The Aristocratic Heiress From The Countryside Novelas e Histórias

Confusion swarmed in Greg's eyes as he held on to her fragile body. “I did some digging, Greg. About Megan. About who she really is.” Greg froze, his mind reeling with disbelief. “What do you mean?” he asked for the hundredth time. Elizabeth took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she reached for her phone. “I found something. Something that might explain everything.” With trembling hands, she handed Greg her phone, the screen displaying a headline that made his blood run cold: “New York's Youngest Heiress Revealed: Margaret Song.”

"Despite the passage of time, it seems that the Barretts remain unchanged." In a flash, Peyton strode forward and delivered a resounding slap to Ralph's cheek. "Who do you think you are to criticize Ms. Mia? Take a good look at yourself before passing judgment on others. Do you even have the right?" Stunned by the slap, Ralph turned to Mia. "Aren't you just a lowly orphan? How dare you call yourself an heiress?" A nearby journalist interjected, "Ms. Lane is not an orphan. She is the long-lost heiress of the Lane family, the foremost aristocratic household in Nord City."

The first step was to get on Theodore’s good side, and this pampered noblewoman who had never worked a day in her life was a well-known heiress in Charleston. She was not well-known for her beauty or talents but rather for the numerous feuds she had with other noble families and royals behind the scenes. Annabella’s glamorous appearance did not match her personality at all. She was not unattractive by any means as her features were well-defined, but her malice and tendency to one-up others had earned her widespread disdain.

"Look! Ariel has returned to the country!" Yvonne pushed the phone away. "Why are you getting so worked up? Is she your friend?" "No!" Rachel immediately explained who Ariel was, stressing that she was an heiress from a scholarly family and how pretty and famous she was. Yvonne took over Rachel's phone and zoomed in on the photo. She nodded in agreement. "She's a beauty, true and true. But what does she have to do with me?" Yvonne asked seriously. Rachel was instantly speechless. "Of course, it has everything to do with you!"

He captures her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring the sweet recesses of her mouth. He remembers, seeing her pictures in Vogue magazines. each is reminder of her glamorous and enigmatic life. She is a mystery to any one because no articles bear her whereabouts-- where she lived and studied in England, only whispers and rumors. Sometimes she was in Italy, other times in Paris, or London… Always living a life that seemed both glamorous and unattainable to many, even for the rich and famous. One time, he was particularly jealous of the Count, a dashing Italian aristocrat, who had been photographed with her at a social event.

He turned back to her. “You thought I married you because I loved you ... hell No ... even though you never told I knew you were the heir to your fucking father’s wealth” he snarled, drawing a chair for him to sit on ... “Your woes began the day you left Gaius and became a divorcee. That fact that you were lonely, seeking expression and had a low self – esteem of your fucking self was a ground that I could use to penetrate your fucking strong hold ... you were never really attractive to me ...” “So, what’s all this epistle all about now ?” She asked, regaining her voice back ....

When he brought her like a piece of rag from that lying bitch, she admits that she lost hope but she sees a future now and she can grab it. She is not a whore and will never be one. She is the heiress of GLV Winery and she will not let her story turn out this way. She will not be a piece of wood in the closet of this bastard. She will bid her time and escape. She will find that witch and teach her a life lesson she will never forget. She made Uncle Nicholas squandered all her fortune as if that was not enough, she sold her. Talking about having your cake and eating it too but she will make this earth bitter for her.

In her hand was a pouch that felt as if it burned in her hands. As she walked through the streets she could not help looking at it and looking at the people around her. What were their opinions on the dying imperial family? How would they react if they found out that she, a simple girl of sixteen, was the heir to this vast empire? Would they hate her? Would they love her? And her only proof was a letter and a necklace. Well at least for the moment. She finally reached Hector's home after what seemed to be the longest walk of her entire life. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A slave opened it.

Tried to throw hands in front of their son. She was practically choking on panic, looking seconds from passing out. Then she looked at me—same canvas shoes, same beat-up backpack. The girl she dragged through the mud as some backwoods nobody. Turns out, I'm the heiress. Arnold Visconti's little sister. Daughter of the people signing her checks.

Chapter 15 Estelle The banquet hall was cool but the tension between Zen and Bryon made it so much colder. It did not help that I was dressed in a cream lace see through fabric that clung to my curves as though for dear life. Zen’s group of stylists had literally constructed the dress on my body. The dress was sexy and elegant at the same time. Even when I lived in my father's house, I did not have access to this type of wear. Everything from my hair which was in a fashionable bun and set in small diamonds to my feet which was strapped in gold stilettos had been carefully thought out.