Sarah Fortune Arcane Novels & Stories

I came from a family of witches. When we came of age, every woman in our line awakened a gift. I could siphon my husband's luck through marriage. The rule was simple. After we married, each time he betrayed me, the universe paid compensation. A portion of his fortune slipped away from him and into my hands. Outside the window, bright fireworks filled the sky. They burst and stitched themselves into a name. Kimberly Swan was his mistress. When I did not explode the way people expected, Jasper Prescott grew even more entitled.

Of course, of course, when you found a woman with a million on banks in a vulnerable state, you took advantage of her to jam-packed your pocket with some easy money. The yelling woman was Sarah Parker, the proprietor of a textile company. Sarah’s father, Mr. Daniel, passed away a year ago due to cardiac arrest, leaving his hard work and a great deal of fortune for his daughter. Sarah was divorced from her first husband with a son. An Aussie man whom she met on her trip with friends in Paris. They fell in love, got married after three days of the meeting, and moved to Australia. The fairy tale didn’t last long as, after a year and a half later, she was divorced and moved back to Chicago with

she barked, her tone sharp, “you shouldn’t be asking me that. You should be asking Sarah what exactly she was saying.” Sarah stiffened in her chair, glaring back at Mata with a wounded expression that looked anything but genuine. Evelyn’s face twisted in confusion as she tapped her fingers against the table as if trying to piece things together. “Wait,” she muttered slowly, then raised her voice, “isn’t Sarah supposedly the heir to Mr. Aeka’s fortune?” I bit down a laugh at the sheer ignorance. Mata let out a short, cruel laugh, her shoulders shaking.

“Sarah. Sarah Morgan.” He nodded, still studying me. I wondered what he saw. “I’ll remember that,” he said. “I have business with the Arcane so enjoy the rest of your day, Sarah Morgan.” He started to turn away, but something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the way he dismissed Ronan, or maybe I just didn’t like being brushed off. I took a step after him, voice a little sharper than I meant. “What kind of business could you possibly have with the Arcanes?”

The heiress’s commanding presence was so overwhelming that Lola collapsed to the ground in fear. "I… I don’t know," she stammered. "I was already pregnant when I was working at the bar. I only turned to Adrian because I needed someone to take responsibility." The moment she said it, Adrian exploded. "You bitch!" he shouted, lunging forward and wrapping his hands around her throat. "You said this was my baby! That’s the only reason I gave you money! Turns out it’s some other bastard’s kid? How much money have you stolen from me?!"

disgust? My stomach dropped like a stone. "Well, well. Look what we have here." I spun around to find Sarah blocking my path, her perfectly manicured hands on her hips. The Beta's daughter was everything I wasn't—confident, beautiful, popular, and born into privilege. She wore a stunning sapphire blue dress that probably cost more than I made in an entire year of apprentice work. "Shouldn't you be mixing herbs or grinding roots somewhere?" Sarah asked with fake sweetness dripping from every word.

He was not trying to buy their affection, but to remind them—and himself—of the connective tissue that existed before the world fell apart. It was Sarah who broke first. She arrived at the Brian Energies tower unannounced on a Saturday afternoon. The building was quiet, a skeletal weekend crew manning the desks. She didn’t call ahead. She simply walked into the lobby, her backpack slung over one shoulder, and told the security guard, “I’m here to see my father.” The guard, new and fiercely loyal, didn’t question her. He simply nodded and escorted her to the private elevator that led to the executive floors.

She paused on Elara, lips curling in a smile that cut deeper than any blade. “Still alive?” Elara became tense, her fingernails digging into her hands. “Unfortunately for you.” Ariana ignored the jab, turning to the crowd with effortless grace. “Students of Roverthhood,” she announced, voice carrying like a queen addressing her court, “permit me to present my son—Jackson Vale, rightful heir to the Vale fortune.” The words dropped like stones in a frozen lake. Gasps rippled. Heads turned toward Elara, then back to Ariana.

S. Margot Sinclair. My mother. I opened it with trembling hands. Inside were: A silk scarf I remembered her wearing once, when I was nine. A perfume bottle shaped like a dagger. And a stack of letters. All addressed to Reagan Blackwood. I sat on the floor and opened the top one. Reagan, I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of hiding. Of pretending Ivy belongs to him. You said she would change everything. That she was born to break the crown.

The prescription would cost at least forty. Got it. How was the calc test? Aced it! MIT here I come! Claire smiled despite her exhaustion. Clara was going to MIT. No matter what it took. That night, lying in the bed she shared with Clara, Claire pulled out Damian Cole's business card. She'd looked him up during break. Thirty-two. Self-made billionaire. Photos showed him at galas with beautiful women, always perfect, always untouchable. And she'd dumped coffee on him. Clara peered over her shoulder. "Who's that?"