All Chapters of The Heiress No One Recognized: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The returned Heir Elliot answered after the second ring. “Sir,” he said, brisk and faintly amused, “I understand there’s a ring emergency.” “There is no emergency,” Alastair said. “There is simply a lack of consensus. And how did you know that?” “He’s been indecisive for forty minutes,” Laird skillfully cut in. There was a rustle on the line. Then Alaric’s voice cut in, delighted as always. “Altair, my boy, I hear you’re buying a ring for a woman whose hand size you don’t actually know. How romantic.” “Grandfather, this is a private call—” “Nonsense, Elliot put you on speaker the moment he heard the word ‘ring.’ So talk to us.” “I mean, we left him out of the wedding at least let him have this.” Elliot attempted to defend himself. “Elliot remembers her hands quite well from the drive. Small, he says, and she fidgets with her thumb when she’s nervous. Very observant man, Elliot. You ought to give him a raise.” In the background, Elliot made a modest sound that fooled pre

The misplaced HeiressLysandra sat gingerly in the sunroom, a copy of Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros lying on the cushion beside her.Earlier, she had been completely immersed in Violet Sorrengail’s world, eager to discover whether Xaden would actually end up killing her for real or not. But those thoughts had long since burned away, replaced by thoughts of Gabriell and Mia.She had found herself missing them for the better part of the week now and hated herself a little more each time she caught it happening because how could she possibly crave the presence of people who had broken not only her heart, but her soul?How could any part of her still ache for people who’d done that to her?She stared out at the rain coming down in heavy, unbroken sheets, each drop fatter than the last. Then something warm and wet slid down beneath her eyes, dampening her cheeks. She was crying again, soft sobs echoed in the room as the familiar ache in her chest returned.Drawing her knees to her chest,

The misplaced Heiress“There you two are.” Amara leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “What’s this I hear about the Aarhil heir being selfish?”“Ah.” Sylas started. “Don’t,” Lysandra said.Amara’s brow rose. “Don’t what?”“He has nothing useful to contribute.”“I have plenty useful to contribute,” Sylas said. “For example, I can confirm that little cousin thinks the Aarhil heir is probably unbearable.”“I said I imagine someone that rich would be unbearable.”“And selfish,” Sylas added.“Oh?”“No.”Sylas leaned back against the sofa. “She also said she likes Altair just fine as he is.”“Yes, I very much do.” “So you admit you like him. It’s good to be honest with yourself and everyone around you.” “Mother!” Lysandra blushed softly. “Mm.” Amara crossed the room instead, pressing a kiss to the top of Lysandra’s head, her thumb brushing lightly over the damp, salt-stiff patch on her cheek. “You’ve been crying again.” “I’m fine.” “I didn’t ask if you were fine. I said you’ve been

The misplaced Heiress The next morning, Sylas didn’t bother knocking at all. “Rise and shine, Madam CEO-in-training.” He dropped a thick binder onto her desk. “Today we build you a map.”“A map.”“Of everything you now technically own a piece of.” He flipped it open to a page dense with boxes and connecting lines. “Behold. The Vane Group family tree, minus the actual family drama.”Amara arrived a moment later, coffee in hand, and settled into the chair across from her without preamble. “Yesterday we showed you the shape. Today we show you what’s holding it up.”“I thought the board was holding it up.”“The board runs it,” Sylas said. “The trust owns it.”Lysandra frowned. “What trust?”Amara set her cup down. “Your grandfather didn’t leave Vane Group to any one person. When the company went public, decades ago, he put the controlling shares into a family trust instead. Sixty-one percent of the company is Class A voting stock. The remaining thirty-nine percent is Class B and was publ

The returned Heir Alastair’s office looked exactly the way it had the morning he’d first walked back into it. He was dressed casually in a perfectly fitted beige linen shirt, three buttons undone and the sleeves pushed to his forearms, paired with dark Brunello Cucinelli trousers. Three contract files were open in front of him and a fourth balanced on his knee, the Aarhil Group seal stamped across each one. The first contained projections for one of Aarhil Group’s newest acquisitions. The second concerned an international supply agreement. The third had been placed directly in front of him by one of his executives with the word urgent written across the cover. The fourth concerned a new luxury hotel acquisition in Monaco. His phone buzzed against the desk, he ignored it and opened the third file, the name Roger Amsterdam caught his eye before his phone vibrated three more times. This time, he reached for it, the screen showed messages from Elliot. Elliot: Sir, a reminder regardi