Blackened: The Bastard Heiress's Rise

Three days later, the vultures finally descended to tear away the last shred of dignity the family had left.Alexander Rosier had summoned every member of the direct bloodline to the Hamptons estate, a sprawling, white seaside mansion built in the roaring 1920s. It had once belonged to a railroad tycoon, a monument to the Gilded Age, but today it felt like a mausoleum. The structure was merely a hollow shell of pomp, rotting from the inside out. The July afternoon sun was toxic, a blinding white heat that threatened to melt the asphalt of the driveway, yet inside the conference room, the temperature had been cranked down so low it felt like a morgue.Ava arrived last.She had made a deliberate choice not to change. She wore the same black silk dress that had been ruined three days ago, the fabric stiff with dried vintage wine. Over it, she had thrown a men’s black trench coat, oversized and severe, the collar pulled up high to obscure the mottled bruises blooming on her neck—souvenirs

At 12:03 AM, the phone in her palm vibrated once.[Voss Private Bank: $200,000,000.00 Received]Ava stared at the cold string of numbers, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. Not from excitement, but because her inner thighs were still throbbing. Every slight movement aggravated the tearing sensation where Landon had been so rough. The air seemed to still cling to his scent: cedar mixed with tobacco, and the heavier, sharper musk of sex.She sat in the back of a taxi downstairs from Landon’s office. Her dress was ruined beyond repair. The trench coat was buttoned crookedly, barely hiding the fresh, teeth-bruised purple marks on her neck and collarbone. The driver kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She ignored him, pressing her forehead against the freezing window, letting the cold glass suppress the residual heat in her body.Closing her eyes, the scenes from five hours ago looped in her mind like a broken film.The moment Landon pressed her against the floor-to-ceiling win

Three days later, the private Rosier estate on Long Island transformed into a fortress of light and excess.Officially, the event was billed as an "Emergency Shareholder Appreciation Gala," a desperate PR stunt designed to calm the nerves of jittery investors following a turbulent week on the market. But beneath the surface of crystal flutes and forced laughter, everyone in the inner circle knew the truth. This was not a celebration. It was a hunting ground.This was the final gambit by Alexander and Victoria—a last-ditch, scorched-earth attempt to drag Ava off her throne before she could cement her control over the family empire.The ballroom was a sea of black ties and designer silk, a low hum of gossip vibrating against the vaulted ceilings. Then, the double doors swung open.When Ava appeared at the top of the grand staircase, the room didn't just go quiet; the silence hit with the physical force of a shockwave. For three full seconds, not a glass clinked, not a breath was drawn.

Seven nights after the Board of Directors seized control of the company, Ava returned alone to the small, dilapidated apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.Her mother, Nora, was still in the VIP wing of St. Luke’s Hospital, the latest batch of experimental targeted drugs—secured only after Ava had leveraged two hundred million dollars—holding the grim reaper at bay, for now. A doctor had confided in her privately, a cold whisper of prognosis: “She’ll hold on for another six months to a year, no problem. But after that… unless a miracle happens.” Ava slept at the hospital every night, only returning here during the day for a change of clothes and, occasionally, to handle things that couldn't see the light of day. Tonight, however, she was here to retrieve the ‘key’ her mother had left her all those years ago.In the corner of the living room, a section of the wall bore a grayish-white paint color almost identical to the rest of the room. Ava’s fingernail scraped through the thin layer of paint,

Three days later. Rosier Holdings HQ, 88th Floor. The Global Boardroom.Ava arrived ninety minutes early. She personally raised the security level to maximum: Main entrance sealed, side entrance biometric only. Metal detectors at every elevator. All attendees to submit belonging manifests 48 hours prior; phones confiscated. Two armed helicopters on the roof pad. Snipers in position. The building was a fortress ready for war.At 9:25 AM, Ava stepped out of her private elevator.She wore a custom Valentino 2025 black suit-dress. The shoulders were sharp as knives, the waist snatched tight, the slit rising to her thigh. As she walked, the glimpse of leg made the black-clad bodyguards lining the hall lower their heads in unison. Ten-centimeter Louboutin red bottoms clicked on the marble—clack, clack—like nails being driven into the coffins of the old guard. The high collar covered her neck completely, which only made the line of her jaw and collarbone look sharper, like a dagger wrapped i