The masked heiress Novels & Stories

For three seconds there was silence in the auditorium. Then the room erupted. The reporters were typing furiously on their tablets. The condescension in the room was gone. Now people were scared. They realized that the heiress in overalls was not a figurehead. She was the architect. Silas looked down at Avery. He had a smile on his face. He was proud of her. He reached out under the cover of the podium. His hand gripped hers. They had officially left the yards. The crown was hers. The board belonged entirely to Avery and Silas.

The rest had barricaded themselves in one of the lower towers and waited for rescue that never came. There were three of them left alive. Two women and a man, all bearing the marks of the attack—burn scars, wounds that had been hastily treated and were starting to show signs of infection. Their eyes were hollow in a way that suggested they'd witnessed things that human minds weren't supposed to see. The older woman's name was Captain Solace. She had close-cropped gray hair and a bearing that suggested she'd spent her entire life trying to hold things together. Even now, even in this catastrophe, she was trying.

She had a displeased look at my father’s hesitation, but I knew her too well to think she would back down. “Ehm... sorry about that.” She smiled. “He can be very emotional, as am I,” she said. “But this is a happy day. Today, my husband and I declare Daisy Gomez, the only daughter of Eric and Mirela Gomez, the new heiress of—” “Why would you make such a declaration without consulting your first daughter?” I called out, stepping into the congregation fully. The crowd fell into stunned silence. All eyes turned to me as I walked down the aisle, flanked by Olivia and Matilda. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the congregation. Some clutched their pearls; others whispered my name in disbelief.

My mother-in-law stood in the doorway of what was supposed to be my home, looking at me like I was dirt on her expensive shoes. "He'll be here," I said quietly, even though we both knew I was lying. Margaret laughed, the sound was cold and cruel. "My son is working late with Victoria. You know, someone actually important? Someone who understands business? Not some nobody he picked up from God knows where." My fingers tightened around my phone. I wanted to scream that I understood business better than Victoria ever could, that I could buy and sell the Blackwell family fortune ten times over, that I was Elena Sterling, hidden heiress to Sterling Global, one of the largest corporations in the c

“I am Mylene, your hair and make-up stylist for tonight. The Don sent me to assist you.” Her lips curled into a smile as she looked at her. "Am I going to wear that?" she bluntly asked the lady as she pointed a finger to a dress that was displayed behind them. "Yes, señorita." Tiffany took a heavy breath and ran her fingers through the soft linen. "Lovely." In front of her was a black evening gown which she presumed costs a fortune. "I didn't know this is a party." "It's a masquerade ball, señorita. Your father is already waiting for you. You'll be his muse tonight.”

Ethan was convinced he could break me, turn me into a submissive wife to enhance his own standing. I wasn’t just Bella Sinclair, the former inmate fiancée he could humiliate. I was Isabella Hartman, the trillion-dollar heiress to the Ashcroft throne, the tech dynasty that made Blackvale look like a footnote. I’d taken on a disguise so I could be with him, so I could keep myself from being mistaken for his enemy. But I had been blinded by love, and betrayal had opened my eyes. I was done hiding. My hands shook when I reached for my phone again, opening up to a number I hadn’t dialed in years. After the first ring, a second, a familiar voice came on, calm, expecting this call. “Isabella?”

She was beautiful, with Alex’s same strong jaw and elegant brows. I was utterly, completely confused. Alex released my hand and walked to the bedside. He knelt down, his broad shoulders softening. He reached out and with infinite care, brushed a strand of hair from the woman’s forehead. In the dim light, his mask was gone. All the ice, the anger, the CEO’s composure, it had melted away, leaving only a raw, exhausted grief. This was a different type of Alex. “Mum,” he whispered, so softly it was almost sound.

"And his date, who is she? She's absolutely gorgeous. It's like she stepped out of a fairy tale, a mix of queen and princess!" "Is she the next big thing, groomed by some entertainment tycoon, debuting at Victoria Garden House today? Just imagine, rubbing shoulders with the elite here could pave her way to stardom, as long as she steers clear of any bad deals." "Could be! However, what if she's the elusive Ms. Foster?" "No chance! Ms. Foster, the heiress of the Foster dynasty, wouldn't fly under the radar. Just look at her, clinging to Mr. James Foster like she's his shadow..."

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

Vanessa followed shortly after. Leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, Vanessa smirked. “Isabella, aren’t you afraid? Digging up other people’s dirt like this… what happens when yours comes out?” Isabella’s eyes narrowed slightly, a cold glint flashing within them. She turned, voice indifferent. “Who doesn’t have secrets in this industry? You included… Miss Hartley.” She deliberately emphasized the surname. Then, as if recalling something, she added lightly— “Speaking of which… doesn’t the title ‘mistress pretending to be a rich heiress’ suit you quite well? Saves me the trouble of coming up with a headline when I expose you.”