Reborn to Ruin My Fate-Stealing Nanny

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 coldthe 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.

I slipped away from David and locked myself in my private study.

I pulled up a popular social media app, and just as I suspected, Martha was live streaming.

In my past life, she had built an audience by vlogging her "humble" life working for a billionaire family. Her hook was a "Thirty Day Reverse Aging Challenge." She claimed she was going to copy her wealthy boss's routine to transform from forty back to twenty.

The comment section had been a bloodbath of mockery.

[Lady, you need a whole new genetic code, not a skincare routine.]

[If you can look twenty in a month, I can go back to kindergarten.]

When I first saw the stream in my past life, I brushed it off. I figured she was just trying to hustle for some extra ad revenue.

But then her face actually started morphing. She shed decades in real time.

Her follower count exploded into the hundreds of thousands. People were obsessed, begging for her secret.

Internet sleuths eventually figured out she worked for me and David.

By that point, I looked like a rotting corpse. But I was the CEO of Woods Cosmetics. I had pre scheduled corporate galas and shareholder meetings I couldn't abandon.

The internet put my red carpet photos side by side with Martha's livestreams.

[Holy hell. Is she copying the billionaire's routine, or is she literally sucking the youth out of her?]

[Wait, the Woods heiress used to be gorgeous. Her face single handedly pumped their stock prices. What the hell happened to her?]

Since my family's empire was built on beauty and wellness, seeing the CEO look like a swamp witch caused our stock to plummet overnight.

Right now, sitting in my study, I watched her hold up the expensive creams she had just fished out of my trash. She bragged to the camera that her generous boss had gifted them to her. Then she officially launched her thirty day challenge.

A chilling realization locked the breath in my throat. From the day she moved in to the day I died in my past life, it had been exactly thirty days.

I created a burner account and typed into the chaotic chat.

[Thirty days is impossible. Do you have some kind of dark magic going on? Tell me your secret. Name your price.]

On screen, Martha offered a coy, sinister little smile as she patted the stolen lotion into her cheeks.

"No dark magic here, honey. I just copy exactly what my boss does. Sincerity brings miracles."

In that exact second, my cheeks began to itch. I pulled out my compact mirror. More age spots.

The delicate, carefully maintained skin around my eyes suddenly felt dry and crinkled.

I whipped my head back to the screen. Martha's skin was practically glowing with renewed hydration.

[Am I tripping, or did her skin just clear up?]

[Bro, her dark spots are fading. The crow's feet are literally gone.]

[It's definitely a beauty filter.]

Martha aggressively leaned her face right into the camera lens. "No filters here, sweeties. Bare faced and proud."

Staring at her, a profound wave of nausea washed over me. It was an exchange. A literal transaction of flesh and time. She was swapping her decay for my youth.

Then a wild, desperate thought struck me.

What if I stopped taking care of myself? What if I actively destroyed my own body?

Could she steal from an empty vault?

For the next few days, I scrubbed my face with harsh, chemical heavy acids until my skin was raw and inflamed. I completely abandoned my treadmill and gorged on deep fried junk food and heavy sugar. My waistline expanded aggressively.

I watched Martha like a hawk.

But to my absolute despair, the results were identical to my past life. She kept getting hotter. Younger.

My ruined skin and rapidly accumulating fat didn't transfer to her at all. The curse only took the good and left me with the bad.

David returned from a business trip and physically recoiled when I greeted him in the hallway. His face contorted in pure disgust.

"Victoria, what the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped. "The Pierce Holdings anniversary gala is in a few days. If you look like this, don't even bother showing up. I won't have you embarrassing my family."

Martha hovered in the background, the corners of her lips twitching upward before she slapped on a mask of fake concern. "Ma'am, maybe you should book a dermatologist appointment?"

"And all that junk food you've been eating is making Mr. Pierce so upset," she added in a sickly sweet tone. "If a woman loses her face and her figure, how is she supposed to keep her man happy?"

I let out a low, humorless chuckle. I turned on my heel, walked back into my study, and dialed my executive assistant.

"Cancel all my public appearances for the month. And I need you to run a deep background check on someone."

I ghosted the entire corporate world. I locked myself inside the mansion and did absolutely nothing.

But avoiding skincare didn't stop the curse. The dark pigmentation stained my cheeks permanently. My hair started falling out in clumps. Deep, jagged wrinkles carved into my forehead.

The worst part was the physical toll. My muscles felt like lead, and my vision grew so blurry I had to be rushed to a private clinic.

The specialist looked at my blood work in absolute shock. He diagnosed me with accelerated premature aging, early stage diabetes, and severe presbyopia.

"Ms. Woods, your condition is medically unprecedented. We need to admit you for a full panel of invasive tests."

I declined. I knew no amount of medical science could cure a supernatural parasite.

My sudden disappearance from high society triggered wild rumors. Whispers circulated that the Woods heiress had contracted a flesh eating disease.

Meanwhile, Martha was thriving. Her daily visible de aging had pushed her follower count past the hundred thousand mark.

I watched her latest stream. She was wearing a tight yoga set, her bare face flawless and radiant. Her body was a perfectly sculpted hourglass. She looked like a twenty five year old fitness influencer.

[This is genuinely terrifying. Martha, what kind of deal did you make with the devil?]

[At this rate, she's going to look like a teenager before the month is over.]

[We can't call her Auntie Martha anymore. This is a whole college girl.]

Martha giggled, twisting her waist to show off her curves, eating up the validation.

At the exact same moment, I looked down in horror as thick, angry purple stretch marks ripped across my stomach and thighs, crawling over my skin like earthworms.

Another fistful of dry, brittle hair cascaded onto my shoulders.

On the screen, virtual gifts rained down on Martha's stream. "Thank you, guys! So sweet of you."

"How did I do it?" She feigned innocence. "Maybe living in a billionaire's mansion just fixed my aura. Good feng shui, you know?"

Looking at the dead hair clumped in my trembling hands, something inside me finally snapped.

I lost my mind. I sprinted out of my room, kicked Martha's door open, and lunged at her, digging my nails into her arm as I screamed.

"Tell me! What kind of sick voodoo are you using to dump your rotting carcass onto me!"

Martha shrieked at the top of her lungs, a sound perfectly calculated to bring David running.

He burst into the room, took one look at my deranged, balding appearance, and violently shoved me away from her.

"Are you psycho? Look at yourself in the mirror, you look like a goddamn monster!"

"David, look at me and then look at her!" I shrieked from the floor. "She's been here less than two weeks. Do you seriously not see anything wrong with this?"

David's eyes swept over Martha. She was trembling gracefully, her flawless skin glowing under the lights. Her sports bra exposed a tight, toned stomach, and the yoga pants clung perfectly to her long, straight legs.

I didn't miss the flash of raw, hungry lust that sparked in his eyes.

A cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. A dog really couldn't stop eating trash.

Martha dramatically dropped to her knees, sobbing beautifully. "Sir, I do the chores, I buy the groceries, I cook the meals. I haven't done a single thing wrong. I have no idea why the Mrs. looks like that."

"It's not my fault she let herself go!"

She looked at me with big, tear filled eyes. "Ma'am, I know you're under a lot of stress, but you can't just project your insecurities onto me."

"It's fine, though. People like me are just punching bags for the rich anyway."

David glared down at me with pure revulsion. "You are acting lower than the dirt on a servant's shoe. You don't deserve to be the lady of the Pierce family."

The blood drained from my face.

David and I were a corporate arranged marriage, but we had grown up in the same circles. We were childhood friends.

On our wedding day, he had stood in front of hundreds of people and sworn an oath. He promised that no matter what happened, he would always be my shield.

Staring up at the exact same look of disgust he had given me in my past life, my voice dropped to an icy whisper.

"David. Think very carefully about your next move. Are you really going to burn our alliance to the ground for a maid?"

That made him hesitate. Our families had billions tied up in joint ventures. He knew the financial suicide of crossing me.

Sensing the shift, Martha suddenly stood up. "If the lady of the house hates me this much, I'll quit. I'll pack my bags right now and you'll never see me again. Will that make you happy?"

She ran out of the room crying.

But instead of relief, a sudden, blinding panic seized my chest.