"Quit acting all pure. Didn’t I still get you in the end?"

"Move the camera closer! The sponsor wants a clear shot of her face!"

"Pretty girl, here I come..."

The greasy, disgusting voices drifted over. Vivienne Ashford’s head felt heavy and foggy. She forced her eyes open, only to meet a pair of filthy, lecherous eyes. Right in front of her was a fat, pockmarked face, pores huge, skin rough, the kind of face that made people sick on sight. The man looked to be in his forties or fifties, thick and bloated, and he was already leaning his heavy body down toward her.

In that instant, Vivienne’s eyes turned ice-cold. She shot out a hand, grabbed his wrist, and twisted hard. With a sharp crack of bone snapping, the man let out a scream like a pig being slaughtered, loud enough to shake the whole room.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the group clustered around the bed, all carrying cameras and equipment.

Where was this?

Why was she here?

"You little bitch, you dare hit me? What are you idiots standing there for? Grab her now!" The old pervert clutched his dislocated wrist, now swollen like a steamed bun, and cursed through gritted teeth.

The others rushed forward at once.

Vivienne let out a cold laugh. She was the ace assassin of the Ancient Martial Continent, the one people called the Grim Reaper. And these trash mobs thought they could handle her? Seriously?

She rose gracefully to her feet and rolled her wrists and ankles. A string of crisp cracking sounds came from her joints, the kind that made people’s scalps tingle.

The group swarmed her. Just as they were about to close in, Vivienne spun cleanly and drove out a sharp roundhouse kick, sending the man in front flying.

He had no time to react. The kick launched him back a full two meters. He crashed to the ground like a kite with its string cut and coughed up a mouthful of blood on the spot.

She turned sideways and caught another man’s incoming fist. Her pale hand looked slim and soft, almost delicate, but with one smooth twist, she used his momentum and hurled the burly man straight through the air and off to the side.

A few more charged at her, but in the blink of an eye, Vivienne either broke their hand bones or kicked them away. In no time, the whole room was filled with shrieks and miserable howls.

"You... this... this can’t be possible..."

The old man who had just tried to force himself on her stared with his eyes bulging wide. The folds of fat and wrinkles on his face trembled violently from pain and fear.

Wasn’t he told this woman was just a useless pretty face? This wasn’t a decorative vase. This was a straight-up monster.

Vivienne swept a cold glance over the mess in the room, then rubbed her throbbing temple. She picked up the fruit knife from the table and walked toward the old man lying on the floor, her gaze bloodthirsty and freezing cold.

The old man dropped to the floor, shaking so hard he could barely stay upright. He had never seen eyes that terrifying in his life.

Just as the cold, sharp blade was about to slice into his finger, he crashed to his knees and started begging like crazy, sweat pouring down his face. "Please, spare me! It was Adrian Blackwell who sent us here. We were just doing a job for money!

"Please, don’t kill me!"

Adrian Blackwell?

Vivienne Ashford frowned. Her head throbbed, heavy and dizzy, then a sharp pain tore through it like a live wire. A flood of unfamiliar memories slammed into her mind, scene after scene flashing past like a speed-run movie reel.

So she had been reborn.

Reborn into the body of a black-and-red, pretty-but-useless actress in the entertainment industry. This body’s owner was also called Vivienne Ashford. Two hours ago, she had caught her boyfriend, Adrian Blackwell, cheating with her so-called best friend, Imelda Robshaw. She walked in on them red-handed, but before she could do anything, that trash man and that fake friend teamed up, knocked her out, and even sent her to this disgusting old creep’s bed.

They wanted to ruin her completely.

"Heh."

Pulling her thoughts back, Vivienne Ashford held the fruit knife and lightly tapped the old man’s fat face with it, casual as if she were just passing time.

Each slap of the blade’s flat side made the flesh on his cheeks wobble. He was so scared his soul practically left his body.

"If you want to live, call Adrian Blackwell over," she said, lips parting slightly. Her upturned fox eyes were beautiful, but ice-cold and deadly. "Whatever you people planned to do to me, do it all to him. Every last bit."

Make them gang up on a man instead?

The old man froze for a second. But when the knife tip pricked his skin and that sharp sting hit, he nodded so fast he looked like a broken machine. "Yes, yes, yes! I’ll call him right now!"

"Good."

Vivienne Ashford stepped back and watched with cold eyes as the bloodless old man coughed wildly, then slid down the wall in a limp heap. With trembling fingers, he dialed the number.

"If this isn’t done right," she said with a smile that looked straight-up demonic, "all of you die."

"Yes! Yes, understood!"

The whole group had been scared out of their wits. They all bent over and nodded like obedient grandsons, not daring to breathe too loudly.

After throwing out that last line, Vivienne Ashford turned neatly and walked into the bathroom, every movement clean and composed.

In the cool-toned mirror, her reflection came into view, and that face was just as pale as before.

The woman in the mirror had a small face as smooth and luminous as white jade. Her slightly upturned peach-blossom eyes were enough to steal a soul, yet still looked clear and bright. Her nose was high and delicate, and her soft orange-pink lips were full and absurdly alluring.

That face somehow blended two totally opposite vibes—sultry temptation and pure, almost fairy-like innocence—into one flawless whole.

She had a slim, graceful figure, the kind of beauty people didn’t come across every day.

Vivienne Ashford was pretty satisfied with this body.

Not long after, footsteps sounded outside the room, followed by a burst of chaos.

Men screamed, cursed, and wailed one after another, the noise rising and falling without pause.

Vivienne Ashford sat on the closed toilet lid, her long legs casually crossed, scrolling through the phone with a bored look on her face.

The original owner was at least a third-tier actress in the entertainment circle, yet her bank card balance was pitifully low, only a few hundred bucks.

After digging through all the original owner’s social accounts and messages, Vivienne Ashford quickly sorted out a few key points.

The original owner was broke. Like, seriously broke.

For years, she had been squeezed dry by Adrian Blackwell’s entertainment company. Back when she signed on, she got trapped in a totally unfair contract. All these years, she’d worked her butt off and barely seen any money herself, while the company pocketed almost everything.

After Adrian Blackwell used up the last bit of her value, he turned around and poured the company’s full resources into pushing Imelda Robshaw. The two of them figured the original owner had caught them in the act, so they decided to kick her straight into hell with no way back.

Once she finished piecing everything together, Vivienne Ashford closed the phone.

Since she had been reborn into this body, then fine—she would live this life properly in her place. And this grudge, she’d settle it herself.

Only after confirming Adrian Blackwell had been thrown out of the hotel did Vivienne Ashford get hold of the video of him being humiliated just now. She copied it onto her own phone, then finally left the hotel.

What she needed to do now, besides revenge, was make money.

She had been used to luxury in her last life. No way was she going to let herself live like this.

With just these few hundred dollars, she couldn’t even get a decent meal.

In her previous life, once the name Viper got out, hiring her became the very definition of scarce and expensive. Buyers had bid her price up to hundreds of millions before. But now, she had to find something that paid fast.

After Vivienne Ashford walked out of the hotel, a breaking headline popped up on her phone.

Imperial Capital’s wealthy Vance family: elderly matriarch critically ill, urgent physician wanted at the villa, reward thirty million.

Vivienne Ashford lifted a brow, a faint smile curling at the corner of her lips. Using the little money she had left, she hailed a cab and headed straight for the Vance residence.

—

At this moment, inside the Vance family’s old castle villa.

“You? Seriously?” The woman’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “What do you think this place is, some open-air market? Any random nobody can just stroll in if they feel like it?”

“If I remember right, you’re that infamous third-rate little actress from the entertainment industry, aren’t you?” She let out a cold laugh, her eyes full of mockery. “You were doing just fine being a washed-up celebrity, and now you’ve got the nerve to come here pretending to be a doctor?”

“Do you even know what medical skill means?”

“I checked your file. You didn’t even finish college, right? So where exactly do you get the guts to show up at our house?”

“Butler, what are you still standing there for? Throw her out. Now.”

In the Vance villa, the woman sat upright on a genuine leather sofa, dressed in a custom white bodycon dress. Her makeup was flawless, her features delicate and icy, and every little movement screamed wealth, status, and arrogance. The way she looked at Vivienne Ashford right now was practically a full-on display of contempt, disdain, and naked superiority.

“Yes, miss.”

The butler had just stepped toward Vivienne when her cool gaze slid to the old madam lying on the sickbed.

“Qi and blood are blocked. Heart rhythm is unstable. The blood stasis has worsened and already spread to the abdomen, the left atrium, and the right ventricle.”

The second she finished speaking, the whole room froze.

Several military doctors exchanged stunned looks.

The woman in front of them looked barely in her early twenties, yet the way she spoke was calm, precise, and weirdly convincing. Not gonna lie, what she said actually sounded legit.

Carmelita Vance was briefly stunned too, but she snapped back fast, the sneer returning to her face in an instant.

“You think saying a few random lines is enough to bluff your way through this?”

“Exactly. Miss Vance is the youngest medical prodigy in the country. Even she can’t do anything about Mrs. Vance’s condition, so how could some entertainment-industry outsider possibly manage it?”

“She probably crammed a few terms in advance and came here for the thirty million reward.”

“What a joke. That money isn’t there for just anybody to grab. We’ve spent decades in the medical field, and even we can’t find a solution. What would a little girl like her know?”

The military doctors spoke one after another, their tone dripping with scorn.

Vivienne Ashford only curled her lips into a smile, lazy and wild, almost untamed.

“If you drive me out, Mrs. Vance won’t last a day. Her qi and blood will run dry, and she will die.”

The room went dead silent.

Everyone’s expression changed. Shock rippled through the crowd, and one by one, they instinctively stole glances at the man seated in the central position.

“You dare curse my grandmother? Are you looking to die?” Carmelita flew into a rage and shot to her feet. “Butler, seize this crazy woman right now and send her straight to prison!”

“Hold on.”

Across from the sofa, a tall, broad-shouldered man finally spoke.