Fake Heiress? Try Richer 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.

‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ “As the cleaner you had your own uniform,” Lyn handed her a paper bag, Alexei get it and looked inside. It is a black with a touch of grey shirt and pants. “This it the room that you need to clean for today. There is also a mini map of the hotel,” Lyn handed her some papers, “your grandfather asked me to hide your identity as the heiress. Only me and the assistant manager knew.”‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎

"Call the cops? Go ahead." I pulled out my phone and handed it to him. "You have me arrested, and the whole city instantly finds out Cassandra ditched her marriage and hired a body double." "The great heir to the Sinclair Group, played for a fool by a knockoff this whole time." "I've even got the headline ready: 'SHOCKER: Billionaire Heir Falls Victim to Body-Double Honey Trap. Is This the Twisting of Human Nature, or the Collapse of All Morality?!'" Julian took a deep breath, the vein on his forehead twitching.

He optimized. The Gulfstream’s cabin hummed with sterile calm. Nathan declined the steward’s offer of espresso—too acidic before takeoff—and opened his encrypted email. “Board Memo: Reagan Stock Plummeting. Acquisition Potential?” Attachments bloomed: police reports, paparazzi shots of Brian Reagan’s Maybach fishtailing past cop cars, Jake’s bloodied knuckles gripping a dock railing. Nathan zoomed in. Jake’s Rolex was counterfeit. Of course. He typed a reply: Leverage their debt-to-equity ratio. Prepare bid draft by 9 AM EST. Send.

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry. But Crystal, listen, this changes everything. You don't need Amir's money. You have your own. You're rich, probably richer than the Al-Fayads. You don't have to stay in that contract." Crystal sank back down onto the blanket, her legs suddenly unable to hold her. "I'm rich." "Yes." Crystal started laughing. It started as a giggle, then grew into something bigger, wilder, edged with hysteria. Ahmad knelt beside her, concerned. "Crystal?" "It's just….it's so absurd. All of this. The contract, the baby, you and me. And underneath it all, I'm secretly a billionaire heiress." She laughed harder, tears streaming down her face. "It's like a bad soap opera."

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.

He frowned, “watch your tone.” “I asked you a question, Lucas. Don't mess with me.” I replied, with anger burning within me. “Why shouldn't I mess with you? Who are you? You're nothing but a pathetic heiress with nothing in her bank account. No money, no assets. Nothing.” “My child is in Kate. You can't do this to me!” I wailed, “God, you're quite slow.” I blinked.

" My eyes narrowed. This was the friend I'd known for four years. Just to step on me in front of a woman, he was willing to drag my name through the dirt. I wasn't letting this slide. I tagged Kevin directly in the group chat. "Since you're so certain, how about we get together tomorrow night? Bring your evidence and expose me in person." Kevin replied instantly, "Sure. Ms. Spencer should come too. Since you're supposedly some wealthy heir, let's go to Grand View. You can afford to treat us there, right?" Grand View? That was the high-end club my family owned. I set down my phone and rubbed my temples. Sitting across from me was Celia Spencer, dressed in a sleek business suit that made her l

My heart remained a solid block of ice. "It is just a cheap show," I said flatly. "He needs to play the tragic, heartbroken widower for the cameras. It builds the perfect stage. He wants the public to pity him so he can finally put his precious savior in my place and legally give Jennifer the ring tonight." Kingsley let out a cold scoff, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Are you ready to crush this piece of garbage?" I looked down at my custom red silk dress. It hugged my figure, radiating power and absolute wealth. I was no longer the weak, desperate girl crying in a cheap beige cardigan. I was the heiress of the Merrick family.

"You impostor! How dare you try to act like you're the real thing? Do you want me to kill you?" I was slapped so hard that I couldn't think straight. The bodyguard, Wayne Perry, was looking at me with such hatred and disgust that it was as if he believed I was the actual impostor. I opened my mouth with difficulty and said, "Didn't Fred tell you earlier? Candace is lying!" Wayne just chortled and replied, "Ms. Candace is the real heiress of the Ashford family. You're nothing but an impostor. But I see that you've already gotten too deep in your act!"