Novel & Cerita Unscramble Heiress

Wren Isabella's own daughter, born the following year and named simply Isabella, in honor of the great-great-aunt whose own courage had first set this entire remarkable story in motion, brought the family's seventh generation into a world already shaped, completely and deliberately, by nearly a century of accumulated honesty.

Amanda was very intelligent, all she needed was one look and it's over. “My name for the night,” she continued, sliding a finger over the embossed letters, “is Cassandra Veyron. Heiress to an obscure European shipping fortune, conveniently reclusive, conveniently untouchable. No one in that house has ever seen her, only heard whispers. And whispers are easier to impersonate than reality.”

The room seemed to shrink around me. “The Valehart heiress,” Vanessa said, her voice cold and sharp as a blade, “isn’t who you think she is.”

She was in. I let the silence hang between us for a moment, then added, “And for the job? I need you to become an heiress.” Sandra’s eyes widened, her mouth parting in shock. “Wait. What?” “You heard me,” I said. “A classy, well-trained, poised heiress. One who can step into certain rooms, speak certain ways, be seen with the right people. You’ll be someone Daisy would never expect. Someone who can get under her skin, shake her confidence, make her fall apart—and not even realize it’s happening.”

“A billionaire's daughter?” “Almost there, try again.” This time, I get it right. “An heiress.” “Yes! That's right, flower girl. You're an heiress, which means you've thirty percent of the power that sugar daddy has, and do you know what that means!?” I shake my head tentatively, and Maisie divulges. “It means you control the mafia as much as he does. It means you can host a party. When I say a party, I mean a very hot, very sexy, very orgasmic party, and induct yourself as their heiress. It means you can…flirt around with the guys, do some exotic dance, and guess who'll be running to you in the next minute?”

"Come on. With your size, you're going to be a bodyguard?" I teased her with a sly look. One laugh and a few words later, we arrived at the event. As soon as Brianna walked in, she quickly pulled me aside and whispered, "See that one over there? She's the heiress of Hackett Group, a multinational pharmaceutical company. If you can win her over, we'll secure the project for sure." Just then, an old acquaintance caught her eye. She immediately turned to greet them with a bright smile and muttered under her breath, "Go grab a bite. I'll come find you once I've handled this."

She had stood on that stage and revealed herself as Hazel Saint Claire, CEO of E&H Investments, and I had stood there like a fool, my mouth hanging open, unable to process what I was seeing. Hazel Saint Claire. Not Hazel Rossi. Not some woman trying to build a small restaurant. Hazel Saint Claire. Billionaire heiress. CEO of a global company. Granddaughter of Margaret Sinclair. And she hadn't told me. All those months together. All those nights when I had asked her what was wrong and she had lied to my face. All those moments when she could have trusted me, could have told me the truth, and instead she had kept it locked away like I was someone she couldn't rely on.