The Real Heiress Doesn't Forgive Novels & Stories

He said. "I've been working my butt off for everyone all my life" "And It's time for me to step down and enjoy the rest of my life" I was so shocked. Don't tell me. "It's time to introduce the new successor of Madden Group of Hospitals and Madden Realty Group" No way. Not yet. "Let me introduce to you, my one and only heiress, the reason for all of my hard work. Soline Madden" My mouth dropped. I want to throw tantrums at dad but everyone is looking at me including the men I slept with.

“Exactly. The real heiress kept a low profile for years. Of course she wouldn’t come in shouting about who she was. Freya’s act was way too obvious.” Freya and Chuck froze completely. “No. That’s impossible.” Chuck muttered under his breath. “She worked at my company for years. How could she be the group’s heiress?” Then he seemed to remember something and suddenly turned to Freya. “Wait. Didn’t you have the family pendant? The one you showed us before? “Were you lying to me this whole time? Was that pendant fake?” Freya desperately shot him a look, telling him to shut up. But it was too late. The words had already left his mouth.

she shrugged dismissively, and a fire ignited in my chest. Just sex? With my fiancé? In my pajamas? Her eyes glinted, “What's with that look?” Slowly, realization mixed with the mockery as she laughed “You bumpkin. Don't tell me you really think you're Lucas' future wife? That you can so easily forget what you really are!? What do you owe me?!” My teeth grated against each other. I didn’t need her to remind me. Vanessa Caldwell. To the public, we call each other sisters, but everyone in the circle knows what's going on. I'm a fake. She is the real one. The true heiress of the Caldwell family.

“You can’t seriously be suggesting a fake marriage, Michelle.” “Why not? Pretending this relationship was real has worked so far. Why stop now?” She asked, gaze unwavering. She was serious. “No,” I shook my head. “A fake marriage? That’s too far over the line.” The heiress stood, coming around the island as she spoke. “Will your father peacefully accept losing his chance to build a permanent connection with Hughes Industries?” She asked, voice harsh and unbending. “My parents will be disappointed, but they’ll easily find another wealthy heir to make their son-in-law.”

Who could this be? She quickly replied, [Absolutely not. Give me a number, I’ll pay you any amount you desire. Just so you know, I’m the heiress of the Jordan family, so you can’t afford to mess with me. If you choose to cooperate with me, however, I’ll reward you generously.] Undaunted, the person merely replied, [You have nine more minutes to decide.] Tiffany gritted her teeth; she had no choice.

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."

“Why did you return, Elizabeth? I thought you were dead.” "Maybe it was fate, Celestine. Fate brought me back to the very place that rejected me," I stated confidently, raising my chin. "I intend to prove to everyone, yourself included, that I am no longer the woman they mocked and ridiculed. If I wanted to, I could easily surpass you and dismantle the career you are so proud of.” Her fists clenched at her sides, a sneer on her face. "Ha! You're nothing without your husband's money! Just marrying a wealthy man doesn't put us on the same level! You're just a gold digger!”

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.