The Emerald Heiress Novels & Stories

“What are you trying to do now? Bully her? She is my brother’s mistress, just like you… You are both a whore… Only that one is adorned…” Then Cassian’s voice cut through so deepand commandingly final, “Enough.” The room fell silent. Even Claudia stilled. Cassian’s arm tightened around my waist, his chest solid against my back, his presence suddenly overwhelming. His tone was cold, leaving no room for doubt. “She did not steal it. I drove her to the bank myself, personally to the vault where her family treasures are kept. That emerald is her heirloom. Rothschild bloodline, older than any of you sitting here. She gave it freely, as a gift to you, Lady Claudia.”

Some part of me already knew what I would find, and I wasn't ready to make that knowledge real. Instead, I found our supply bag. My mother had started packing things weeks ago, making little preparations in case things got worse — Dried meat, a water flask, a knife, some clothing. The leather bag was still in the closet of her bedroom, untouched. I filled it with whatever else I could carry. Fresh water from the well, surprisingly, the well still worked, as if the creatures had decided to leave at least one source of life intact. Matches wrapped in cloth. A blanket. The small amount of silver my parents kept hidden in a loose stone behind the fireplace.

“Exactly. The real heiress kept a low profile for years. Of course she wouldn’t come in shouting about who she was. Freya’s act was way too obvious.” Freya and Chuck froze completely. “No. That’s impossible.” Chuck muttered under his breath. “She worked at my company for years. How could she be the group’s heiress?” Then he seemed to remember something and suddenly turned to Freya. “Wait. Didn’t you have the family pendant? The one you showed us before? “Were you lying to me this whole time? Was that pendant fake?” Freya desperately shot him a look, telling him to shut up. But it was too late. The words had already left his mouth.

The poison of resentment I’d carried for years felt like it was finally being drawn out, evaporating with every tear. Eventually, Mom pulled back. She wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief, trying to gather the scattered pieces of her composure. She looked down at the velvet box, opening it with a soft click. The light caught the surface of something spectacular. Inside lay the emerald necklace—a massive, deep-green stone surrounded by a constellation of diamonds. It was the Desmond legacy. A piece of history that felt like it held the weight of a thousand secrets. "This belonged to my mother. And her mother before her," Mom said, her voice raspy but steady. "The Desmond Emeralds. They’re

"Clara is demanding you. Now." I let him pull me through the staring faces. My heels clicked too loudly on the marble. The emerald gown chosen with such fragile hope suddenly felt cheap, childish, a costume on a girl pretending to belong. They parted for us, these beautiful predators, their whispers already sharpening. The burden. The problem. The girl who could never quite measure up. We reached the balcony doors. Clara stood on the wide stone ledge in her blood-red dress, wind tearing at her hair and skirt, tears streaking her flawless cheeks. She clutched the railing with white-knuckled hands, the picture of tragic beauty.

Like she couldn’t breathe properly. “Elara?” That voice Her heart skipped. She turned quickly. “Ryan…” For a second, relief flashed across her face. Finally. Someone on her side. Ryan walked toward her, dressed in a neat black suit, his usual confident smile on his face. He looked her up and down, then smirked slightly. “Where’s my heiress?” he said playfully. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The word hit differently now. Heiress. Elara forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Ryan, I”

From a distance, she looked like exactly what she was supposed to be: a poised billionaire heiress, draped in silk, her dark hair swept into an elegant twist. Up close, the illusion fractured. Her shoulders were tight. Her smile—when she offered it—was carefully rationed. And every few minutes, her gaze flicked instinctively toward the raised dais at the center of the room, where her stepmother presided like a queen over court. Margaux Laurent was radiant tonight. She always was. She wore crimson, the color of conquest, her blonde hair arranged perfectly, her laughter ringing loud enough to command attention. Executives clustered around her, men twice her age nodding eagerly as she gestured

She stepped closer to the mirror. "I am a Laurent. I am Isabella Laurent's daughter. This is my name. This is my blood. This house is my blood. That company is my father's blood. They tried to erase her. They tried to erase me. They won't.I am my Father's Daughter.I am the Maid Heiress" Her fist curled.

I stared at it for three seconds. "Take it all down," I said to my assistant. Everything. In 20 minutes, the office was bare. White walls. The desk, chairs everything was taken out. I wanted to change it into something that was more fitting for a battlefield. Because the line was just drawn and many people were waiting to see what this real heiress that just bought over her father's company was capable of. I called Sophia. "Mom, send me the Paris office designer. Now." By 1 PM, the office was black and white. Glass desk. No family photos. Just one map Weston Enterprises branches, all the ones I now owned. And a whiteboard with one line:

I was getting ready to bring my girlfriend home to meet my mother when Rosalind Whitehall suddenly went silent. I was starting to panic when a notification popped up on my phone. It was a wedding livestream from a couple with 1,000,000 followers. "Looking back, the laughter and joy of that wedding celebration made it the happiest moment of my life. Mr. Grosvenor, I'm counting on you for the rest of my life." "We promised that once we hit 1,000,000 followers, the groom would finally show his face. A promise is a promise." In the video, Rosalind stood in a wedding dress and gently exchanged rings with a man. Our mutual friends flooded the comments. [Five years, and we finally got to watc