The Stolen Heiress Novels & Stories

"I haven't, why not tell me about it…" Imelda hissed out so loud glaring at the woman she ever regrets having a a mother. "The Zoren's family are inviting everyone to the welcome back ceremony of their Heiress…" she announced. Candi got on her feet forcefully, her eyes widened in great shock. "That must not be true, it can't happen… who the heck is the fucking heiress?" She screamed. Imelda let out a mocking smile. "Screaming won't solve the matter. The worst part of it, is that the Heiress is my maid…"

Daniel’s face hardened into absolute, unyielding stone. ​Alexander stared at the screen, his voice breaking into a hollow, agonizing whisper. ​"He found her first." ​The one woman who held the physical paper trail of my stolen identity... the one woman who could have testified in a federal courtroom to the monstrous crimes Richard Blackwood committed twenty-eight years ago... was gone. ​It was Richard's "gift." A chilling demonstration of his reach. ​And as I pressed my hand back against my stomach, shielding the secret life within me, a cold realization settled into my marrow:

Inside were a few faded clothes and a rusted tin box. I picked up the tin box and opened it. There wasn't anything valuable inside it. All it contained were a rusted whistle, some marbles, and a stack of crumpled diary pages filled with uneven handwriting. These diary pages were the only remnants of my childhood after I was kidnapped and sold to a rural village. The human traffickers were long dead. As for my so-called adoptive parents… After closing the box, I stepped into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. I now had Jennifer's face and her former body.

Instead, she looked like a cat who had spotted something intriguing through a window—alert, focused, and vaguely predatory in the best possible way. "And you must be the infamous Scarlett," Sophie said, rising gracefully from her seat. "Mia has mentioned you." "Has she now?" Scarlett stepped fully into the room, her attention shifting between Sophie and me with the precision of a jeweler examining precious stones. "And you are?" "Sophie Field. The real one, not the imposter who caused so much trouble." "Ah," Scarlett said, and something in her tone suggested pieces of a puzzle falling into place. "The Swiss heiress with the stolen billions and the taste for revenge. I like you already."

“This is no coincidence.” Bianca hesitated before speaking. “Sir, if she’s alive, this could complicate things for your brother.” “Complicate?” I laughed darkly. “No, Bianca. This simplifies everything. The Gomez fortune is in flux, and an estranged heiress is the perfect key to unlock it.” Marco’s brow furrowed. “What’s the plan, sir?” “Plan? No plans,” I said, standing and adjusting my suit. Bianca blinked, confused. “But I thought you wouldn’t—”

“Smart girl. Don’t worry — I’m not interested in your little love story. I have bigger plans.” He walked to the desk and handed me an envelope — thick, unmarked. “This will cover the exact amount. No more, no less. Deliver it to Heather, and she’ll have no excuse to linger.” I took it, my hands shaking. It was heavier than I expected, like it carried more than just money. “And the favor?” I asked quietly. “When?” His gaze turned cold and his mouth curved into a grin before he said, “It wouldn't be fun if I tell you now, would it, princess?"

He looked like a storybook prince—Adrien from Miraculous, perhaps—if that prince had been forced into a black button-down suit. “That’s true,” He whispered. I was trying my hardest to ignore the impossible words I had overheard through the door. Heiress. Stolen. Dead. It had to be a misunderstanding. It was a coincidence of features, a trick of the light. I was Ophelia Vitale, the girl from the orphanage. We climbed a grand, sweeping staircase and reached a set of towering double doors made of dark, intricately carved mahogany. Eugene pushed them open, and we stepped into a room that felt more like a sanctuary than a study. Upon entering, my breath hitched.

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.

The other parents began insulting me as well. "She must have lost her mind. How dare she claim to be the daughter of the richest man in the country?" "A madwoman like her should be locked up in a mental asylum. There's no telling if she's going to lose it one day and start stabbing people with a knife. Better safe than sorry." My consciousness began to turn hazy as I shielded Layla from the bodyguards' kicks and punches. Rosalia's cold voice suddenly sounded in my ear as she hissed, "I've been looking for you for a long time. I didn't expect you to deliver yourself to me on a silver platter. I can only become the real heiress of the Jones family once you're dead!"

Alexander’s gaze turned lethal. “Nothing is impossible.” In the staff quarters, Elena stirred as footsteps echoed distantly through the hallway. Voices. Urgent. Confused. She sat up slowly, unaware of the weight resting beneath her mattress. Unaware that her room now contained one billion dollars in stolen legacy. Unaware that suspicion was already calculating its path. The thief had never left the property. The necklace had not vanished. It had simply— Changed rooms.