Fake Heiress Novels & Stories

He said that there is more toil. "What do you need from me?" Saint promised weakly. "We want your power! Your position! And your wealth. And Deus wants to know where the hell is the mafia heiress." Mafia Heiress? Savienna is the real mafia heiress. But I am still claiming it as me because that's what they thought too. "Okay, I got what I wanted. Now I need to erase you to keep your mouth shut." Because of what Saint said, I saw a strange fear that enveloped Gayle's entire being.

Isabella's POV The morning after the gala, my face was on every news site and social media platform in the country. "The Lost Morrison Heiress Found." "Billionaire's Long-Lost Granddaughter Revealed." But my favorite headline was from a gossip blog: "Marcus Wei's Biggest Mistake: He Divorced a Morrison." I read that one three times before I started making calls. It was time to stop playing defense. Time to attack. I woke up in my bedroom at the Morrison estate to my phone vibrating nonstop.

I had trusted his logic to be a sanctuary. ​But a sanctuary that requires you to surrender your humanity isn't a home. It’s a cage. ​I pulled up the media feeds. The "Rogue Heiress" story was the top trend globally. They were using a photo of me from the anniversary gala—the one where I was wearing the Sterling diamonds. I looked like a queen in that photo. Now, I felt like a ghost. ​HEIRESS DISCONNECTS: ISABELLA VANE BLOCKS STERLING COMMUNICATIONS.

She had kissed him like nothing had happened, as if she had never walked away, never left him with nothing but a cold signature on divorce papers. A knock sounded on the door. He didn’t answer, but Gianna walked in anyway, holding a tablet. “You might want to see this,” she said, placing it on his desk. Kenzo exhaled sharply, forcing himself to appear indifferent as he picked it up. His eyes skimmed over the screen—and then narrowed. The headline was simple but effective. LAURENT HEIRESS STEPS BACK INTO THE SPOTLIGHT—AND THE ARMS OF ANOTHER MAN? Attached were several photos of Helena from a charity gala held earlier that evening. She was breathtaking, as always, dressed in a sleek black gown

and her face shows a positive appearance. She took a seat opposite Athena, reading the file, "I'm Detective Carter. You're as beautiful as they described you. You have quite an interesting story, growing up in an orphanage, marrying into one of the wealthiest families in New York, and then surviving a car accident that left you in a coma for five months. Living as the only daughter of one of the Richest in the country. They address you as Ms. Weltons, even though you're still legally as Mrs. Chrushvan. And now, you're the prime suspect in the planned assassination of Mr. and Mrs. Chrushvan as well as Ms. Koshiba. Is this some sort of revenge plot?

If only Elena knew what games she was playing with me, she wouldn't have agreed to participate at all… because she was only to end up with a broken heart once it was all over. Damien didn't want her or me for who we were because he didn't give a fuck about love or personality. All he wanted was the heiress of Hale Dynasty because it was the third biggest company in the country. Elena, as foolish as she was, hadn't realized that yet. That was why he still had her wrapped around his fingers. I, on the other hand, wasn't going to let him have a dime from the wealth my parents worked hard to grow. I was going to take him down right after making my sister see him for who he was; nothing but a sel

"Mother wants me back in time for dinner." "Yes, Ma'am," Ryan replied before leaving the office. Diane stood up straightening her burgundy blazer and grabbing her bag. She still didn't believe this was her life now. She was a Deveraux, she owned stuff in her name, she was loved by people around her and most importantly, everyone in the country was about to know she was a hidden heiress. And as much as that meant her face was going to be frequently all over the media and her privacy was going to be compromised, this was what she wanted, this was the power she craved and this was the life that chose her.

She had stood on that stage and revealed herself as Hazel Saint Claire, CEO of E&H Investments, and I had stood there like a fool, my mouth hanging open, unable to process what I was seeing. Hazel Saint Claire. Not Hazel Rossi. Not some woman trying to build a small restaurant. Hazel Saint Claire. Billionaire heiress. CEO of a global company. Granddaughter of Margaret Sinclair. And she hadn't told me. All those months together. All those nights when I had asked her what was wrong and she had lied to my face. All those moments when she could have trusted me, could have told me the truth, and instead she had kept it locked away like I was someone she couldn't rely on.

“Hardly. I came to remind you that you don’t own this space; you don’t own this city. Tonight, the spotlight isn’t just yours.” With that, I turned my gaze to Gabriella, who took a small step back, observing me with equal parts disdain and intrigue. “Congratulations on your new partnership,” I said, my openness a strategic mask for the confidence bubbling beneath. “Though we all know you’re merely a pawn in Andre’s elaborate chess game.” Gasps spread through the attendees at my audacity, their eyes darting between the three of us, hungry for the unfolding drama. Gabriella lifted her chin, an unmistakable defiance glimmering in her icy gaze. “And you must be the runaway heiress who’s chosen t

he said, his voice short. I opened the folder, and then came her photo — her silver dress, her posture. A strange feeling twisted in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. She wasn’t merely the desperate woman I’d sat down beside in my car, fleeing from abductors in her ripped gown. She was the Clawford heiress. Her brazen gala invitation to dinner — direct and without the usual scheming attached — stuck in my brain. The majority of women who came to me were wanting something—money, influence, a hold in my world. That greed wasn't in Valenticia’s eyes.