Abandoned Heiress の小説・ストーリー

Looking back behind her at the gate as if to make sure no one else was around, she retrieved a small item from her jacket, waving it in front of my eyes. “Because it’s in my hands!” She laughed viciously, shaking the ivory-colored slanted bone in front of me, mocking me as she did so. “Teresa! You, you did this on purpose,” I stumbled, “then why don’t you just rather kill me?” “Because, Lauren, I want to watch you suffer!” She chortled, “Just because you were born before me you were given all of the rights. An heiress just because of birth, and you were always set to marry the strongest Alpha. Meanwhile, I have to pretend to be the good little sister when you’ve always been destined to have

#Heiress Chloe Davenier Proudly Rejects Billionaire Marriage Deal—Westvale Playboy Diego Publicly Dumped! Esther gave a cold smile, then tapped open the message. The comments caught her eye immediately… [So she really is a true heiress. That kind of boldness is on a whole different level. So what if it’s the Westvale family? Even if it’s the richest family, if you don’t like it, the engagement can be broken off without delay!] [A true heiress is always so domineering. If it were that adopted daughter instead, she’d be stuck and couldn’t break off the engagement no matter what!]

"Did you think you could just disappear and we wouldn’t find you?" Nirvana clenched her fists. "I have nothing to say to you." Adrian smirked. "That’s funny. Because I have plenty to say to you. Like how your father rots in jail while we enjoy the wealth you lost." Nirvana’s stomach twisted. Celeste laughed. "Did you really think you could crawl back into high society? You’re nothing but a forgotten heiress, a fallen queen." Before Nirvana could respond, a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Lady Vivian collapsed against the bolted aluminum bench, her body curling into a tight, defensive posture as the handcuffs bit cruelly into her wrists. The pristine, untouchable heiress of the Vance-Montclair dynasty—the woman who had once commanded rooms filled with international billionaires, dictated high-society guest lists with a casual flick of her wrist, and treated the lives of others like disposable chess pieces—was gone. In her place sat a hollow, broken shell of a human being. Her designer suit was torn and caked in frozen mud, her hair matted across her face, and her makeup smeared into grotesque, tear-stained streaks of black and gray.

Cielle's POV. With the heavy pistol in my hand, I boarded a taxi and headed to my mansion. Yes, my mansion. It was mine before Ethan and his mistress took it from me. I arrived and was perplexed by the number of cars that were parked in the courtyard. The amount of exquisitely dressed people that strode in and out of the mansion. What was going on? Why were there so many people in the house—my house? I hid my gun in my waistband and progressed to the entrance where I was stopped.

But the burn didn’t ease the knot in his chest. The news flashed on TV. “In breaking news, the missing Hartman heiress has been found alive after twenty-three years…” Adrian froze. The screen showed Evelyn stepping from a black car, surrounded by cameras. “She’s the missing Hartman heiress,” he whispered. Charlotte paled. “That’s impossible.” Adrian barely heard her. Every cruel word he’d thrown at Evelyn echoed in his head. He’d called her a gold digger, said she didn’t belong. Now she was the richest woman in New York.

But according to the rumors, the heiress he'd married was a spoiled brat who knew nothing about business, spent her days slacking off, and couldn't even read the most basic company reports. Clearly, the rumors were garbage. The Abigail sitting before him that day was nothing like that. She looked like an untouchable goddess in her simple tailored suit with her long hair loose around her shoulders. Her features were flawless, too. For a split second, Matteo just stared at her, caught by how stunning she was.

He brought her the meals the maid made. Massaged her arm when it felt numb. Took her shopping, tried to cheer her up. But I overheard his call with Sean. "Sean, she's adopted—why does she act like some spoiled heiress? Every little thing sets her off. She should remember where she came from. Does she really think the Ashton family is hers? "Abigail—the real heiress—was never this delicate. I'm over it. I'll find a chance to tell Abigail the truth. I'm done waiting on Dorothy. She even makes me feed her.

They simply buried down their head as if wishing the floor would open and swallow them. Jayden stepped forward, his face pale, his voice trembling. “I knew who it was. I mean the heiress.” My father turned sharply to him. “What are you talking about?” I glanced at Jayden warningly but he ignore d and voiced it out loud. “The heiress,” he said. “The Cross heiress. She is... she is Arabella.” The silence that followed was deafening. Celine froze. Her face went white. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She stared at me, her eyes wide, her body trembling.

It was just slow suicide, and I'd always been too stubborn to do anything slowly. The house was still standing, mostly. That seemed like a small miracle until I realized it was standing precisely because nothing had considered it important enough to completely destroy. The creatures had passed through, taken what they wanted, or what they thought they wanted—and moved on to easier prey. My mother's scream had probably been the last thing of value in the house as far as they were concerned. I didn't bother to go and look for them, both my stepfather or mother. Some part of me already knew what I would find, and I wasn't ready to make that knowledge real.