The Inheritance Games Audiobook Novels & Stories

“Oh my God, you two...” “QUIET!” Kyara cut in sharply. “You pulled Mikaela’s hair. YOU PULLED HER HAIR. And then you and Pascha vanished?! No updates!” Despite the fog still clouding my head, I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I’ll tell you... later. I swear.” Aurora narrowed her eyes. “That’s a very suspicious sentence.” “I just... I need to talk about something first.” I looked at the screen, and the weight in my chest lightened just from seeing their faces. “It’s about inheritance...From my dad. He left everything to me.”

he questioned, his voice laced with amusement. “let me see, A woman alone, with such a dangerous husband. And a past that’s about to unravel.” “What are you talking about?” “Oh, just a little something I’ve been researching. About your dear Aunt Zulu. And your charming Uncle Gideon. Such a devoted family, wouldn’t you say? Especially when it comes to… inheritances.” Natalie’s breath hitched. Inheritance? Her parents? “You’re lying,” she whispered, trying not to put together the puzzle pieces he wanted to see, but a cold dread was already coiling in her gut.

The air grew still between us, the sun warming the tops of our heads, the game long forgotten. “Also let me tell you - ” she cleared her throat, “our grandfather wasn't a straightforward man, he liked to play sick twisted games just for the fun of it, and even in his death he made sure those games kept on running even if it involved the lives of his grandchildren. That inheritance - the clauses to claim it - it has no end Cheryl, it might just be a ploy to keep Oliver married.” I didn’t know what to say. Not at first but her words had sliced something to me, I didn't know how to process it, I didn't know what to make of it so I stayed silent for the mean time.

"By sending cleaners to kill us on your island? That’s a strange way to show family love." "The cleaners were a test of your resolve, Darius," Ivy said, her voice smooth as silk. "And you passed. You protected my daughter. You showed that you are more than the sum of your father’s sins. But Ethan has already made his choice. He doesn't want your protection. He wants his inheritance." "Inheritance?" I looked at Ethan, my heart breaking. "What inheritance? There’s nothing left but blood and debt." Ethan reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. I recognized it instantly. It was the master ledger, the one our father had kept in the hidden wall safe. The one I thought had

"Thank God you were so pigheaded. Otherwise, I might've actually married you—a fraud. "Now, even if you got down on your knees and begged me to marry you, I wouldn't be interested. The man I'm marrying is Arthur. He's the real heir to the Harrison family. As for you—" She looked me up and down, her eyes filled with contempt. "No matter how capable you think you are, you're still getting thrown out." My mom let out a cold snort. "Look at you now. If you'd just listened to us from the start, you wouldn't have ended up with everyone turning against you."

But then again, he didn't have expert knowledge on the recent happenings, so he was forced to agree. “They’re calling it Luna’s Wrath,” he continued. “They’re wrong.” A chill slid down my spine. “Then what is it?” Rael stepped closer, voice dropping. “Inheritance.” The word struck harder than any accusation. I laughed once. It was sharp, brittle. “I don’t come from anyone important” He keeps forgetting I'm an orphan. “You don’t know where you come from,” he corrected. The room trembled. Not physically, but inside me. The light flared in response, climbing my arms in thin silver veins.

Its base was adorned with a tiny, almost imperceptible etching: the same stylized crest of The Genesis Council. A pawn. In a game Alexander didn't fully understand, played by unseen hands. And Leo, his son, was the ultimate prize. The thought spurred a cold, terrifying resolve. He had been a player in their game for too long. Now, he would burn their chessboard if he had to, to get his son back.

I look up finally. Aurora is watching me. Steady, tired, still here. "I need you to say it," she says quietly. I know what she means. Not agreement, not permission. The choice, out loud. In front of witnesses. I stand slowly. "I don't want the inheritance," I say. Then louder. "I don't want the trust. I don't want the title. I don't want any version of power that was built on dead women and hidden children and a machine that only works if everyone stays afraid."

I go to the table. The page is dense, old handwriting in two languages, English and something older that I recognize as a Creole variant from my archive research. The English portion is a full clinical description of a working called The Lover's Ruin, which I have read about in Beatrice Ashworth's journals but which has never been as specific as what is written here. I read. The curse activates upon inheritance of the Sterling fortune. This I knew. The compulsion layer drives the heir to sabotage genuine love through pride, cruelty, and self-destruction. This I knew.