Broken Engagement: The True Heiress Returns
Brought back from a humble life in Montana, Nora found out she was the true biological heiress of the ultra-wealthy Beaumont family.
But her biological parents didn't love her; they loved the fake daughter, Olivia, much more.
The moment she arrived, her father pushed an engagement termination agreement across his massive desk, forcing her to give up her wealthy fiancé so Olivia could have him.
Her mother looked at her with pure disdain.
"You should know your place. Don't reach for things that were never meant for you."
To break her spirit, they moved her into a cramped, dusty servant's room. They even ordered the butler to feed her cold kitchen scraps and gristle.
They wanted to humiliate her, to make her feel like a piece of trash rather than a daughter.
They expected her to cry, to beg, and to be absolutely crushed by the realization that her own flesh and blood saw her only as a liability to their reputation.
They thought the country girl would easily fold under their united front of cruelty.
But Nora felt no sting of betrayal, only the calculating clarity of a chess player.
She calmly signed the paper, pulled out the Beaumont family trust rules, and looked them dead in the eye.
"Since I am the legal heir, I demand what belongs to me. I'm taking the master bedroom."
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Chapter 8
The night of the Sterling charity gala arrived.
Nora stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom. The Schiaparelli gown fit her perfectly. The gold embroidery caught the light, making her look like a relic of a forgotten era-a princess from a painting, brought to life.
She walked down the grand staircase.
The family was waiting in the foyer. Edward was checking his phone. Catherine was adjusting her diamonds. Olivia was standing in a pale blue Dior gown, looking impatient.
They all looked up.
Edward stopped checking his phone. Catherine's hand froze on her necklace. Olivia's mouth fell open.
Nora descended the stairs with a slow, measured grace. The gown shimmered with every step. Her hair was styled in a simple, elegant updo that highlighted her neck and cheekbones. She wore no jewelry except for a pair of simple gold drops.
She looked stunning. She looked powerful. She looked like she owned the place.
Olivia's face flushed with jealousy. She had planned to outshine Nora, but now she felt like a background character in Nora's portrait.
Catherine felt a mix of emotions. Pride-because she had bought the dress, and it was a triumph of her taste. And resentment-because the dress looked better on Nora than it ever would have on Olivia.
Edward just looked uncomfortable. He didn't like things he couldn't control, and right now, Nora looked uncontrollable.
He walked over to her, pulling her aside by the elbow. "Listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Tonight is about business and reputation. You will smile. You will be polite. And you will keep your mouth shut. Do not cause trouble."
Nora looked at his grip on her arm, then up at his face. "I understand, Father."
He released her, satisfied.
The drive to the Sterling estate was tense. The limousine was silent. Olivia tried to make conversation, but Catherine was brooding and Edward was staring out the window.
Nora sat quietly, observing the passing landscape. She was mentally preparing for the battlefield.
They arrived at the Sterling manor. It was even larger than the Beaumont estate. Flashbulbs went off like strobe lights as the town car pulled up to the red carpet.
The doors opened.
Edward stepped out first. He turned and looked at Nora, his eyes cold and calculating. "Remember what I said," he murmured, his voice too low for the cameras to hear. "You are a Beaumont tonight. Act like it." Then, his expression shifted into a practiced, paternal smile as he offered her his hand.
This was unexpected. Olivia tried to step forward, but Catherine held her back. Edward was making a calculated move. The "return of the true heiress" was a hot story, and he intended to exploit it for maximum PR value.
Nora stepped out of the car, her hand resting lightly on Edward's. The crowd gasped. The cameras went wild.
"Eleanora! Over here!"
"Miss Beaumont! Are you engaged to Connor Sterling?"
Nora stood tall, her expression serene. She didn't flinch from the lights or the shouting. She looked like she had been born to this.
Olivia was forced to walk behind them, sandwiched between Catherine and the publicist. She was seething.
Inside the ballroom, the scene was glittering and loud. A live orchestra played. Champagne flowed like water.
Olivia immediately detached herself from the family and dove into the crowd, greeting her friends with air kisses and practiced smiles.
Edward went off to talk business with a group of men in suits.
Catherine went to hold court with the other society wives.
Nora was left alone.
She walked to the edge of the room and found a quiet corner. She picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray and watched.
She wasn't hiding. She was observing. She watched who spoke to whom. She watched the power dynamics. She watched the alliances and the rivalries.
To the casual observer, she looked like a wallflower. Out of place. Awkward.
But on the second-floor balcony, hidden behind a glass partition, Julian Sterling was watching her.
He saw the way her eyes tracked the room. He saw the stillness of her posture. She wasn't scared. She was calculating.
He had seen that look before-in the eyes of generals and kings. It was the look of someone who saw the board three moves ahead.
He took a sip of his scotch. He was intrigued.
Downstairs, Olivia was whispering to a group of her friends. She pointed toward Nora's corner.
Cordelia Prescott, a tall blonde with a sharp face, laughed. "Watch this," she mouthed to Olivia.
The group of girls moved across the ballroom like a pack of wolves, their sights set on the girl in the gold dress.
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7.2
In the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse, my skin blistered and peeled.
Through the crackling fire, my sister Elara's malicious voice echoed. She told me my husband, Damien, was dead, and it was all my fault.
For years, I had treated Damien like a monster. I fought him, threw tantrums, and desperately tried to escape our marriage, all because I blindly followed Elara's advice.
"Remember, the harder you fight, the more disgusted he'll get."
She texted me things like that, telling me to smash vases over his head and run away, claiming she was protecting me.
In reality, she was poisoning my mind, stealing my valedictorian spot at university, and plotting to crawl into my billionaire husband's bed.
My foolish rebellion cost me everything, ultimately leading to Damien's tragic death and my own fiery end.
As the massive explosion tore my consciousness to shreds, I finally understood who truly loved me and who the real monster was.
I died suffocating on my own agonizing regret, wishing I could tear Elara apart.
Then, a rush of freezing air punched into my lungs.
I opened my eyes to the crisp scent of cedar and mint. I was back seven years ago, on the very night our marriage was supposed to go to hell.
This time, looking at Damien's flawless, unscarred face, I didn't push him away.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a silent vow: I would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.
9.7
Eliana Rivera is the firstborn daughter of business tycoon Cassian Rivera. When her father's company falls into debt, he marries her off to the arrogant and ruthless billionaire, Alexander Grayson, as part of a business contract and under the threat of blackmail.
Alexander, the billionaire CEO, never planned to marry, but the pressure of blackmail forces him into a union with a woman he barely knows. Although Eliana doesn't see Alexander as her ideal partner, she agrees to the marriage out of a sense of duty.
Once engaged, however, he barely acknowledges her presence and harbours disdain for her because of her father's actions and their relationship. But as they navigate their newfound relationship, the unexpected desire for each other's touch ignites-a twist neither of them planned, leading them toward an unforeseen love.
9.5
As a highborn succubus, I somehow managed to starve myself to death-thanks to my obsessive cleanliness and ridiculously picky appetite.
When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into Vivian Hartwell-the long-lost "real" daughter with a tragically cursed fate.
I had barely been taken back into the Hartwell family before they forced me to attend a so-called "death matchmaking" event in Kingsford-on behalf of Natalie Hartwell, the fake heiress-to meet Damian Blackwood, the infamous "living reaper."
Rumor had it Damian was brutal and bloodthirsty-every woman who'd ever been involved with him either ended up dead or driven insane.
At the event, over a hundred socialites were trembling on their knees, silently praying they wouldn't be the one chosen.
Just as Damian let out a cold smirk and reached to pick his unlucky victim, I took a deep breath from the back of the crowd.
The scent emanating from him was a rare, potent masculine essence-something encountered perhaps once in ten millennia.
For a painfully picky succubus like me, this was nothing short of salvation.
I kicked aside the girl blocking my way, my eyes practically glowing as I threw both hands up. "Pick me! Hurry, pick me!"
8.8
My fiancé, Knox, was the man I’d spent ten years building a life with, the one I’d poured my family’s fortune into. But then I found the lockbox. Inside, a photo of him smiling, his arm around a heavily pregnant woman, marked: *To my only wife Deana.*
I’d been looking for a charger in our Boston penthouse closet when I stumbled upon it. The faded Polaroid showed Knox, younger, beaming, with a heavily pregnant stranger. Its timestamp: "Ten years ago"—the exact year I funded his Ivy League PhD.
Flipping the photo, I saw Knox’s familiar handwriting: *To my only wife Deana and our upcoming miracle.* My world crumbled. The man I’d loved had a wife, making me the unwitting mistress. My opulent life was built on his lies.
His text, "Baby, I'm coming home to *our house*," twisted into a cruel joke. My tears froze. A decade of sacrifices, of family alienation—all for a man who used my money and trust—shredded in my mind. The fragile woman in me vanished; my eyes turned cold and clear. I relocked the box, smoothed the rug, and applied crimson lipstick. Practicing a flawless smile, I whispered, "Welcome home, my sweet liar."
8.0
After years of a freezing, loveless marriage, my billionaire husband Israel finally threw me out to make room for his new lover, Ayla.
Before I even packed my bags, he ordered a crew to shred the Dogwood tree in our backyard and pour thick concrete into the crater, claiming it was a symbol of my infidelity.
He didn't know that buried beneath those roots was the urn containing the ashes of our unborn baby.
Stripped of everything, I tried to rebuild my shattered life by securing a supporting role in an indie film.
But Israel bought the entire production studio just to cast Ayla as the lead, demanding I act as her pathetic stepping stone.
When I refused, he cornered me on set with a sickening audio recording.
"We want one million dollars. This will ruin Karen forever."
It was my own parents. They had forged my medical records, planning to sell a story to the tabloids that I was a violent, delusional schizophrenic.
Israel smiled coldly, threatening to lock me in a padded room on an involuntary psychiatric hold unless I signed an unpaid contract to serve Ayla unconditionally.
My own flesh and blood had sold me out to a ruthless monster for cash.
Staring at the extortion contract, the last shred of desperation and love in my chest burned away into cold, gray ash.
To survive a monster, you have to become one.
I picked up his pen, violently signed my name, and prepared to rip his precious Ayla to shreds on camera.
9.0
Seventeen years after going missing, Brooklyn was finally brought back to her ultra-wealthy biological family.
But instead of a tearful reunion, her parents and sisters treated her like infectious garbage, mocking her cheap clothes and calling her a country bumpkin.
They dumped her into a remedial class to hide her away, cut off her allowance, and threatened to lock down her trust fund to force her into absolute submission.
One night, Brooklyn stood in the shadows of the estate and overheard a conversation that shattered everything.
She hadn't wandered off as a child.
Her parents had deliberately thrown her away because a fake fortune teller claimed her birth chart was a jinx to the family's wealth.
They felt zero remorse, only plotting to banish her again the moment she turned eighteen.
Her biological father thought he was putting a leash on a helpless, uneducated girl by cutting off her pocket change.
He had no idea that Brooklyn was the anonymous VIP who casually dropped sixty million dollars on an emerald at the city's most exclusive auction.
He didn't know she was the elusive medical genius that the world's most powerful billionaires were currently tearing the city apart to find.
The last microscopic shred of hope for a family withered into cold ash in her chest.
"Lock down my trust fund?"
She pulled out her encrypted phone and activated her shadow networks, severing herself entirely from their pathetic surveillance.
Since they believed she was a jinx, she was going to show them exactly what a real curse looked like.