All Chapters of HEIRESS REBORN: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

POV: SASHAThis boardroom smells like desperation dressed in expensive cologne. No one is saying it, but I can feel it in the way they shift in their seats, click pens, scroll phones like the stock price might rise if they blink hard enough.I am sitting at the end of the long glass table, palms sweating under the surface, pretending I am calm when I am anything but that. Representing Nathaniel and his mother. His goddamn mother. Because neither of them is fit to be here. Nathaniel’s spiraling again, paranoid and distracted, and Elena’s holed up in her townhouse pretending she is still queen of something.That damn woman.I mean… I knew she had a freaky side, everyone does. And I am not even against her dating someone younger than her, hell I would too if they knew how to handle me.But from the videos that has been leaking about her, numerous boys at one, popping pills, unknown ones, ecstasy pills, going on yacht parties when she has said she was on businss… I mean it is insane and c

NATHANIEL POVI slam the office door behind me so hard the glass rattles.“Motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath, pacing like a caged animal.Sasha’s meeting was a disaster. Her attempt to spin the narrative fell apart the second Ashen officially pulled out. The board smelled blood, and now the vultures are circling. Investors calling. Press sniffing. And those goddamn leaked videos—my mother with those... boys. Drunk. High. Half-naked in that damn Hampton house.She swore they had been erased. Paid off the right people. Bribed the wrong ones. Swore they were buried.But now they are everywhere.On fucking Reddit. Twitter. Even that sleazy gossip site Nina Rhodes runs.I yank my tie loose, throw it on the floor. It’s choking me.Elena Cross. My mother. A fucking disgrace.I press the bridge of my nose, jaw tight, teeth grinding.“She ruined this,” I say aloud, even though there’s no one here.I was close. So close. The Ashen deal would’ve sealed it. Brought in legacy money, re-legit

KAIA (ALINA) POVTheo leans back in the chair, arms crossed, looking at me like he’s waiting for me to blink first."That’s everything," he says. "If this goes public, Elena's campaign is dead in the water. Her slush fund’s been funneling donor cash into shell companies for over a year. She won’t recover from this."Margot slides the folder across the table toward me, her tone cool and even. "I’ve drafted the release in three versions—anonymous leak, corporate whistleblower, and one that subtly traces back to a reporter we’ve worked with before. Pick whichever flavor of fire you want."I stare at the folder. I should feel triumphant. This is what I wanted. Every move, every buried piece of paperwork, every whisper backtracked to this moment. Elena Cross, queen of political manipulation, about to fall on her own sword.But something’s... off.Sasha’s been quiet.Too quiet."She hasn’t made a move in three days," I mutter, almost to myself.Theo raises a brow. "Sasha?"I nod, not lookin

ELENA POV“Sugar Mama of the Century.”That is what the damn headline says. That is what all the headlines say. Both print and outlineFront page. Full color. My face airbrushed to hell, but still unmistakably mine. Some stupid grinning intern with too much caffeine l, audacity and not enough respect has turned my decades of legacy into a punchline. And I can't breathe.I can't even see straight, much less thinking straight. The rage coursing through me, won't let me.I slam the newspaper against the mahogany desk, making the others flutter in the wind. The room is dead silent except for the soft ticking of the antique clock behind me, a gift from a senator who won’t return my calls anymore.“Get me Angela,” I snap, voice tight. The assistant flinches but nods, hurrying out and I don’t bother watching her leave.That is the first assistant I am getting this month. The others resigned, citing an unhealthy workplace as the reason. Idiots. There was a time when people would die to jus

NATHANIEL POV I’m staring at my laptop like it’s breathing. The Ashen projection sits there in my inbox, timestamped 2:12 a.m., no sender name, no signature.But it’s not blank.There’s a code buried inside the file name, subtle, almost lazy in how it sits there like it belongs. Eight digits. I type them into my head without even trying. 09122014.Mallorca. The villa. The day we moved in.No one else could’ve known that. No one.I lean back in my chair and rub my eyes, but it’s still there when I open them. That number has been showing up in other places too. Tiny, buried in contract references, in account IDs, in shipment labels that should mean nothing. I told myself it was coincidence. Now it feels like a knife turning.I’m not imagining it.The number is there. Staring at me in black and white like it’s been waiting for me to notice.No one, absolutely no one would know that except her. Not my mother, not Sasha, not some analyst in a glass tower halfway across the world.3117 was