The Forgotten Heiress Kathleen Novels & Stories

Before Mira came home from her daily walk with Tine after dinner, Amethyst took the note into Isaac's study to show him. "This secret is getting harder and harder to keep, my love. Our daughter just happen to find a mate and a chosen who just happens to be an heir apparent to a 700 year old throne and dynasty. You, your mother and or daughter are about to have your heritage publicly revealed. Our village is about to grow beyond anyone's beliefs." He stated, shaking his head in wonder and disbelief.

Confusion swarmed in Greg's eyes as he held on to her fragile body. “I did some digging, Greg. About Megan. About who she really is.” Greg froze, his mind reeling with disbelief. “What do you mean?” he asked for the hundredth time. Elizabeth took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she reached for her phone. “I found something. Something that might explain everything.” With trembling hands, she handed Greg her phone, the screen displaying a headline that made his blood run cold: “New York's Youngest Heiress Revealed: Margaret Song.”

She should remember I am the mafia leader, not because I agree to the Fucking relationship, she doesn't have the right to disrespect me. Trish glared at Kathleen. Kathleen ignored her gaze, staring at the window beside my chair. I snorted inwardly. "What are you doing here Trish?" I asked. Trish glanced at me and smiled seductively. "I miss you, I know our last meeting didn't end well because of a certain person but I am here to make it up to you." "Sir, I did like to leave now if you don't need me." Kathleen said. "Yeah leave." I said, my gaze was on Trish.

Strange, she thinks to herself as she proceeds to untie the bright green thread holding everything together. The letter reads: My Dearest Keegan, On this day, of the year two thousand and twenty two, you have awoken to begin your twenty-fifth year. Please accept this pendant, as it is rightfully yours as it was your mother's before you, her mother's as well, tracing back for generations. As I am sure, no words may expresses your dismay, please continue reading. For years you have searched, answers unyielding, as to who you are, where you come from, and for a family you must have out there searching for you as you just the same. It brings me great sorrow to inform you that, no, you are the la

Eleana nodded with a smile before making her way to the room she hadn't been in for more than a year. Eleana and Kathleen got out of the car before making their way inside the fancy French restaurant. It was decorated elegantly. Everything inside screamed luxury. The decorations, walls, paintings, everything was neat and clean giving off a vintage vibe. Kathleen talked to the manager who instantly recognised her. Why wouldn't he? She was Kathleen Campbell, the renewed fashion designer of the country while also the mistress of the Campbell family. Everyone in Vancouver knew her. He respectfully greeted her before showing her the way to the private room where her husband, Philip Campbell was a

A little voice in her head whispered, Run ,You don’t belong here. But Kayden stood like a wall next to her solid, fierce and unbothered. Unshakeable. Some of the pack bowed, others hesitated. But one of them stood out , one of the maids in the back slipped away quietly away from the crowd , phone clutched in her hand. “ He brought another woman,” she whispered through the phone , making sure no one could hear her. An hour passed. Kayden gave her a quick tour, never letting go of her hand.

Everyone she knew was related to Andrew: his family and his friends. Kathleen can’t believe she submitted herself to a man so much that she lost her individuality. This is a mistake she will not make again. Never again will she sacrifice her wants and her happiness for a man. Chloe walks down the stairs in her short and sleeveless top. She opened the door and looked behind Kathleen as if searching for something. Kathleen’s brow furrowed. “Are you looking for something in particular?” She asked her weird friend, her tone puzzled.

Seraphina Vaughn, not Cole, not his wife, not the woman who ironed his shirts and endured his mother's voice and carried a loss alone in a white hospital room at 3 am. Seraphina Vaughn. That's my real name now. So book the best stylist in the city," I said. "I want a dress that makes every person in that room forget every other woman who walks through the door. Remi smiled slowly."And Damian," he said. I set the invitation down, picked up my pen and opened the next file on my desk."Damian Cole is going to walk into that gala thinking he is there for a business opportunity," I said. "he is going to sit at his table near the back, he is going to watch me walk into that room, and he is going to

When we finally got home, he headed straight for his study, leaving me to walk up the stairs to our cold bedroom by myself. ​I sat down at my vanity, reaching into a hidden drawer beneath the velvet lining to pull out a thick folder buried under my jewelry. I flipped through the pages, my eyes landing on the seal of Vane Holdings and the documents that proved I was the sole heiress to a conglomerate that made the Blackwood fortune look like pocket change.

The message was simple: “The crown breaks. The dust returns. The sister forgotten wears her mirror. Let them remember.” Kael’s throat went dry. He looked up. Lucien’s eyes were too tired for lies. “I saw her,” Lucien said softly. “In the dunes beyond Iskhar. A court of veiled women follows her. She has Elara’s eyes, but none of her forgiveness.” Kael stepped back. “No one survived Iskhar.” “She did,” Lucien said. “Because we left her to burn.”