The Divorced Heiress's Hidden Identities Novels & Stories

Even though she had already suspected it, seeing the physical proof before her eyes still made her chest ache painfully. This charade had been executed perfectly. Yet amid her anger, her analytical mind immediately caught a legal inconsistency. She frowned and read page after page of corporate documents tucked beneath the certificates. 'If Kyle and Jessica have been legally married for eight years... If Calysta is their biological daughter... why did Kyle go through so much trouble to hide this divorce from me? Why did he keep me in this house as his "wife" in the public eye for eight years?' Kyle had absolutely no idea that she was the sole heiress of the Branson family.

“I believe so.” She shook her head. “No.” “No one would go that far.” “Not over a divorce.” Alex’s expression remained unreadable. “This wasn’t just a divorce.” He paused. “It looks more like someone wanted you removed.” Those words struck harder than she expected. Removed. Not rejected or abandoned. Her heartbeat quickened. “I was twenty years old.” “I had no company.” “No inheritance.” “No influence.” Her voice cracked. “What could anyone possibly gain by destroying me?”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey my lovely readers 🤍:) We’ve come to the end of The Billionaire’s Hidden Bride: The Secret Heiress. This story means a lot to me, and while I originally planned to make it longer, I decided to give it a proper ending rather than leave anyone hanging. If you made it this far, thank you for staying with me till the end. Your time and support truly mean more than you know. I’m already working toward my next story, and I promise it will be even bigger, deeper, and more dramatic. I hope you’ll be there when it begins.

The four of us stared at the photocopy of the property transfer agreement, fear written all over our faces. Our ages matched the real heiress. While we had already tried to claim the family, every single one of us ended up dead. So was there really an heiress here? "Is it possible there isn't an heiress here at the orphanage, and you're looking in the wrong place?" Rebecca Vargas cautiously asked Yvette Warren, secretary to billionaire Orson Cox. The smile on Yvette's face never changed. "Mr. Cox already confirmed it. The heiress is here. We just don't know which one of you she is yet."

“Come on, this is Evander we’re talking about. The guy’s a business genius—he’s not gonna back the losing side. Chloe stares at him like a lovesick puppy, but he’s got his eyes on ‘nobody’ Esther? Yeah, she’s not a nobody. He must know she’s the real deal.” In just a few short minutes, various media platforms sent the news skyrocketing as if on a rocket to the clouds. And just like that, the truth was out. #ForsakenDaughterTurnsOutToBeHeiressOfWorld Mogul Victor Davenier #FakeHeiressRealBossLady ***

_____ . . . Two years of a wretched secret marriage that no one but close family knew about. Two years of living like strangers. Alexander Adam Thorne had a thorn stuck to him. No, it was not his name. It was a woman who had latched herself to his name - Inaya Thorne. The spoiled and rotten heiress of the McBell family. The McBells sounded like some modern American aristocracy. And they were. They had all the money in the world. They had enough money to BUY the whole damn world. And maybe the Moon and Mars, with what money they would have left.

I didn’t want them to find out who I truly was yet—not until I was done dealing with Richard and his stupid side chick. Since things had already gone this far and I didn’t want anyone suspecting me, I turned to Zoey and shrugged casually. “And what difference does it make if I sit on that seat?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “What if I told you I can spend just as much money as the hidden Heiress of the Harrington family? What if I told you that—then what would you say?” Zoey blinked rapidly, her lips quivering with disbelief. “Wait… what?!”

he said, his voice short. I opened the folder, and then came her photo — her silver dress, her posture. A strange feeling twisted in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. She wasn’t merely the desperate woman I’d sat down beside in my car, fleeing from abductors in her ripped gown. She was the Clawford heiress. Her brazen gala invitation to dinner — direct and without the usual scheming attached — stuck in my brain. The majority of women who came to me were wanting something—money, influence, a hold in my world. That greed wasn't in Valenticia’s eyes.

“Their family has handed us the preliminary construction work. I want our end executed with precision.” Just as we stepped toward the elevators, a voice cut through the air like a sharp whistle. “Well, well. Look who’s playing boss today.” Olivia. Her heels clicked obnoxiously on the marble tiles as she strutted toward us in an ivory pantsuit that probably cost more than the last two months of payroll. “I hope you ladies know,” she began, flashing a faux-smile at the three women behind me, “that she’s not only an ex-convict but also engaged while shamelessly flirting with another man. Scandalous, isn’t it? Imagine the PR disaster.”

he asked quietly. “It ends the marriage.” He stepped closer. Rain dripped from his hair onto his collar. “I don’t want this.” “Then you should’ve thought about that before you climbed into bed with her.” The words landed. He flinched. The cameras caught every second. I could already see tomorrow’s headlines. BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS DIVORCES REAL ESTATE MOGUL IN TEARS, CHEATING SCANDAL? I didn’t care. “I have to go,” I said.