The Broken Heiress Is The Real Power Player Novels & Stories

"She barged in, glared at everyone like she owned the place, and completely derailed everything. Call it what it is, Elijah." "That woman still doesn't have class at all," Mama added, her voice dripping with annoyance as she adjusted her pearls. I smirked at Veronica's words, leaning back in my chair. "She's the legitimate heiress of Uncle Edmund. So, technically, she has her fair share of this place." Veronica scoffed, her lips curling into a sneer. "Fair share or not, that doesn’t mean she has to act like a spoiled child. There’s a way to handle things, Elijah, and Eloise has clearly never learned it."

He said that there is more toil. "What do you need from me?" Saint promised weakly. "We want your power! Your position! And your wealth. And Deus wants to know where the hell is the mafia heiress." Mafia Heiress? Savienna is the real mafia heiress. But I am still claiming it as me because that's what they thought too. "Okay, I got what I wanted. Now I need to erase you to keep your mouth shut." Because of what Saint said, I saw a strange fear that enveloped Gayle's entire being.

"She thought she was securing a comfortable future by aligning with Julian and your father. Now that the alignment is fractured, she realizes she has no leverage of her own. People like her don't know how to handle being powerless." I took a slow sip of the wine. The crisp, cold liquid helped settle the residual tension in my throat. Watching Sienna fall apart in the main hall should have given me a sense of complete satisfaction, but instead, it just left me feeling exhausted. The high-society world we lived in was incredibly fragile. One day you are the envied heiress walking down the aisle, and the next, you are a cautionary tale whispered about over champagne.

I nodded through gritted teeth as cold sweat dripped down my forehead. His fingers pressed slowly along my wound, and I could feel a warm energy seeping into my skin, like flames burning away the dark energy that had invaded my body. "Who exactly are you?" I asked breathlessly "Silas Evernight," he said without looking up. "76th successor of the Obsidian Order." He continued calmly, "It seems the possessed corpse you encountered is quite powerful. She wouldn't have been able to injure you so badly that the undead poison entered your system, otherwise."

Ruth dropped to her knees and put on her best pitiful act. "Mom, please, give us your blessings. Micah and I grew up together. Our feelings for each other run deep…" Mom shook all over with rage, too angry to get a single word out. I watched this ridiculous scene and tightened my grip on the baseball bat. I laughed derisively and said, "Micah, you're seriously out of your mind." I swung the baseball bat hard into his shin, my expression instantly turning into one of grief. "She's a fake heiress, but you're a true heir! How can you screw your own parents over for an outsider? You've let this vixen scramble your brain!"

“And you…. Solider boy, when the Heiress arrives, you’ll be fired for rebellion.” “You had better gone back to your shell, Megan. If you continue this charade, you’ll end up getting the Heiress furious. She is powerful. So powerful that she can destroy 10 kingdoms without lifting her hand. Hence, ruining you and your bastard son won’t even take her up to a second. You won’t want to get on her bad side. No one would.” Alice warned. Thorne snapped at her instantly. “Then, you better do something to appease her.”

I said as I sat back down and tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. "Forget the investors you already have and start thinking about the one who just landed back in the country, because word is that the Great Thorne Heiress—the real one, the one with the trust fund that hasn't been touched in three years—is looking for a new project to dump her excess capital into," Beatrice said, and I felt a sudden jolt of electricity run through my chest that made me sit up straight.

She gestured toward the sprawling estate, feeling the weight of the secrets she was only just beginning to uncover. "In this world, being the heir is only half the battle," Ross explained in a patient tone. "The more wealth one controls, the greater the influence. His elders believe that some of those assets would be better managed under their jurisdiction. It's less about what is 'right' and more about who has the power to hold onto it." Renata felt a chill that had nothing to do with the garden breeze. "So he's walking into a room full of people who want to take what's his?"

Not because there was nothing to say but because everything we could say was too large to fit into words yet. I stared out the oval window, watching darkness swallow the wing, my reflection faintly visible in the glass. I barely recognized the woman looking back at me. Her hair was tangled, her eyes too sharp, too awake. There were faint scratches along her collarbone and wrist—souvenirs from a rooftop where the truth finally stopped hiding. I wasn’t the Hidden Heiress anymore. I wasn’t the substitute. I was the girl whose grandfather had signed her death warrant before she was old enough to understand what betrayal looked like.

she hissed. But Alaya didn’t even blink. She turned to Malik. “Make sure they’re gone,” she said. “I want it emptied out before the ink dries.” Malik looked at her — surprised, impressed, maybe even a little wary — and nodded once. Alaya turned and walked out of the room, back straight, chin high. The girl they thought was broken? Humiliated? She just walked out the door as the new queen of the Westwood empire.