Outcast? The Heiress Outshone Them All Mga Nobela at Kwento

"I’ve always known that. I know you don’t really like me." "That’s not..." "You look at me like I'm a chore you're forced to complete. And I know you probably disliked me even before you met me," she continued, her voice shaking despite her effort to keep it steady. "Because of what you might have read about me, What people said 'The rebellious heiress'. I know you had your opinion formed already." His jaw tightened. He looked at her for just a brief moment, something unreadable flickering across his eyes. He didn't offer a defense or an explanation, he just turned back toward the door.

"Enjoy the party, Elena. Because by the time Xavier and I are done, the only thing you’ll be wearing is a prison jumpsuit." As we turned to leave, the room erupted into a feverish hum of gossip. I felt Xavier’s hand on the small of my back, guiding me out. The message was sent: The servant was gone, and the Heiress had returned with a King at her side.

"Well. You'll find Sterling Global has very high standards." More applause. She was captivating the room, holding every person's attention effortlessly. "Elena," someone at the next table whispered, loud enough for me to hear. "I knew that name sounded familiar. Isn't she married to him?" They trailed off, looking at me. Oh God. Everyone was going to know. Everyone was going to know I'd been married to a billionaire heiress and treated her like garbage. "I need air," I said, standing abruptly. My chair scraped loudly against the floor.

They had assumed she was exiled—or simply too ashamed to show her face among the glittering rivals. Cassandra, already seated inside her serpent-carriage, leaned out the window with a thin smile. “Well, look who crawled home. Did you get lost on the road to obscurity?” Velarissa’s red eyes gleamed from behind her lace veil. “A lamb among wolves. Delicious.” Nymira’s floral gown fluttered as she laughed, airy and cruel. “Someone forgot to weed the garden; an unwanted bloom has popped up.” Kaelith—bronze-armored and towering—snorted a jet of smoke. “This is a competition, not a charity ward. Go back to whatever hovel you slunk from.”

For the first time, fear flickered behind his composure. Power wasn’t control. It was exposure. When I walked away, my heart thundered but my steps never faltered. The crowd parted like a tide. Somewhere, a journalist was already typing the headline: ‘The Lost Abram Heiress Returns — Family Secrets Resurface at Charity Gala.’ Mia caught my eye from across the room, her smile trembling with pride. I exhaled slowly. I’d done it — not as a broken survivor, but as the woman I was meant to be.

"The Rivers heiress gave you this card, right? Well, now that she's here, let's see if she even knows who you are!" Bastien finished. "Now is the time to come clean about your crime, Sebastian!" Hera urged frantically. "Stop making things worse! Even I almost can't be bothered with you. How could the heiress be bothered then?" She looked at Leda and felt a nagging sense of inferiority. She might rival her in beauty and figure, but she could never match her aura or the way she carried herself.

“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.

"Only because arrogant men with family grudges are my least favorite species." They both laughed. But outside, beyond the estate walls, Cassian Rourke stood under the starlight, staring up at the Bluefield crest. He wasn't done. He was just getting started.~060 The Other Heir The Bluefield estate had never looked more opulent-or more on edge.

I was Celeste Kingsley, the heiress, the investor, and the woman no one could ignore. The world had no idea what was coming.

His cold eyes sweep over the crowd until they land on me, and something stirs bitterly in me. The whispers grow louder. Some glance at me with pity, while others rush to fawn over him. “She came,” says the girl standing beside Eunice. I recognize her. She’s one of Eunice’s many pets, the type she sends out to do her dirty work while she keeps the image of the fragile female leade beside Leonard. The crowd falls silent, watching the premium entertainment in front of them. I can already read tomorrow’s headlines. Anastasia Brooks the fallen heiress trying to steal the rich CEO from the sweet fragile Eunice Hilton.