Fake Heiress, Real Trouble Novels & Stories

"Let me introduce you. This is Ms. Rearden too, my half-sister. We share the same dad. My ex, the king of no shame, hooked up with her even before our divorce was final. "You'd think they'd keep their affair secret, right? But nope, they flaunted it right across from my place... What was I supposed to do? I know all too well my man's faults, so all I could do was order them a drink to... let's say, enhance their experience. Makes sense, doesn't it?"

“News? What news?” “You… better not look at it. Just remember, I believe you.” His tone turned cautious, almost fragile. The call ended. I immediately opened the news app. I didn’t even need to search. A bold headline popped up right away: “Heiress’s Chaotic Private Life: Secret Hotel Tryst With Mystery Man.”

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.

"I'll make you pay a hundredfold for this." Under his murderous stare, Yvonne's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor. She turned to Nicholas for help. "Nicholas, help me…" But Nicholas could barely help himself. In fact, he already loathed her. If she hadn't insisted on stirring up trouble, things would never have reached this irreparable point. Just then, his phone chimed. It was the report from his assistant. The investigation showed that during her university years, Yvonne had dated five wealthy heirs and three rich foreigners.

He didn't look homeless, and one can tell from one glance that he is well-read. The truth is I was not finding any of his questions funny as I felt miserable and pained from all the embarrassment I had earlier encountered. I pulled down my shirt for him to see out of annoyance. “Here it is sir, it is a fucking birthmark and I hate it, I will gladly give you if you want it," I said in frustration. “I'm so sorry to bother you my lady, but I happen to come from London, and this mark of yours is a mark that is mostly associated with the royal family, I think if that mark is real, that you may be a princess,” he said, looking surprised at his own words.

And that someone used to be Shane Ryder until Clare claimed him as hers. That night was one of the worst ones I’ve ever experienced. So I push the thought to the back of my mind. Clare is still talking my ear off about how amazing everything looks when two girls walk towards us and I immediately want to run away. It’s Megan Rose and Eden Park, Clare Haistings friends. They both look absolutely amazing in their matching satin oval green dresses and strappy heels. They’ve always matched and I thought it was childish at first then I realized that Clare encourages it only because she looks like a main character when she’s with them.They are mean girls that Clare uses to hide behind in order to k

“Scheming Socialite Stages Accident to Embarrass Real Heiress—Instant Karma!” “Manipulative Heiress Exposed—Rich Girl Strikes Back!” “Heiresses Clash at a Lavish Party—The Shocking Reason Revealed!” “Two Wealthy Heiresses Fight Over a Man!” “Sisters Turned Rivals—All Because of Love!” Mia scrolled through the trending topics online, shaking her head. “These video titles just keep getting crazier.” Lena frowned. “Wait, does the Jasper family just allow videos like this to go public?”

Yvette jumped up from the bed, shocked and confused. I locked eyes with her, and my tone was serious. “Answer me. Can you do it?” When she reluctantly nodded, I finally let out a sigh of relief. Yvette still looked bewildered. “Queenie, what are you planning?” I recalled the layout of the study and the strange things in the cabinet in my mind. Piece by piece, the final clue to this bizarre adoption puzzle clicked into place. “I know which one of us is the real Grant heiress…”

I gripped the edge of the table. The screen cut to a split graphic. Left side: Giselle’s recent headshot, elegant, composed. Right side: a grainy still from security footage—Octavia standing over an open grave, face half-turned toward the camera, and unmistakable. The headline crawler at the bottom scrolled in bold red letters: BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS NEARLY BURIED ALIVE BY STEPSISTER. I grabbed my phone and dialed Giselle’s number, but it went straight to voicemail.

He truly intended to ignore her for a good while and just sat back in his armchair. "Interesting, both friends hiding things. One is a hired assassin, making a lot of money but living an ordinary life. The other is an almost trillionaire heiress pretending to be poor. What other secrets does she have? Zany Bay seems to be helping, I don't doubt that." In her room, Elizabeth was surprised when she saw Gaby arrive. She could hardly believe she could receive a visitor, but Richard had been clear; she just couldn't leave the mansion, yet she was on the verge of a breakdown in her room as she told Gaby everything she had discovered.