The Real Heiress Doesn't Forgive Novels & Stories

“Why? Why didn't you tell me? For the past four years, we dated, but you never told me who you really were. Why?” I watch in controlled anger as my cousin steel herself, clearly determined to end whatever this is, once and for all. When she speaks, her voice is flat and emotionless. “I wanted to tell you. Remember that time I suggested taking you back to my hometown? I wanted to introduce you to my pack then. But it was you who refused.” Her indifference is showing a clear sign that she has moved beyond caring about him or his opinion. Hearst’s features crack with anguish, his voice trembling as he responds. “If you had told me that you were the Hamit-Beta heiress, how could I ever refuse to

“They share the same birthday because they were switched at birth. The real heiress lost everything, became an orphan at five, and spent ten years in an orphanage before being found. And yet, every year after that, she was pushed into the background while the imposter stole the spotlight!” “Right! And at that same party, the fake heiress ‘accidentally’ fell into the pool with her! In her own family’s pool! I’m starting to think she pushed Fiona in on purpose!” “They claimed the real heiress tried to end her life, but if she truly wanted to, she would’ve done it long before now! Why on her birthday of all days? And she’s wheelchair-bound—how could she possibly harm a fully abled adult? Clearl

Finn's jaw clenched. "Rules can be adjusted," Finn shot back. "And as the only legitimate heir, my vote carries the most weight." Mira chuckled. "Oh, Finn. You really need to do your research before you open that big mouth of yours." She walked to the end of the table, placing her palms flat on the surface. "Second issue—you call yourself the only legitimate heir? That’s interesting, considering my mother just showed proof of marriage." She gestured towards Eloise, who stood with quiet confidence. "Meaning my brother and I are just as legitimate as you."

"You know, Gina, no matter how much money you have, you still don’t fit the position of an heiress." I tilted my head. "Oh? And why is that?" "Because," Julian said, stepping closer, "an heiress should be graceful. Elegant. Refined. Not a power-hungry woman who’s desperate to prove something." I chuckled, shaking my head. "Ah, Julian. Still bitter, I see. Let me guess—you thought you’d seen the last of me?" He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I was hoping." "Well, sorry to disappoint you," I said, feigning sympathy. "But as you can see, I’m very much alive. And unlike you, I don’t need anyone’s approval to be where I am."

The dress felt heavier now than it had at six o'clock, the weight of it less about silk and more about everything it had asked her to be for six straight hours — composed, grateful, in love with a stranger in front of cameras that would print whatever she gave them, exactly as he'd warned her they would. She thought about the way he'd said it's not the dress, the particular stillness in his face when he'd said it, like the words had cost him something to admit even to a woman he believed was someone else entirely. She told herself it didn't matter, in two days, by his own fiancée's count, this would all be over the ring returned, the dress returned, the borrowed name folded back into the clo

He just stood there, staring at me across the crowded ballroom with an expression of complete devastation. The girl he'd thrown away, the wife he'd neglected and humiliated, the woman he'd told would never find anyone better, was Isabella Morrison. Granddaughter of Alexander Morrison. Heir to one of the largest fortunes in the country. One of the most powerful women in New York. And he'd let me go without a fight. The applause finally died down and I sat back down, accepting congratulations from the people at my table with grace and poise I'd learned from watching my brothers navigate society. But I was hyperaware of the Wei family table, of the chaos I knew was happening there.

He had always been so taken by her, clinging to her every word—something he never once did with me. Now I finally understood why. I shut my eyes tight and told myself that this wasn't real. But when I opened them, I was forced to face reality. “I am the heiress of this household. You can't just…you can't do this.” “We can do whatever we want, Calista. You made that perfectly clear when you killed our father!” her eyes brimmed with hatred, and I was reminded of how wicked I had been, how selfish I had been to cause our father's death.

But the burn didn’t ease the knot in his chest. The news flashed on TV. “In breaking news, the missing Hartman heiress has been found alive after twenty-three years…” Adrian froze. The screen showed Evelyn stepping from a black car, surrounded by cameras. “She’s the missing Hartman heiress,” he whispered. Charlotte paled. “That’s impossible.” Adrian barely heard her. Every cruel word he’d thrown at Evelyn echoed in his head. He’d called her a gold digger, said she didn’t belong. Now she was the richest woman in New York.

I said, my voice sincere, hoping she could see the truth in my eyes. I meant every word. She stared at me for a moment before speaking, her voice measured. "I'm only going to forgive you because I want to prove my father's innocence." A wave of relief washed over me, and for a moment, I wanted to hug her, to bridge the gap between us. But I pushed the feeling aside, reminding myself that even if our fathers were innocent, we could only be friends. I didn't like her, I told myself sternly, but my eyes betrayed me, locking onto hers as I murmured, "Thank you. So, are we going to work together to get the person who did this?" I asked.