The Rejected True Heiress Novelas e Histórias

Yvette jumped up from the bed, shocked and confused. I locked eyes with her, and my tone was serious. “Answer me. Can you do it?” When she reluctantly nodded, I finally let out a sigh of relief. Yvette still looked bewildered. “Queenie, what are you planning?” I recalled the layout of the study and the strange things in the cabinet in my mind. Piece by piece, the final clue to this bizarre adoption puzzle clicked into place. “I know which one of us is the real Grant heiress…”

“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.”

She was dressed up in a satin gown that showed all her curves, her hair had been done up and her face, well was rather gorgeous. She was smiling at the party like she belonged here. Her earlier inquired about her and found out she was Alicia Dickson, heiress to the Dickson fortune. The Dickson family had been his family’s rival for years. Was that why she disliked him so much? But he didn’t think she knew he was a George. “Maybe its in our blood to hate each other,” he laughed. She soon noticed him and her smile instantly dropped. She started to approach him. He smirked.

She had simply retreated into herself, sitting on the cold flagstones with her spine straight, her breathing shallow and deliberate, as if she were already accustomed to small, airless spaces. From the shadow of the second-story balcony, I watched her now as she walked across the inner courtyard. The sun hit her face, illuminating the pale skin beneath her cheekbones and the dark, violet-tinged shadows under her eyes. Every report I had read prior to coming to the Frostwood estate painted the same vivid picture: a manipulative, overly attached foster daughter who had grown bitterly jealous when the biological heiress returned. They described a girl who threw tantrums, threw accusations, and

The pack members watched them go, their faces hard, their whispers following them like a shadow. And then they were gone. The hall was silent for a moment. Then Edward stepped forward, his voice loud and clear. "Let it be known," he said, "that Arabella Cross is the true heiress of this family. She has proven herself worthy of the title. She has shown strength, courage, and intelligence. And she has shown that she will not be taken advantage of by anyone." He looked at me, his eyes proud. "I am honored to call her my granddaughter."

It was just slow suicide, and I'd always been too stubborn to do anything slowly. The house was still standing, mostly. That seemed like a small miracle until I realized it was standing precisely because nothing had considered it important enough to completely destroy. The creatures had passed through, taken what they wanted, or what they thought they wanted—and moved on to easier prey. My mother's scream had probably been the last thing of value in the house as far as they were concerned. I didn't bother to go and look for them, both my stepfather or mother. Some part of me already knew what I would find, and I wasn't ready to make that knowledge real.

By morning, the headline had already survived three rounds of trimming and refused to shrink further, and ran, in the end, at full size, above the fold, in every edition and on every wire: THE HEIRESS IS BACK. Below it, the subhead nobody fought about either: Anika Delacroix, presumed dead at seven in the fire that destroyed her family, reveals herself as the owner of the empire built from its ashes — with proof, with her butler's fifteen-year paper trail, and with a fraud case already before the DA. The city read it over coffee. Then it read it again. Then it did what cities do: told itself it had known, hadn't it? That maid, that girl — there'd always been something about her.

The banquet did not end because of this episode. Instead, it became even livelier. However, I knew Sienna would never let this go. Soon enough, new pop-up messages appeared. [The Harlow parents are actually giving the family heirloom to the fake heiress!] [My God, they're not even pretending anymore. They favor the real heiress openly but secretly prioritize the fake heiress in everything?] [I feel so bad for her! She should just destroy the heirloom. After all, it'll become the key weapon the fake heiress uses to bring her down later.]

Mom domineering voice pierced into my ears. I looked at her. "I'm sorry,mom but I've lost my appetite so excuse me. I love the gown. And, about how I feel? Trulyyyy happy because I'd soon escape this hell."I got up. "I see you cannot wait,"she crossed her arms. Eyes boring into mine. "How impatient tho,can the heiress of Winslow be just for marriage!"she spat. My legs felt numb at her statement. "Marriage is not an achievement,dear."

I held my doll tightly and curled up right beside my only ray of light. Although I used to be the well-cared-for daughter of the Nilson family, I wasn't actually a spoiled woman. In fact, I was quiet and reserved, known in our circle as a well-behaved lady. Xavier often said that I was boring to be around, as I provided no excitement. Everyone in Hesselton knew that Sophia Nilson was Xavier Gubbens' fiancée, a girl he'd picked out himself when he was a child. No one believed that the bold and outspoken Xavier would like someone as quiet as me.