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Charity woke up in a hellish, acid-rain-soaked slum, trapped inside a bloated body covered in festering, toxic sores. She was the exiled Grand Princess of the Empire. But the real nightmare wasn't her ruined body. It was the fact that the original owner had used her royal authority to force genetic marriage contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men. Now, she was bound to them, and they absolutely loathed her. Hjalmar, chained to a bed in her filthy room, smiled like a feral beast and promised to rip her head off the second his chains snapped. Braden, a ruthless military officer, saved her from a mutated rat only to look at her with pure disgust. "If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't dirty my patrol sector." Even the locals mocked her fallen status, and a wealthy heiress publicly framed her for stealing a hundred-thousand-coin energy core just to see her rot in a dark cell. She was universally despised, physically repulsive, and a lethal biological toxin gave her exactly 59 days left to live. How was she supposed to survive this absolute hell when her starting affection with her partners was at negative 100? Then, a mechanical voice echoed in her skull, activating a survival system. To purge the poison, she had to harvest emotional energy by making these four men fall for her. Charity accepted the mandate, unlocked a top-tier culinary skill, and grabbed a rusted meat cleaver to start her counterattack.
Contents
Rejected No More: The Exiled Princess Returns Chapter 1
Charity's consciousness slammed back into her body with a violent surge of pain. Her skull throbbed as if a rusted spike was being driven directly between her eyes.
She gasped, her lungs expanding, and the harsh scent of copper blood and the damp, metallic smell of rust and decay instantly coated the back of her throat.
She tried to push herself up from the cold floor. Her arms felt like they were filled with wet cement.
Through her blurred vision, she caught sight of her own forearms. They were thick, bloated, and covered in a layer of pallid, unhealthy flesh. Her heart skipped a heavy beat.
A harsh, metallic grating sound shattered the dead silence of the room. It was the sound of heavy chains dragging against steel.
Charity forced her stiff neck to turn. She looked toward the dark corner of the cramped, filthy bedroom.
In the dim, flickering light, a man was chained to the frame of a narrow bed. His body was lean, heavily muscled, and covered in dark, drying blood. Thick, high-voltage metal chains wrapped around his wrists and throat, locking him in place.
The man slowly raised his head.
His eyes locked onto hers. They were the narrow, elongated eyes of a fox, glowing with an unnatural, feral light. The raw, unfiltered violence in his stare pierced straight through her pupils, pinning her to the floor.
A low, heavy panting tore from his throat, sounding more like a wild beast than a human. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a smile that made the hair on Charity's arms stand on end.
"The second this chain snaps," Hjalmar rasped, his voice a ruined, gravelly sound, "I am going to rip your head from your neck."
The sheer, physical weight of his murderous intent hit Charity like a blow to the chest. Her stomach plummeted. Pure survival instinct took over, and she scrambled backward, her palms scraping against the rough concrete floor.
Hjalmar suddenly exploded forward.
He lunged at her with terrifying speed. The heavy metal chains snapped taut with a deafening crack, the steel groaning under his immense, unnatural strength.
His blood-crusted fingertips stopped mere inches from her face, the heavy chains groaning in protest as they jerked him back. The sheer force of his lunge sent a violent rush of stale air across her cheeks, stinging her skin.
Cold sweat drenched Charity's spine. Her lungs seized. She kept crawling backward, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Her hand hit a pile of clothes on the floor. She grabbed a massive, torn coat and blindly wrapped it around her shivering, bloated body.
Behind her, Hjalmar threw his head back and let out a chilling, manic laugh.
"Run!" he mocked, the sound echoing off the peeling walls. "Where are you going to run, you useless, toxic piece of trash?"
Charity bit down on her lip so hard she tasted copper. She didn't say a single word. She stumbled to her feet, her heavy legs shaking, and threw her weight against the rusted metal door.
She pressed down on the handle. The hinges screamed in protest as she shoved the door open and threw herself out of the room.
Charity stumbled into a narrow, damp corridor. Flickering, broken neon lights cast sickly green shadows across the mold-covered walls.
She leaned against the wall, gasping for air. The cold, damp air rushed into her lungs, triggering a violent fit of coughing.
The physical strain of the cough sent a blinding spike of agony through her brain. A massive flood of foreign memories violently forced its way into her mind.
Charity clutched her head, her knees buckling. She slid down the damp wall until she hit the floor.
The memory fragments flashed behind her eyes like broken glass. The original owner of this body was the Grand Princess of the Empire. She was a vicious, cruel woman, stripped of her royal title for her crimes and exiled to this hellish lower district.
The memories continued to pour in. The original owner had used her absolute authority to force genetic contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men. They were bound to her against their will. Hjalmar was one of them.
Charity's breathing slowed as the realization hit her. She finally understood why the man in the room looked at her with such pure, concentrated hatred.
She grabbed the edge of the wall and dragged her heavy body back to her feet. She limped toward the end of the corridor, where a cracked, grimy public mirror hung on the wall.
Charity stared at her reflection.
The woman in the mirror was severely overweight. But worse than the bloated flesh were the dark purple, festering sores covering her cheeks and neck.
She sucked in a sharp breath. Her trembling fingers reached up to touch one of the sores. A sharp, burning pain flared under her skin.
This wasn't just an ugly disease. The memories confirmed it. This was a lethal biological toxin actively eating away at her cellular structure.
A low, rhythmic rumbling came from the massive exhaust fans at the far end of the corridor, a grim reminder of the deadly, polluted world she was now trapped in.
Charity took a deep, shaky breath. The panic in her eyes slowly hardened into a cold, unbreakable resolve.
She looked directly into her own ruined eyes in the mirror. She swore to herself, right then and there, that no matter what it took, she was going to survive this hell.
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