A Caribbean Heiress In Paris Novels & Stories

“ Yes I know who she is….” “ No sweetie , you clearly don’t. You’re planning a mating ceremony with a stripper Kayden.” “ I said I know.” His face didn’t move. But something flickered in her eyes and he could see it. “ So you’re telling me you’re getting married to a fucking stripper huh ? Is that what it will take for you to love huh Kayden.” She said letting out a laugh of disbelief. “You don’t remember, do you?” Silvia said, voice low and venom laced. “I worked at that club too before you met her. I was the show. I had the money. The clients. The power. They called me the Queen of Smoke.”

Eynas assisted his queen in her seat. Astra put her face to his face. She looked at him and smiled. "I'm fine" she mumbled and turned her redhead in front of her broods. "Let's welcome, the first heiress of the Erasmus Kingdom!" She growls. "And I declare war among dragons and humans! We will restore our dragon power, the Heart of Magic from them! Scream for me! Scream!" Astra made an extreme growl and all of them made a rumbling sound.

The news anchor’s voice rang out: "Suzanne Smith, a renowned actress and heiress to the Smith Empire in Canada, has resurfaced after years of seclusion from the business world. She has announced the launch of the groundbreaking self-driving car project, Medal Cars, which has already gained approval from the most powerful businessmen worldwide. This marks a new era in AI-driven transportation." Their hands dropped from each other’s hair as they stared in stunned silence. Beatrice’s mouth fell open. "Suzanne… was an heiress to a powerful family?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"The louder she speaks, the harder she’ll fall when I cut the floor out from under her." The Grand Hotel ballroom was a cavern of Gilded Age excess, dripping with crystal chandeliers and the heavy perfume of the city’s elite. As Evelyn entered, the room didn't just go quiet; it froze. She was draped in a gown of midnight blue that seemed to swallow the light, her presence radiating a cold, magnetic authority that made the "disgraced heiress" label feel like a bad joke. Lucas was the first to approach, his face a mask of practiced regret. Beside him, Iris clung to his arm, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal. She looked frantic, her makeup a fraction too heavy to hide the exhaustion

He just stood there, staring at me across the crowded ballroom with an expression of complete devastation. The girl he'd thrown away, the wife he'd neglected and humiliated, the woman he'd told would never find anyone better, was Isabella Morrison. Granddaughter of Alexander Morrison. Heir to one of the largest fortunes in the country. One of the most powerful women in New York. And he'd let me go without a fight. The applause finally died down and I sat back down, accepting congratulations from the people at my table with grace and poise I'd learned from watching my brothers navigate society. But I was hyperaware of the Wei family table, of the chaos I knew was happening there.

I wanted to call out for help, but a part of me suspected I might be kidnapped, and alerting whoever was holding me might not be the best idea. I slipped on my slippers and stood up, feeling a bit dizzy. My head throbbed, but I managed to move forward. I gripped my hairpin tightly, using it as a makeshift defense. As I stepped out of the room, I took in the grandeur of the mansion. It was huge, even bigger than mine, and beautifully decorated. The walls were painted white, and the hallway was adorned with various art pieces. The opulence suggested that my kidnapper was wealthy, which made me wonder what their motives were because it was clear that they don't need money from me.

I nodded waiting for him to continue but he stayed mute, at least the air is clear that they do not want me to slaughter the poor girl. “What's the name of where I'm going to, Sir.” It was more like a statement than a question. “To France, I want you to go through the file and know what you are to do, I'd get you your undercover information before Friday, get yourself ready.” France, that means I'd have to learn French with three days, that'd be easy at least they didn't ask me to do so overnight. “And what's my main purpose of going there ?” “To protect the princess of course.”

Casey was everything I was not to them. They would be in for a shock when they learned who the real Casey was. The scientist played the next part of my memory without a prompt, and I was trying on clothes. I was overwhelmed by so many lovely and new garments. Excitement mingled with hesitation as I picked them out. I made my debut in a haute couture dress at the family banquet, celebrating my first public appearance as the Carters’ heiress. In my memory, Casey did my makeup and helped me into the dress. Her smile in the mirror was as harmless as ever, tricking me into believing she had changed.

Minnie was so thrilled she nearly shrieked, quickly saying, "No need, no need, I've got the keys. Just say I can come, and we're good." She did not even wait for an answer before she hung up. Minnie's beautiful smile shone back at her from the bright mirror. She leaned in for a closer look, then her brow creased. Was her lipstick not perfect enough? She pulled out her lipstick and carefully went over it again, then strutted out of the bathroom with confidence. Down at the Gordon Group skyscraper's base, a sleek black Maybach sat, its presence commanding attention. The people leaving work could not help but steal glances, wondering which rich young heir it belonged to and which Gordon Group b

Let them stare…let them wonder and let it make them uncomfortable the way they made me uncomfortable for years. Tricia wasn’t left out, of course. She spotted me and instantly adjusted her hair, smiling that bright, fake smile that always screamed ‘look at me.’ “Who is that?” she repeated, louder this time, drawing the other girls toward her like magnets. Someone finally answered, “She’s Camille Moret, the French heiress. Her family basically owns Paris.” “She looks familiar,” someone else said. “I heard Camille Duval, the French heiress, was admitted to our school. She must be the one.”