Reborn to Ruin My Fate-Stealing Nanny Chapter 1

Martha offered me the steaming bowl of collagen elixir, claiming she was too old for it. Her eager eyes filled me with dread. In my previous life, that broth had drained me, mysteriously transferring all my skincare benefits to her.

I refused and made her drink it instead. After, I tested a theory: applying my serum caused an age spot to bloom exactly where Martha had a blemish. My blood ran cold—the nightmare was repeating.

I remembered aging decades in weeks before. Panicked, I swept all my expensive skincare into the trash. Martha walked in, feigned heartbreak, and begged to salvage the bottles.

She fished the jars out of the trash, cradling them against her chest like newborn babies.

Watching her, a twisted idea sparked in my mind. I immediately grabbed a bottle of rich night cream and smeared a generous layer directly onto her cheek, desperate to see if my newly formed age spot would vanish.

It didn't. In fact, my blemish only grew darker.

Martha, completely oblivious to my horror, happily patted her cheeks. She bragged about how luxury products really did work miracles, claiming her skin felt tighter and brighter already.

But through the reflection in the mirror, I caught a fleeting, venomous glint in her eyes.

The bathroom door clicked open. My husband, David, stepped out with a towel slung low on his waist.

He shot Martha a frigid glare before turning his annoyance entirely on me. "What exactly are you doing? I thought I told you to keep the help out of our bedroom when I'm around."

Staring at his irritated scowl, the memory of how she got here hit me hard. David was the one who brought Martha into our home in my previous life.

He claimed she was an elite estate manager who had served the Montgomery family for years. Supposedly, the Montgomerys were relocating to Europe, so they highly recommended her to him.

At first, I had been thrilled. Martha was efficient, her cooking was phenomenal, and she ran the massive estate like a well oiled machine.

But three days in, the bizarre horror began.

Every time I did my skincare routine, my face broke out in unexplained dark patches. Fine lines webbed out from the corners of my eyes. Meanwhile, Martha's sun damaged, leathery skin grew increasingly flawless. Her deep set wrinkles literally ironed themselves out.

I was an avid runner. Yet a week into her employment, my body turned sluggish and bloated. Thick rolls of fat stubbornly clung to my waistline.

Martha, on the other hand, shed weight like a snake shedding skin. She walked around the house radiating youthful energy, her figure growing slim and tight.

I had been so terrified I rushed to an exclusive med spa for laser treatments.

When the esthetician pulled the protective goggles off my face, she actually screamed. Huge, ugly patches of pigmentation had erupted across my cheeks, and my skin was sagging off my bone structure.

I tried getting body sculpting massages, only to wake up with deep stretch marks and a jagged scar on my lower stomach that looked exactly like a C-section mark.

Meanwhile, Martha was parading around the kitchen with a flawless complexion and the faint, sexy outline of abs showing through her shirt.

That night, David took one look at my ruined body and literally kicked me out of our bed.

When I hysterically tried to explain how weird Martha's transformation was, he just sneered at me.

"Everyone knows women hit a wall and age overnight," he had scoffed. "So you're aging like milk before you even hit thirty. And you're blaming the damn housekeeper for it?"

Yet the very next morning, his eyes were glued to Martha's newly snatched waist, tracking her every move.

In a fit of rage, I fired her.

That was the nail in my coffin. My periods stopped instantly. The doctors diagnosed me with early onset menopause, severe diabetes, and hypertension.

David didn't just mock my repulsive appearance, he started bringing random women back to our house.

The stress and betrayal triggered a massive stroke. I collapsed on the floor, begging him to call an ambulance. He didn't even look down. He just wrapped his arm around his latest fling and stepped over my paralyzed body to go into our bedroom.

I died in the ambulance the next morning. It was too late.

But now I was back. And this time, I was going to unearth whatever sick witchcraft she was using and burn it to the ground.