The Fake Heiress Novels & Stories

He didn't look homeless, and one can tell from one glance that he is well-read. The truth is I was not finding any of his questions funny as I felt miserable and pained from all the embarrassment I had earlier encountered. I pulled down my shirt for him to see out of annoyance. “Here it is sir, it is a fucking birthmark and I hate it, I will gladly give you if you want it," I said in frustration. “I'm so sorry to bother you my lady, but I happen to come from London, and this mark of yours is a mark that is mostly associated with the royal family, I think if that mark is real, that you may be a princess,” he said, looking surprised at his own words.

“It was a charade.” Alex stared at her. “You said…” “I said what I needed to say,” she replied calmly. “Antonio needed convincing, the Council needed proof and a woman carrying life quiets questions.” She leaned back. “I was never pregnant.” Silence settled over the table, I didn’t feel shocked. I felt cold. Isabella leaned forward again, lowering her voice. “And you already know I’m not the real Black heiress.” I didn’t deny it. “My claim was built,” she continued. “Documents forged, Witnesses paid and Histories rewritten.”

“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.

An Ashbourne property had changed hands within months of my mother's death, buried deep enough that a daughter looking fifteen years later would never find it, would give up long before reaching this exact page. Eleanor dies. I get declared unstable. I disappear into a hospital no one visited for fifteen years, not once, not a single card or phone call in all that time. Claire becomes the Grant heiress in my place, wearing a name and a life that had never belonged to her, stepping into rooms that should have been mine to walk into. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, quietly, methodically, an Ashbourne asset changes hands, moved by someone who understood exactly how much attention a gr

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

She lunged at me like a madwoman, but the police restrained her firmly. The guests all took a huge step back, afraid of getting caught up in the chaos. As for the socialites and wealthy women who had just joined Vanessa in humiliating me, their faces turned deathly pale. They looked like they wished they could disappear into the ground. None of them had imagined that the "Mrs. Whitmore" they had tried so hard to flatter was nothing more than a fraud with a fake certificate, while the "housekeeper's daughter" they had trampled on was the true heiress of the Whitmore family.

In front of me was an opened booklet which I ignored and reply to her. "Don't be too judgemental, Ms. Davis. I will soon be your Fiance." Smilingly, she nodded but seems she was forcing the smile. It looked more artificial on her face than the one I secretly saw her sprout. "Err— Yes, our deal is sealed so far you read through the contract and sign it." She said and eyed the booklet that was spread open in front of me. A weird snicker escaped from my lips as I read the Contract heading. 'CALL FOR CONTRACT: MAFIA HEIRESS'S FICTITIOUS FIANCE'

“After something like this, your foster parents will definitely think you embarrassed them, and they’ll throw you out. “I’ll marry Peter, and everything will be just like in the dream.” After saying that, she suddenly messed up her hair, let water drip down her body, reddened her eyes, and rushed out. I sensed danger and hurried after her. The moment I stepped out, four or five reporters blocked the door with cameras and recorders. Flash after flash lit up both of us. So she had already set a trap, and she had been waiting for me to fall for it. Vicky turned back with a triumphant smirk, then instantly switched into a dramatic victim.

Only now had he started to regain some standing. But the nature of the work was different—he had to take care of Mrs. Cromwell, who was prone to episodes. What he couldn't understand was how this fake heiress had ended up in New York and, more importantly, why she was with Mrs. Cromwell! Jerry didn’t acknowledge Amelia, pretending he didn’t know her. A fake heiress from a small city? Even mentioning her would lower his own status.

When I first entered the story, the system had informed me that this was a tale of a fake heiress. Gus was the male lead, and the genuine heiress, Suzie Clark, was the female lead. I was merely the phony heiress who desperately tried to steal the male lead away from the true heiress. To avoid being ousted from the wealthy family, I had made an effort to befriend the true heiress on her first day back, striving to become Suzie's best friend. That night, as we shared the same bed, I shyly confessed my feelings. "Suzie, I like Gus. What do you think of him?"