Heiress Mga Nobela at Kwento

I couldn't fathom why Jennie had brought me to a place like this. Suddenly, she flung a bunch of keys at my face, catching me off guard. "Here," she said with a smile. “What is it for?" I was bewildered as I asked her with a surprised tone. "It's ours now," she replied. "I don't want that despicable woman, who calls herself your wife, to ever disturb us again," she added with a hateful tone. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It seemed that Jennie had taken some drastic steps to ensure our privacy and happiness. As I looked around the mansion, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder.

Uncle Win had sent me a photo—wait. This girl . . . It's . . . "She's the heiress of Crystal Empire, Adam, but she lives a low-key life." What the hell.

"She's a graceful heiress and the matriarch of a significant family in Centrolis. She isn't that petty. Drink the wine and consider this done. Will that be okay with you, Cordelia?" Cordelia had not wanted to be involved with Allegra and had to do Victoria a favor since the princess had spoken. Despite that, this was not what Allegra thought. She had wanted to play Cordelia for a fool when she "apologized" just now. It was just that she did not get to finish her sentence. To her, Cordelia was the Irwin heiress but had not grown up in Southeast Aciatic and was not the same with them—heiresses who h

he says with a thick accent - I’m guessing he’s Ezra Aviet. “She’s a Décès - the heiress to Death’s Temple and the reason we’re on the brink of extinction!” A red-haired woman with an Italian accent cries out; she’s dressed in a tight-fitting black dress and heels, with diamonds and rubies adorning her neck and ears. Demitria Principe. “Exactly! She cannot be allowed to live, much less be part of our world!” A blonde wearing the same kind of dress as Demetria, but in royal blue, says in a deafening shrill voice. Nisha Devereaux, I assume, by her accent.

Luckily, she wasn’t there to be involved in any matter, thanks to Antony’s interruption, of course. Crystal could clearly recognize the maidens left in this round. Lylia Evergreen, heiress of a famous magazine printing company. Nothing too special but, at least her character seemed clean from what Crystal has observed. Denise Imperial, heiress of a vast chain of restaurants in the country. Same with Lylia, her character holds no mischief. Mylene Haravina, daughter of a famous fashion designer that is widely known across countries. This one was shy based from Crystal’s observation.

They simply buried down their head as if wishing the floor would open and swallow them. Jayden stepped forward, his face pale, his voice trembling. “I knew who it was. I mean the heiress.” My father turned sharply to him. “What are you talking about?” I glanced at Jayden warningly but he ignore d and voiced it out loud. “The heiress,” he said. “The Cross heiress. She is... she is Arabella.” The silence that followed was deafening. Celine froze. Her face went white. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She stared at me, her eyes wide, her body trembling.

He just stood there, staring at me across the crowded ballroom with an expression of complete devastation. The girl he'd thrown away, the wife he'd neglected and humiliated, the woman he'd told would never find anyone better, was Isabella Morrison. Granddaughter of Alexander Morrison. Heir to one of the largest fortunes in the country. One of the most powerful women in New York. And he'd let me go without a fight. The applause finally died down and I sat back down, accepting congratulations from the people at my table with grace and poise I'd learned from watching my brothers navigate society. But I was hyperaware of the Wei family table, of the chaos I knew was happening there.

"No, of course, not! Why would you even think of that? I'm only here for business, babe. She's the heiress of the Ash & Glamour Group, Clarissa Moore." My eyes widened in horror, as the name sink into my head. "What?!!"

She had survived her first day—not as a visitor, not as an outsider—but as a rightful Hartwell. As she left the headquarters with Alexander and Julian, she glanced back at the skyscraper, sunlight reflecting off its glass like a crown. The road ahead would be challenging, but she was no longer afraid. She was Elena Hartwell. She was the heiress. And the world, for better or worse, was watching her every step.

“That I’m nothing here?” Her father looked at her. And for the first time There was no warmth in his eyes. “You are my daughter,” he said. “But you are not the heir.” The room went completely still. Elara felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Not the heir. Just like that. “No…” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. Then who is it? Why won’t you say it?” “That is not your concern,” he said firmly.