Fake Heiress Real Obsession Novels & Stories

“Looks very convincing.” Next headline. “Harry: The New Face of House Valemont.” The corners of my mouth twitch downward as I grip the glossy edge tighter. Then another one. “Dead Heiress, Fled with Secret Lover.” I look up, and Chase is sprawled on the couch now, legs up, watching silently. I turn back to the stack and begin flipping through the pages of the magazine, the images and words bleeding together—until one headline punches me in the gut: “Heiress Whore.”

“Go to hell, Scarlett! It’s all your fault. You ruined everything I have. I’m the heroine of this world! How did things end up like this?! It can’t be real!” At that time, Francis’s voice came from outside the door. “Mel, are you in there? Dad’s guests came. They would like to see the real heiress of our family. You need to go downstairs.” “Okay, wait for me, Frank!” Melanie was relieved again when she heard that. Regardless, she was the daughter of the Smith family. She excitedly opened the door of her closet to start picking an outfit. In the end, she examined her reflection with satisfaction and went downstairs to meet the guests.

It may not beat getting humped by a stubborn, conveniently prude heiress, but it would do. Maybe I would find out just what about this heiress, apart from her deceptively innocent allure and inherited assets, drew attention like sharks to blood. And more importantly, the who behind the scenes. Because let’s face it. Anonymously hired muscle men? Faceless attackers? The mastermind didn’t want to be found. But he’d caught my attention. And I don’t abandon trails easily. I see it to the very end. Obsessively. Wholeheartedly. Snapping my fingers, I activated the soundproof systems, and then the speakers, which blared a haunting Italian ballad.

“We’re in our house, in our goddamn living room.” “In your house?” Her voice cracked like a whip. “In case you’ve forgotten, this isn’t yours anymore. None of this is. It belongs to her now. To Hailey Vale, the stripper heiress who just hosted a softcore orgy in our ancestral estate and made the cover of three tabloids.” She flung a rolled-up paper across the room. It slid to a stop in front of Marcus. “STRIPPING HEIRESS CLAIMS THE LACHLAN THRONE.

“What- how did you see this, John?” Quickly, I abandoned his phone. Taking up mine, seeing that now I had a lot more notifications that before. “The hell?” The words left my lips, my mind blank, eyebrows furrowed as I tapped each and every notification. Seeing they all led to the same spot. The same type of news. “Billionaire Heiress is now in fashion!” “Beckett Heiress is into fashion.” “Eliot Beckett’s wife emerges top 10 in a community runway!”

“ 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.”

"If you're unstable, your testimony is unstable. If I'm controlling you, the injunction is illegitimate. He's not trying to prove innocence. He's trying to make you unbelievable." I set the document down. My hands were steady. That surprised me. "There's more." Adam pulled out his phone, queued a video, slid it toward me. A gossip site. The kind with red borders and breathless headlines. A photo of me stumbling out of Scott's building yesterday—mascara-streaked, wild-eyed, clutching myself. The moment before Adam's car arrived. Someone had been watching. Someone had been waiting. The headline: Billionaire Heiress's Breakdown: Held Hostage by Husband's Rival?

I realized where we were instantly. Obsidian: the most exclusive, most secretive, most infamous private club in the city. It wasn't just a nightclub; it was a fortress of wealth, power, and explicit, high-stakes sexuality. Invitation-only. No phones allowed past the velvet rope—meaning anything that happened inside was the undisputed reality of those present. He stepped out first, an absolute monarch surveying his domain. Then he turned and offered his hand. I took it, locking my fingers into his. The moment our hands touched, the transformation was complete. I was no longer Jessy; I was the accessory, the declaration, the prize.

“After something like this, your foster parents will definitely think you embarrassed them, and they’ll throw you out. “I’ll marry Peter, and everything will be just like in the dream.” After saying that, she suddenly messed up her hair, let water drip down her body, reddened her eyes, and rushed out. I sensed danger and hurried after her. The moment I stepped out, four or five reporters blocked the door with cameras and recorders. Flash after flash lit up both of us. So she had already set a trap, and she had been waiting for me to fall for it. Vicky turned back with a triumphant smirk, then instantly switched into a dramatic victim.

But it was from my father’s company—the quality was excellent. I let out a quiet sigh and tried to explain one last time. “First, the watch is mine. “Second, you’ve mistaken me for someone else. The real heiress is probably still out there somewhere, waiting for you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a frail girl in a server’s uniform standing in the corner of the banquet hall, watching in fear. Her features bore a strong resemblance to the matriarch of the Lawson family, Jasmine Ross, at least seventy or eighty percent.