Novel & Cerita The Divorced Billionaire Heiress Isabella

"Mother wants me back in time for dinner." "Yes, Ma'am," Ryan replied before leaving the office. Diane stood up straightening her burgundy blazer and grabbing her bag. She still didn't believe this was her life now. She was a Deveraux, she owned stuff in her name, she was loved by people around her and most importantly, everyone in the country was about to know she was a hidden heiress. And as much as that meant her face was going to be frequently all over the media and her privacy was going to be compromised, this was what she wanted, this was the power she craved and this was the life that chose her.

she whispered, “I don’t think I can survive this humiliation.” Nobody moved. Then Sofia immediately grabbed Isabella’s face. “Don’t say that!” But Isabella only smiled through tears. A shattered smile. “Why not?” she whispered. “Nobody sees me anymore anyway.” The media no longer talked about Isabella Moretti. Now they talked about how the billionaire heir was so focused on business that he had practically forgotten his wedding while building a flourishing future for the country—as if my daughter had only been holding him back. People loved stories like that.

My name is a punchline on the evening news, and I am hiding in a cash-only shithole because my wife decided to lose her mind and burn my life to the ground. I tap the cracked screen. The news cycle refreshes. There she is. Isabella is walking out of a sprawling estate in the Hudson Valley, flanked by Luca Moretti and Viktor Romanov. She is wearing black silk. She is not weeping and she is not trembling. The headline beneath the photograph reads: *The Romanov Heiress Reclaims Council Seat.* The rage that spikes in my chest is incandescent. It is a blinding, white-hot physical pain.

I had never been so sure about anything in my life like I was sure of this. His green eyes locked onto mine, studying me. “And how exactly do you plan on getting it?” “I’ll figure it out,” I said, trying to keep my voice firm, to assure myself that I was right, though deep down, I wasn’t sure how. Malakai let out a low hum, as if he found amusement in my situation. “With what resources? What connections? The world thinks you’re dead, Isabella . Your name, your power, your wealth—none of it exists anymore.”

Isn't this the place where the famous billionaire lived? I stepped back. Oh no, Dorothy. What are you thinking? Are you planning on applying as a maid here? But there's nothing I can do. I need money for my mom. "Goodness, it's getting out of hand." I heard a man spoke behind me so I turned to face him. My eyes widened when I saw him! The famous billionaire! Danmar Bertrand! Am I really seeing him now? He isn't inside a tv screen, a billboard, a painting and anything else? Is he really in front of me?

Nathaniel requested. "Okay. Who's that?" Paul asked. "Do you remember Isabella? Isabella the scholarship girl who is very beautiful and intelligent?" "Yes. I do. I was even about to inform you about the current news I heard about her. I heard she got adopted by a rich lady, the lady made her the heir to her company. That's queen's company man. Yo! She's made it in life. I think her stars are so bright." Paul remarked. "So, it's true? I was trying so hard not to believe the net. Did you know if she has any kid? If she's married or not?" Nathaniel asked again.

"These are the terms. You will be my wife for one year—no more, no less. In exchange, I will settle all the debts of Carter Holdings." The words echoed in her mind. A year. A mere twelve months to preserve what was left of her family’s honor and legacy. But at what cost? Isabella's thoughts churned as she recalled the events that led her here. Her father had passed away years ago, leaving Carter Holdings vulnerable. Vivian, her stepmother, had gambled away every last resource in reckless spending. When the creditors came knocking, Vivian had found a so-called solution: sell Isabella to the highest bidder. And that bidder had been none other than Alexander Kingston.

Elena looked very surprised, as if Isabella had committed some unforgivable act in her eyes. "So what did you expect me to be like? Naively waiting for you to set a trap for me and then obediently walk into it?" Isabella pointed out mercilessly the things Elena had done. Not giving Elena a chance to speak, Isabella continued, "Ms. Elena, you don't need to worry about what Alexander will do with me, I tell you, I'm already married. My husband is waiting for me outside right now. I'll leave first." Leaving her words hanging, Isabella picked up her bag and left, without even glancing at the so-called dishes Elena ordered that she supposedly liked.

“Only a qualified girl can be by your side-” “Believe me, she's more than qualified,” Liam grumbled. “Haley is the secret heiress of the DG Group. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied?” However, the woman didn't look satisfied. She looked as if she'd lost her tongue. “That's the biggest joke of the century!” She scoffed. “How can this filthy girl with no background be an heiress-” “You can do your research.” Liam interrupted her. “And for the last time, Mum, leave Haley alone. I haven't changed my mind that I can choose her over you.”

she murmured, “you always did think you could run from me.” But Isabella had run to the wrong place, into the arms of a billionaire, into wealth, into luxury. Luxury that she actually wanted for herself . Clarissa hadn’t missed the stories. The whispers on those obscure wedding blogs. She remembered the night she saw the headline. Runaway Russian secretary marries Wall Street’s most dangerous billionaire. Clarissa had dropped her wine glass. The single blurry photo of Isabella in a white dress beside a man whose face had the cold, lethal handsomeness of power.