The Glamorous Comeback Of The Ousted Heiress Novels & Stories

she stuttered, her voice shaking, hands trembling so hard she knocked over her water glass. Water spilled all over Margaret's designer shoes. No one moved to clean it. I tilted my head, watching her. "Why?" I asked calmly, looking at her as if I were watching a clown perform in a circus. "Why should I turn it off?" I took a slow step toward her. "Isn't this your masterpiece? You should be proud. Three years, Tiffany. Three years you painted yourself as a princess with my family's money." She backed away, bumping into the conference table.

"I'll get your usual caramel latte with extra whip, right?" I smiled, she remembered. "Yeah." Natalie hurried off, returning minutes later with my drink and a giant blueberry muffin. "On the house," she said, plopping into the chair across from me. "Now SPILL. How does a billionaire heiress end up working a normal job and hiding her identity?" I took a sip of the latte perfect, as always before sighing. "Long story." "We've got time," Natalie said, propping her chin on her hands.

The article was flooded with negative comments overnight, as if everyone had suddenly read it and immediately written down their thoughts. "How can a potential heiress to a major company be so annoying? Is she that arrogant?" "I'm sure she's acting like that to vent her anger because the woman she ruined is her ex-sister-in-law." "I wonder what this heiress is like. Why does she suddenly appear and cause trouble everywhere?" "Didn't she also crash the wedding of famous model Leika Walden? It's truly pathetic; her behavior is nothing like a maverick."

CH 10 POV: Sophia The Lost Heiress Returns By evening, the Hartwell estate no longer felt like a home. It felt like a palace preparing for coronation. Crystal chandeliers shimmered overhead. A red carpet stretched from the grand staircase to the ballroom entrance. Media vans lined the gates beyond the iron fencing. The world had been informed. The lost Hartwell heiress had returned. Sophia stood before a full-length mirror as stylists adjusted the final details of her gown — a silver masterpiece that clung to her like royalty.

The guests clapped, staring at me in adoration as if there was anything to adore aside the glamorous, dazzling, red dress, and the red bottom heels “Here's our heiress, all! The one who holds the future of White Fine Arts. We lost a treasure twenty eight years ago, but today, she's here to restore power into the company. She will be in charge to make the company better. All investments, business proposals, bids, and more can now come in.” The guests grinned. “Do you have anything to say, miss?” The spokesperson asked. Honestly, I had nothing to say. This was such a wrong timing.

After talking to them for three years, they suddenly acted like they didn’t know me. “We should leave, Giselle. People are already gossiping and narrating their own stories about what’s happening. Noah would regret this.” Chloe grabbed my hand as I looked at the people passing near us who gave me nasty looks. They were all judging me. “She embezzled millions of dollars from the bank and changed her identity from Laura McClain to Giselle Sullivan. How shameless of her to return to California and pretend like we didn’t know the real her. Doesn’t it sound strange that she left with nothing and returned as this rich heiress no one has ever heard of?” They muttered. “Mr. Blackwood should expose h

Laura admitted quietly then shrugged, “nothing serious.” “Whoa,” I gasped. “I didn't realize you were…” She leaned forward, smiling wide, “into women? Don't worry, I'm also into men.” I don't know why that made me laugh, but it did. “So the heiress is your ex? Wow.” “She’s not my ex,” Laura replied. “We just fucked. I despise the Nepos who think money can buy them everything. They walk in expecting doors to open just because they were born lucky.” She sighed as she went on.

"Stellan? Stellan Vaughn?" I stiffened, my jaw tightening before I even turned my head. Standing there was a woman in a red dress that was cut too low and fit too tightly. She was beautiful in a standard, manufactured way, blonde, glossy, and hungry. I vaguely recognized her. An heiress to a shipping fortune, I had met at a fundraiser six months ago. "Camilla," I said, my voice flat. I didn't stand; there was no reason to. "I knew it was you," she purred, stepping closer, ignoring Thea completely. She rested a manicured hand on the back of my chair. "It’s been ages. You never returned my call about the... investment opportunity."

Vivienne Laurent had learned long ago how to disappear in plain sight. She stood at the far end of the ballroom, beneath a crystal chandelier that glittered like a frozen constellation, holding a champagne flute she had no intention of drinking. The glass tower of Laurent International loomed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, its mirrored surface reflecting the city lights below. 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.

Every step she took in her heels radiated quiet strength. Reporters hadn’t been informed of her identity ahead of time—just that someone tied to the Élan G scandal would be appearing at this hour and place. That was reason enough not to miss it. Then came whispers: Isn’t she the Bellavance heiress? Escorted safely to center stage, Grace stood tall and steady. Her presence was cool, composed, and commanding—exactly as rehearsed. "I'm Grace Bellavance. For the past three years, I've served as the lead creative force behind Élan G—anonymously until now..."