Fake Heiress? Try Richer Heiress นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“You think I set this password now just to impress you?” “That’s the fact,” I replied. “One more thing. Save yourself future embarrassment and kill this fantasy tonight. Many rich heiresses are out there. I will never be interested in you.” “Rich heiresses.” He scoffed as I walked past. “You think I'm after that little money your family has?” I paused. Then smiled briefly. “The money might be small, but the status is the same. An heiress is always an heiress, unlike a poor girl from unknown origin.”

she shrugged dismissively, and a fire ignited in my chest. Just sex? With my fiancé? In my pajamas? Her eyes glinted, “What's with that look?” Slowly, realization mixed with the mockery as she laughed “You bumpkin. Don't tell me you really think you're Lucas' future wife? That you can so easily forget what you really are!? What do you owe me?!” My teeth grated against each other. I didn’t need her to remind me. Vanessa Caldwell. To the public, we call each other sisters, but everyone in the circle knows what's going on. I'm a fake. She is the real one. The true heiress of the Caldwell family.

A minute later, her door burst open and Helena—her ever-stressed personal assistant—stormed in, holding a tablet like it was a ticking time bomb. “You need to see this,” she said breathlessly. “Helena, what—” “It’s everywhere.” She thrust the tablet toward Isabella, and her heart dropped the second she saw the headline. > Laurent Heiress in Secret Relationship with Blackwood Tycoon – Sources Confirm Intimacy Inside Family Estate Below the headline was a blurry photo of her and Alexander walking through the gardens at dusk. His hand was on the small of her back. Her face was tilted toward his, her expression soft and unguarded.

She couldn’t even concentrate on the words coming out of Celene’s mouth because she was still trying to process the fact that she was the heiress of the Salvatore Group. “T-this can’t be... Why is she up there? She said she’s an orphan. I’m sure of it.” Jarred’s words caught in his throat, and he felt a wave of nausea at the realization that his ex-wife, whom he had constantly insulted and demeaned, was actually a member of a wealthy conglomerate, and an heiress at that.

"Elizabeth, I won't let you talk about Yvonne like that. She's nothing like you. She loves me for me. She was even willing to take out an eight-million-dollar loan for me before she knew I was wealthy." I let out a cold laugh. "Nicholas Hunt, you really are naive. Yvonne knew exactly who you were from the start. That's why she seduced you. "Why don't you take a look at her ex-boyfriends? Every single one is a wealthy heir. What makes you think you're the one exception she made for love? You're an idiot."

Kingsley interrupted him by kicking him with his leg. Tyler fell to the ground groaning in pain. “How dare you call the heiress of Norway group a slut? And who do you think you are to open your mouth and insult my fiancée, the fiancé of I, Kingsley Geralt, have I really been too nice to people these days?” Kingsley said. “What do you mean? Heiress… Norway… Fiancée…” Tyler stuttered in shock, his eyes threatening to fall from their eyeballs.

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.

Not even now when I'm here to take my revenge on that fool. What would I tell Alex? This can't be real. “I'm sorry, but it's real,” The doctor replied. Just as the doctor was about to step out. I called his attention. “Please, don't tell anyone,” I pleaded. “Your secret is safe with me, Ms. Lancaster,” he replied before finally leaving. Since I announced myself last night as the heiress to Lancaster’s group of companies all over the globe, I guess everyone now knows me. I looked at the TV in front of me as I watched the newscaster speak about me and the event of last night.

"My name's Dovette, by the way. I was training to be a scout before all this happened." I accepted the bowl gratefully. My stomach had been empty enough to echo all day. "Raina. I was just... someone's daughter, I suppose." "And what are you now?" Dovette asked. I thought about that. "I have no idea." She laughed, and there was something both sad and genuine in that laugh. "That's honest, at least. Most people would have some story prepared about who they are now, what they're supposed to be doing. But you're just admitting you don't know. I like that."

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.