The Country Heiress' Secret Identities Mga Nobela at Kwento

But the burn didn’t ease the knot in his chest. The news flashed on TV. “In breaking news, the missing Hartman heiress has been found alive after twenty-three years…” Adrian froze. The screen showed Evelyn stepping from a black car, surrounded by cameras. “She’s the missing Hartman heiress,” he whispered. Charlotte paled. “That’s impossible.” Adrian barely heard her. Every cruel word he’d thrown at Evelyn echoed in his head. He’d called her a gold digger, said she didn’t belong. Now she was the richest woman in New York.

“Why? Why didn't you tell me? For the past four years, we dated, but you never told me who you really were. Why?” I watch in controlled anger as my cousin steel herself, clearly determined to end whatever this is, once and for all. When she speaks, her voice is flat and emotionless. “I wanted to tell you. Remember that time I suggested taking you back to my hometown? I wanted to introduce you to my pack then. But it was you who refused.” Her indifference is showing a clear sign that she has moved beyond caring about him or his opinion. Hearst’s features crack with anguish, his voice trembling as he responds. “If you had told me that you were the Hamit-Beta heiress, how could I ever refuse to

“Do you still not understand how important you are to me?” My breath caught. The emotion in his gaze made my chest ache. Then he said it. “I found out who your ghost fiancé is.” I sat up too fast, pain lancing through my ribs. “Who?” “He’s from Montreal. A cartel leader. Several men under him. All illegal operations. He’s got power in the underworld like I do in the corporate world.” I blinked, the revelation slamming into me like a train. “And he’s the one who—?” “He started searching for you like a madman after you went missing. That’s how I tracked him.”

“That’s not what happened. If what you say is true, if the will was falsified, then why all the conditions? Why come and live with us, why not take it all in a heartbeat?” Maria narrows her eyes at me, looking victorious, like she knows all the secrets of the world. “Why not? They needed time to pin it all on you, didn’t they? To make you look like the villain right when you let your guard down the second you invited her in your bed. And with you gone, she becomes the only heir to the riches.” “And give them all to someone else?” “Just think about it. Who in their right mind travel half the world on a promise of an inheritance that might not even exist?”

But what would that prove? No. I needed to know the truth. If I entered as the heiress, they’d all bow and smile — and I’d never know who meant it. I wouldn’t hear the whispers, the veiled alliances, the true faces behind rehearsed greetings. Most of all, I wouldn’t know which of Gregor’ was under his control and which wasn’t.

I couldn’t let Damon see me break. “I’ll fight you,” I said, voice like steel. “In court. With every last breath in my body.” He leaned closer, breath icy against my skin. “And I’ll drag your name through every tabloid from here to Geneva. You think Vale’s world won’t crumble if the press finds out he has a secret heir born out of scandal and lies?” I stared him down. “That child is loved. Protected. You’ll never get to him.” He smirked. “We’ll see.”

She was on the verge of snapping when, finally, another woman sighed heavily beside her: “What’s so tragic about it?” “Tragic? Isn’t it obvious?” another woman chimed in, a well-performing heiress who knew a bit of the Davenier family's mess. “Sure, Esther’s dance was stunning—but so what? She’s not Judy. She’s not a real heiress. Even if she caught Evander’s eye, what difference does it make?”

Williams. Edwards. Neither of them realized she was only a few feet away. Williams let out a scornful laugh. “Can you believe she actually thought Father would choose her? A female heir? What a joke.” Edwards laughed with him. “If she isn’t careful, Charles will crush her before the wedding night is over. Maybe that’s exactly what she needs. Someone to remind her where she belongs.” Daniela’s hands curled into fists so tightly that her nails cut into her palms. Every part of her wanted to step out of the shadows and wipe those smug smiles off their faces.

She had stood on that stage and revealed herself as Hazel Saint Claire, CEO of E&H Investments, and I had stood there like a fool, my mouth hanging open, unable to process what I was seeing. Hazel Saint Claire. Not Hazel Rossi. Not some woman trying to build a small restaurant. Hazel Saint Claire. Billionaire heiress. CEO of a global company. Granddaughter of Margaret Sinclair. And she hadn't told me. All those months together. All those nights when I had asked her what was wrong and she had lied to my face. All those moments when she could have trusted me, could have told me the truth, and instead she had kept it locked away like I was someone she couldn't rely on.