Suffering for Her Own Blessings

I was the most mysterious heiress in our circle. I owned sports cars and mansions but kept my public image deliberately low-key, which only fueled the rumors.

Some said I was the love child of a famous actress and a foreign tycoon. Others swore I was a fallen aristocrat, tangled in some family drama that forced me to hide my past.

I never bothered to set the record straight. I just laughed off the rumors, which only made them more curious.

"Charlene's boyfriend is here for her again. Why do rich women always go for those boytoys?"

"Please. She could burn cash for fun and still have leftovers. Jacob's been throwing himself at her for years, and she won't even glance his way."

I ignored the murmurs and got into my boyfriend Zach York's car.

"Want to go get something to eat?" he asked.

"No, I'm going to the salon."

I studied my reflection in the mirror. My skin had to be poreless and dewy, and my hair had to have the perfect amount of bounce and shine.

Spending big on designer labels was all about showing off, but true luxury? That was in the details, like perfect hair and skin.

…

"Ms. Stoker, you made it! Come sit over here."

Zach stayed close as I stepped into the club's private room, perfectly poised. The crowd on the couches shuffled instantly to open a spot for me.

"Lene, I can't believe you showed up. Never pegged you for this kind of thing."

Jacob Quaid, the Quaid family heir, sat in the center. He'd been pouring on the charm with me lately, and when I took the place beside him, I caught the faintest flush at his ears.

"You planned this gathering for me. There's no way I wouldn't show up.”

I grinned at Jacob, and the others immediately started hyping us up, saying we were perfect together.

The whole time, Zach was sulking in the corner, his expression thunderous while everyone acted like he wasn't even there.

My friends handed me gifts one after another. They weren't strapped for cash, but they were dying to see what was inside, so they kept pushing me to open the presents right then and there.

I tore through a few boxes before saying I was too worn out and flagged down one of the waitresses to take care of the rest.

"Sorry, I had to go grab some scissors..."

I knew that voice instantly. I looked up fast and locked eyes with Shirley Doyle, standing in the doorway in a waitress uniform.

"Charlene? What are you doing here?"