back from it. Do not move!" Sienna commanded with a deeply stern tone, firmly pressing a hand against Martin's chest as he attempted to lift his head.

Martin forced his heavy gaze to shift, staring at the face of the unfamiliar woman beside him. His mind was still a chaotic mess. He remembered the torrential rain. He remembered the violent confrontation in the abandoned building. And he distinctly remembered Miller’s vicious smirk right before the blade plunged into him.

"My stomach... feels like it was... sliced open," Martin whimpered, struggling to suppress a groan of pure agony.

"Your stomach was sliced open. I had to rip it wider to stitch your main artery back together three days ago. The stitches are still incredibly fresh. If you move around too much, your abdomen will tear open all over again and you will bleed to death instantly. Do you understand?" Sienna warned sharply.

"Three days? I've been asleep for that long?" Martin murmured in disbelief.

"You were in a coma. Your body needed time to synthesize new blood." Sienna brought a glass of plain water to Martin’s lips with a straw. "Drink this very slowly. Your vocal cords are bruised from the forced intubation."

Martin drank the water with extreme difficulty. The cold sensation slightly soothed the searing pain in his throat. "Why... does my face feel so numb and incredibly heavy?"

"Your lunatic brother slashed your face open with a highly serrated blade. Coupled with the impact against the jagged rocks when you fell," Sienna explained bluntly, offering no sugarcoating. "Your face is completely ruined, Martin. I wrapped it tightly with thick layers of bandages to prevent cross-infection. You are going to need total facial reconstructive surgery later."

Martin fell completely silent. His memory was rapidly piecing together the horrifying puzzle of that night. This destroyed face was the absolute masterpiece of his own twin brother's deep-seated hatred.

"I don't give a damn about my face... I have to go home. My wife... she's living with that bastard right now in my own house!" Martin roared, his breathing ragged, the immense psychological betrayal entirely overpowering his physical pain. He forced himself to sit upright, roughly swiping Sienna’s hand away.

A blindingly sharp pain instantly impaled his lower abdomen. Martin’s face turned as deathly pale as a sheet. He nearly collapsed off the edge of the table if Sienna hadn't immediately grabbed his shoulders with all her strength.

"Does a woman make you utterly stupid?! You can't even walk two meters without screaming in absolute agony!" Sienna yelled right in Martin’s face. "Your wife isn't going to drop dead just because she's being screwed by your brother for a few nights! But you will absolutely die if you recklessly march out of my cabin right now!"

"I am Martin Whitlock! I will not let that filthy street parasite take my wife and my empire for another second!" Martin shot back with whatever remaining strength he had, his deeply ingrained pride violently refusing to bow to his physical weakness.

"You are not a CEO in here! You are a walking corpse with the face of a monster! Look at yourself!"

Sienna swiftly grabbed a small square mirror off the table and shoved it straight in front of Martin's face.

Martin’s breath instantly hitched in his throat. He stared at his reflection in the cracked glass, his eye wide with sheer horror. His entire head was wrapped in thick, heavily layered white bandages. He looked exactly like a terrifying, mangled monster that absolutely no one would ever recognize.

"Do you honestly think the security guards at your majestic skyscraper will let this grotesque monster walk through the front doors?" Sienna asked, her tone dripping with ice-cold sarcasm. "Will your beloved wife run to embrace this horrifying creature?"

Martin slowly tore his gaze away from the mirror. His hands curled into tight fists in his lap. His arrogant pride was steadily crumbling into dust. This agonizing reality had slapped his sanity right across the face.

"I have money. Whatever amount you desire, Doctor. Just heal me as fast as possible," Martin offered, his voice dropping to a much softer, dangerously cold whisper.

"I don't need your money. I just need an obedient patient," Sienna retorted with a subtle, mocking smirk. She walked over to the corner of the cabin and picked up a battered television remote. "Before you go planning your next idiotic move, I highly suggest you take a look at the reality of the outside world today. The earth keeps spinning even while you're asleep in here, Martin."

Sienna pressed the power button on the remote. A small, outdated television in the corner crackled to life, displaying a live morning news broadcast straight from Amsterdam's main station.

Martin narrowed his visible eye. On the television screen, a bright and incredibly festive scene was unfolding in the front courtyard of a highly luxurious orphanage right in the city center.

Hundreds of reporters were clustered together. Standing dead center in the massive crowd was a man wearing a custom-tailored black suit. His hair was slicked back to perfection. Beside him stood Moana, looking absolutely stunning in an expensive white dress, smiling brightly and happily as she clung tightly to the man's arm.

"Good morning, Amsterdam," an incredibly familiar baritone voice resonated from the television speakers, making Martin's blood boil instantly.

It was Miller, flawlessly mimicking his voice to absolute perfection.

"Today, my beloved wife, Moana, and I are officially inaugurating the Whitlock Charity Foundation for children," Miller continued, flashing a deeply charismatic, charming smile.

The loud, enthusiastic applause from the reporters was crystal clear.

"Mr. Whitlock! You look incredibly happy today! Is there any other good news from your family?" a female reporter shouted over the crowd.

Miller stared straight into the camera, then turned his head sideways, wrapping his arm around Moana's waist in an extremely protective and tight embrace. He kissed his wife's forehead right amidst the endless flashing camera lights.

"Absolutely. My wife and I just spent an incredibly remarkable night together," Miller answered with a deeply suggestive tone. "Her endless support and love at home makes me the luckiest man alive."

Moana let out a soft giggle, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. She affectionately rested her head against the imposter's shoulder. "My husband is right. He always knows exactly how to make me feel deeply satisfied as a wife."

Those exact words impaled Martin's solar plexus like a highly venomous dagger.

His wife wasn't merely deceived. Moana clearly looked like she was thoroughly enjoying that man's embrace, and even had the audacity to publicly boast about their passionate nights of absolute satisfaction. Moana genuinely had absolutely no idea that the man dominating her in bed was the very demon who had discarded her real husband at the bottom of a ravine.

Martin trembled violently. The thick white bandages wrapped around his abdomen began to seep fresh red blood as his core muscles tensed extremely hard, struggling to contain an explosive surge of absolute fury. His jaw was clenched so tightly his teeth ground together.

"Was that broadcast enough to slaughter the last remaining shreds of your arrogance and ego?" Sienna asked softly.

"Turn that television off," Martin whispered, his voice impossibly low and lethally venomous.

Sienna clicked the remote. The screen instantly faded to pitch black.

"I will recover," Martin stared dead-on at his ruined reflection in the darkened television screen, his gaze promising an upcoming storm of absolute, catastrophic destruction. "I am going to rip both of their hearts out with my own bare hands."