Chapter 1Last life? Billionaire heir. Fifty-eight languages crammed in my head. Black-ops combat. Tank driving lessons.
Dead at twenty-five.
This time? Seven genius brothers. They can run the empire.
I ditch every class Mom enrolls me in. Twenty years straight. My parents become the family embarrassment.
Then eight syndicates strike.
Billions frozen. My brothers' networks torched. Their security teams—massacred.
A suit slams a contract down.
"Sign and go bankrupt. Or leave a hand behind. Each of you."
Mom's screaming. Dad's face is white. My brothers look like caged animals.
I stand up. Walk to the table. Sit down.
Dead silence.
I lock eyes with their reps. Switch languages.
"Carlo from Milan. Old George in London. Clement from Paris. Heinrich in Berlin."
I smile wide.
"Those four fossils still alive?"
---
"Mr. Holt, sign the papers. Everyone gets out clean."
Jackson Crawford's voice is smooth as butter.
He's sitting in the main chair of Holt Corporation's boardroom, drinking tea from some expensive cup like he's at a cafe. The room smells like death.
Across the table, my dad's face is ghost-white. He's staring at that three-hundred-page contract, eyes completely bloodshot.
I'm on the couch in the corner, playing Tetris on my Game Boy.
Blocks drop. Line clears.
Beep.
In this silent room, that tiny sound is loud as hell.
Nobody even looks at me.
To them, I'm Zoey Holt, the family screw-up.
Last life? Billionaire heir. They shoved fifty-eight languages in my head, plus combat training and tank driving lessons.
Dead at twenty-five. Dropped at a meeting table.
This life? Born into the Holts, New York's richest family.
Better yet? Seven overachieving brothers.
Tyler's the oldest at twenty-two, handles billions. Wall Street calls him the Reaper.
Marcus is number three, knows every politician and CEO on three continents.
Connor's fourth, ex-military who runs a global security company.
Even baby brother Ethan's a genius hacker who breaks into government systems for kicks.
Seven pillars holding everything up.
I cried happy tears when I realized.
This time around? I'm done trying.
So I failed everything. Slept through piano. Faked sick at riding lessons. Made paper airplanes out of my math tests and threw them out windows.
Kindergarten to college, I became the biggest joke in New York high society.
Mom and Dad cried every night. Took me to every doctor they could find.
Final answer? "Brain development issues. Can't connect with people."
The family gave up. Stopped pushing. Treated me like a pet.
Until today.
Eight crime groups from eight countries hit us at once. Planned attack.
Tyler's billions frozen right before trading started.
Marcus's contacts gone. Every phone number, dead.
Connor's security guys jumped in the parking garage, weapons taken.
Even Ethan just broke three keyboards trying to save our computer systems.
"Crawford, you've lost your damn mind."
Tyler's hands press the table so hard his knuckles turn white. His voice sounds rough.
Jackson laughs.
Puts his cup down. Takes out a white cloth, wipes his mouth slow.
"Tyler, calm down. I'm helping you out. The money betting against you is five times what you're worth. After midnight, Holt Corp stock is worthless."
He walks over to Dad. Opens a fancy pen. Holds it out.
"Mr. Holt, just sign. At least your family stays alive."
Dad's hand won't stop shaking. He looks at that pen like it's poison.
My thumb freezes on the button.
The Tetris blocks hit the top.
GAME OVER lights up.
I look up. Stare right at Jackson's cocky face.
"Hey Crawford, can you hurry up? I'm hungry."
I yawn.
The whole room goes dead quiet.
Eight pairs of eyes turn to me.
Jackson looks over. Smiles at me like I'm a stupid kid.
"See, Mr. Holt? Even Zoey's hungry. Sign fast. Take her to get some food."
Chapter 2
"Shut it. Not your call."
Connor whips around and glares at me, eyes all bloodshot, voice harsh—but his body shifts my way anyway. Just enough to block some foreign guy's creepy stare.
I don't answer. Restart my game.
That's my brothers. They hate my slacking, but when shit hits the fan? Still treat me like a helpless kid.
Jackson Crawford sighs.
He walks back to his seat and fixes his cuffs.
"Holts still don't get it, huh?"
He snaps his fingers.
The doors swing open. Guys in black roll in a metal cart with just a white cutting board on it. And one surgical blade. Real sharp.
Mom screams. Her legs give out and she falls against Dad.
"Crawford—what the hell?"
Tyler goes pale and rushes forward.
Jackson smiles, all calm.
"Mr. Holt. Already told you."
"Sign the papers, leave broke."
"Or everyone leaves a hand."
He picks up the blade and runs his thumb along it.
"Sterilized it. Clean cut."
"Hospital's downstairs. Sign or cut, you'll make surgery."
Gentle voice. Sick words.
Ethan's jaw clenches. His fingers hammer the keyboard.
"Kid, stop."
Jackson looks at him like he's pathetic.
"Your backup network? Dead. Ten minutes ago."
"That code? My guys laughed at it."
Ethan freezes.
The screen floods red with errors. His eyes turn red too.
Three months of work. His last shot.
Jackson crushed it like paper.
"Jackson... please."
Dad sounds way older suddenly.
He grabs the table and stands, his voice shaking.
"Business is business. Play fair."
"Take me. Leave my kids out."
"Mr. Holt, come on."
Jackson drops the blade on the board. Loud clatter.
"Five minutes."
He checks his watch.
"Five. Then my guys handle it."
I stare at that blade. Think—that's crap quality.
Last life when I trained, we used real steel. That thing would dull fast on bone.
I put down my Game Boy and stand up. Want to check it.
"Zoey. Sit."
Marcus grabs my shoulder hard. His hand's soaked.
"Listen. Don't move."
His voice is quiet but serious.
He shoves me back on the couch.
They won't even let me breathe.
To them I'm just stupid. Can't read a room.
Jackson looks at me.
He walks over slow and looks down at me like I'm a bug.
"Zoey. Your brothers baby you so much."
He reaches out, wants to pat my head.
"Touch her and die."
Tyler and Connor both roar.
Chapter 3
Jackson's hand stops mid-air.
He doesn't get mad. Just pulls back and shoves it in his pocket.
"You know what? I always thought your whole lazy thing was kinda cute."
He looks at me, voice all soft like he's talking to a puppy.
"Actually—how about this, Mr. Holt."
Jackson turns to Dad and smirks like he's doing us a favor.
"Sign the papers. I'll put ten mil in a trust for Zoey."
"Enough to last her whole life."
"She can play games. Shop. Whatever."
"I'll keep her like... an expensive pet bird."
Dead silence.
That's not just an insult. That's treating me like an object.
He wants to turn the Holt princess into his toy.
Wasn't enough to destroy us. Now he wants our souls too.
"Crawford—I'll fucking kill you!"
Marcus goes red and grabs an ashtray, hurls it at Jackson.
A guard steps up and slams Marcus face-down on the floor.
His cheek hits cold tile. He groans.
"Marcus!"
Mom screams and tries to run over. Another guard blocks her.
Dad's whole body shakes, his fingers digging into the table. His nails are bleeding.
Their pride—Jackson's grinding it into nothing right now.
I narrow my eyes.
This guy's mouth is seriously disgusting.
Last life, anyone talked to me like that? Their ashes ended up in the ocean.
I brush off Marcus's hand and stand up again.
I want to tell Jackson his five-times short has a fatal leverage hole.
"Zoey—shut up!"
Mom whips around and stares at me, her face covered in tears, eyes begging desperately.
"Please. Stop making it worse!"
"Go play your game! Stay out of this!"
I freeze.
That hurts more than Jackson's crap.
They'd rather think this is hopeless than believe I could help at all.
"Mrs. Holt's got the right idea. Kids shouldn't interrupt."
Jackson checks his watch.
"Time's up."
He turns and walks back to his seat.
"Mr. Holt won't decide? Fine. We start with the oldest."
Two huge guards head for Tyler.
They move fast and rough, grab his arms, drag him to the cart.
"Get off me!"
Tyler fights back—but he hasn't slept in days. No strength left.
They slam his right hand on the white board.
The blade gleams under the lights.
"No! Stop!"
Dad screams and finally breaks.
"I'll sign! I'll sign!"
He grabs the pen. His hand shakes so bad the cap drops.
"Nah. Too late, Mr. Holt."
Jackson leans back, his voice calm as ever.
"Changed my mind."
"Sign the papers. He still loses the hand."
"That's what you get for wasting my time."
He nods at the guard.
"Do it. Make it clean."
