The Real Heiress Doesn't Forgive Novels & Stories

She forcefully removed its hands clasped around him. "Liar! You just used me for your own interest! You thought, I would never know the truth that you can like me, because I will inherit. But as you know, I was adopted! And Nathalie is the real heiress. You ignored me Steven. You don't know how much that hurts me," Her tears whispered. The pain she had long forgotten just returned. The pain to think that he could just marry her. Just because of the money. It released him a hug. She faced again. Their faces are close together.

Relief. “So that’s it,” she whispered. “You get the crown… and I get the truth.” My heart clenched. I moved toward her without thinking. “No,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “You get me. A sister. If you want one.” Her breath caught, sharp and fragile. Then Calista laughed, bitter, sharp, empty. “How poetic. The lost heiress returns, secrets spill, and I lose everything.” “You lost everything the moment you chose to deceive everyone,” Killian said coldly.

“We’re in our house, in our goddamn living room.” “In your house?” Her voice cracked like a whip. “In case you’ve forgotten, this isn’t yours anymore. None of this is. It belongs to her now. To Hailey Vale, the stripper heiress who just hosted a softcore orgy in our ancestral estate and made the cover of three tabloids.” She flung a rolled-up paper across the room. It slid to a stop in front of Marcus. “STRIPPING HEIRESS CLAIMS THE LACHLAN THRONE.

And that someone used to be Shane Ryder until Clare claimed him as hers. That night was one of the worst ones I’ve ever experienced. So I push the thought to the back of my mind. Clare is still talking my ear off about how amazing everything looks when two girls walk towards us and I immediately want to run away. It’s Megan Rose and Eden Park, Clare Haistings friends. They both look absolutely amazing in their matching satin oval green dresses and strappy heels. They’ve always matched and I thought it was childish at first then I realized that Clare encourages it only because she looks like a main character when she’s with them.They are mean girls that Clare uses to hide behind in order to k

Not because there was nothing to say but because everything we could say was too large to fit into words yet. I stared out the oval window, watching darkness swallow the wing, my reflection faintly visible in the glass. I barely recognized the woman looking back at me. Her hair was tangled, her eyes too sharp, too awake. There were faint scratches along her collarbone and wrist—souvenirs from a rooftop where the truth finally stopped hiding. I wasn’t the Hidden Heiress anymore. I wasn’t the substitute. I was the girl whose grandfather had signed her death warrant before she was old enough to understand what betrayal looked like.

The more the guests whispered, the more the Reynolds looked smaller, not just because of the physical falls they had taken, but because a social currency they were used to spending had been invalidated. Bella, bleeding, embarrassed and furious with humiliation, tried to clutch at remnants of authority. She staggered to her feet, forcing a smile that was skeletal, a learned posture of people who still wanted to be believed. She took a step forward and said, with all the brittle pride she could muster, “I am Bella Reynolds — heiress, top scorer this year, fiancée to Mr Collins.” It was a title-list repeated like a prayer, an attempt to conjure respect.

"It means the baby is growing properly." She turns her cold gaze to me for just a moment before focusing back on Natasha. "It's wonderful that true love has finally won. That you've been proven to be the real heiress, the rightful one. Unlike some people who have been living fake lives, trying to steal what didn't belong to them for so many years." The barb lands exactly where Abigail intended, but I keep my hands folded in my lap, my plate untouched before me. Natasha plays her part perfectly, looking uncomfortable with the harsh implication. "Oh, Grandma, I don't want to take anything from anyone. I never asked for any of this."

If I hadn't known my brothers died in a plane crash, I would believe that the person being described was one of them. I shrugged it off. My appetite returning, I continued savoring the delicious meal. — Everheart Mansion. Camilla Everheart leaned into her husband, tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders shook with each sob. Until now, she couldn't believe that her former father-in-law lied to her. Elizabeth - her precious daughter she'd mourned for so long - was alive. "How could he?" she sobbed. "All these years... he let us believe..." Her husband tightened his arms around her. "What's important now is that she's still alive. We'll bring her home to the US when we come back."

I said as I sat back down and tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. "Forget the investors you already have and start thinking about the one who just landed back in the country, because word is that the Great Thorne Heiress—the real one, the one with the trust fund that hasn't been touched in three years—is looking for a new project to dump her excess capital into," Beatrice said, and I felt a sudden jolt of electricity run through my chest that made me sit up straight.

“Enough. Ciara is the O’Connell heiress. Not Isolde. Ciara is this family. She carries the blood, the name, the legacy. You forget yourself when you speak otherwise.” Silence fell, heavy and absolute. My sons looked to me, but I could not deny the truth. Ciara was the heiress. Isolde was only ever a shadow. I leaned back, the decision carved into stone. “So be it. Tomorrow, she leaves for Italy.”