Claimed By The Ruthless Missing Heir
My father was marrying a gold-digger, the mother of my cheating ex-boyfriend.
To end the charade, I crashed their luxury wedding with a ten-foot funeral wreath.
In front of hundreds of elites, my father slapped me across the face, calling me a vicious bitch while his new wife smiled in victory.
I triggered the estate's fire system to ruin them, but a terrifying stranger in the VIP section bypassed my military-grade hack in seconds.
He was Kavon Velasquez, a dangerous billionaire heir who had been missing for twelve years.
Instead of exposing me, he shielded me from my father's second blow.
When my pathetic ex tried to drag me away, I grabbed Kavon and kissed him to humiliate my ex.
I shoved a $500,000 check into Kavon's pocket as hush money and left.
I thought that was the end of it.
But why did this apex predator move into the penthouse right next to mine at 2 AM?
Why did he violently crush my ex's face the next morning just for grabbing my arm?
"She is my woman. If you ever come within ten feet of her again, I will bury you."
I didn't understand why a man with lethal skills was suddenly hunting me.
Then I found out he had just blackmailed my father with undeniable proof of corporate money laundering.
His demand wasn't money. It was me.
He ordered my father to announce our engagement by tomorrow sunset, and this dangerous game officially began.
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Chapter 4
Juan stared at their linked arms. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse.
"That's impossible," Juan shouted, his voice cracking. "You're lying! You couldn't fall for someone else this fast!"
Charlize felt a wave of absolute disgust wash over her. He was so pathetic, so convinced the world revolved around his mediocre love. She needed to break his delusion into a million unfixable pieces.
She turned her body fully toward Kavon. She reached up, her hands grabbing the lapels of his expensive suit.
She pulled him down.
Kavon didn't resist. He let her pull his tall frame forward, his eyes darkening with a sudden, intense heat.
Charlize closed her eyes, went up on her tiptoes, and smashed her lips against his.
It was meant to be a quick, brutal performance. Just a clash of lips to shatter Juan's ego.
Juan stumbled backward as if he had been physically struck. His back slammed into the side of the SUV with a heavy thud.
Charlize tried to pull back.
She couldn't.
Kavon's large hand shot up, his long fingers tangling into the hair at the back of her head. He locked her in place. His other arm wrapped around her waist, crushing her against his chest so hard the breath left her lungs.
He took absolute control.
Kavon's mouth opened over hers, aggressive and devouring. He forced her lips apart, his tongue sweeping inside with a possessive, territorial heat that sent a violent shockwave down her spine.
Charlize's eyes flew open. She pushed her hands flat against his chest, trying to shove him away.
It was like trying to push a mountain. His chest was rock-hard. Her struggles only made him tighten his grip, his kiss growing deeper, more punishing, more desperate.
Juan let out a choked, humiliated sob. He couldn't watch anymore. He turned and sprinted toward the garage exit, his footsteps echoing wildly as he fled like a coward.
The sound of Juan running away snapped Charlize back to reality. Panic flared in her chest.
She bit down hard on Kavon's lower lip.
Kavon let out a low, rough groan. The metallic taste of blood bloomed between them. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled his mouth away.
He didn't let go of her waist.
Charlize shoved him hard, finally breaking his hold. She stumbled backward, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her face was burning hot.
She raised the back of her hand and scrubbed it violently across her lips, trying to erase the branding heat of his mouth.
Kavon stood perfectly still. He raised his thumb and wiped the drop of blood from his bitten lip. His eyes tracked her hand as she wiped her mouth. The air in the garage instantly dropped to freezing.
"Good acting," Charlize sneered, her voice trembling slightly despite her effort to sound cold. "But you got a little too into character."
She turned her back on him and walked to her Ferrari. She yanked the door open and reached into her Hermes bag on the passenger seat.
She pulled out a leather-bound checkbook and a fountain pen.
Resting the book against the steering wheel, she scribbled a number with sharp, angry strokes. She ripped the check from the binding.
Charlize marched back to Kavon. She slapped the piece of paper flat against his chest.
"Five hundred thousand dollars," Charlize said, her chin raised in absolute arrogance. "Consider it your acting fee. And hush money. Stay out of my business."
Kavon looked down at the check resting against his suit jacket. He didn't raise his hand to take it. He just let it sit there, rising and falling with his slow, measured breaths.
When he didn't move, Charlize grabbed the check and shoved it roughly into his breast pocket.
"We are done here," she warned him, her eyes flashing.
She turned, slid into the driver's seat of the Ferrari, and slammed the door. The engine roared to life.
The red sports car shot forward, the tires screeching as it tore past him, kicking up a gust of wind that fluttered the hem of his suit jacket.
Kavon didn't flinch. He stood in the empty garage, watching the red taillights disappear up the ramp.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out the check. He stared at her elegant signature at the bottom.
A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. The sound echoed in the empty concrete space, vibrating with a terrifying, absolute delight.
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7.6
The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage.
7.2
Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest.
When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal—the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago.
But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member.
Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died.
Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring.
When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes.
"Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now."
The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion?
Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer.
"Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."
7.6
I am the illegitimate, mute daughter of the wealthy Owen family, kept hidden in the attic like a shameful secret.
To save his failing company, my father decided to sell me off to a repulsive, predatory investor named Grossman.
At the family dinner, Grossman's sweaty hands roamed my bare legs while my half-sister Kaleigh intentionally spilled red wine on my dress, laughing as she watched me suffer.
When I grabbed a steak knife to defend myself, my father slammed his fist on the table.
"Sit down, or I will cut off the maintenance payments for your mother's grave."
My stepmother and sister sneered, treating me like a piece of meat meant to be sacrificed for their luxury. I was starved, locked away, and treated worse than a stray dog, all while my family paraded their high-society status to the world.
I couldn't understand why they hated me so deeply, or who really ordered the hit that killed my mother twenty years ago. The police reports were buried, and I was entirely powerless, trapped in a house of monsters.
But they didn't know that the night before, I had accidentally stumbled into the secret life of Burleigh Livingston—the ruthless, supposedly paralyzed billionaire who was faking his madness.
When Burleigh suddenly crashed our family dinner and threw a limitless Black Card on the table to outbid Grossman and buy me for the night, I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed the handles of his wheelchair, accepted his twisted deal, and prepared to use the devil himself to tear my family apart.
9.6
To escape my sister-in-law selling me off to a local thug, I married a complete stranger I met at City Hall.
My new husband, Drake, claimed to be a broke Uber driver who could barely make rent.
He even made me sign a brutal ten-page prenup just to ensure I wouldn't take his rusted, beat-up Ford sedan if we ever divorced.
I thought I was just sharing a decaying Brooklyn apartment with a struggling man at the bottom of the ladder.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
When that local thug cornered me at a restaurant, my "weak" husband didn't cower.
Instead, he dismantled three massive mobsters in ten seconds with the terrifying, fluid speed of an apex predator.
"I used to be a human punching bag in an underground boxing gym to pay off debts."
I believed his excuse, until his supposedly homeless grandfather showed up at our door in a moth-eaten sweater, begging to sleep on our lumpy sofa.
Before going to sleep, the old man casually pressed a heavy, intricately engraved pocket watch into my hand as a wedding gift.
He claimed it was a cheap flea market find that didn't even keep time.
But the sheer weight of the solid rose gold and the flawless mechanical gears inside screamed otherwise.
Why did a destitute driver have the aura of a man who controlled empires?
And what kind of homeless old man casually hands over a priceless, museum-grade antique?
I had no idea the "broke driver" sleeping on my floor was actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and I had just walked straight into his trap.
7.4
I was freezing to death in an abandoned cabin, desperately waiting for my fiancé to save me.
Instead, my phone flickered with a video from my adopted sister.
She was smiling as she confessed that she and my fiancé had orchestrated my kidnapping, and my parents' fatal plane crash, just to steal my family's trust fund.
When I called him with my dying breath, he mocked me for faking a PR stunt and hung up.
I died in the sub-zero blizzard, consumed by absolute despair.
But as a ghost, I watched my greatest business rival, the ruthless billionaire Collins, kick down the doors of my mansion.
He didn't just mourn me.
He shot my fiancé, trapped my sister, and set the entire place on fire, choosing to burn alive in the inferno just to avenge me.
I couldn't understand why the man I had publicly despised for a decade loved me so fiercely, while the people I gave everything to wanted me dead.
Opening my eyes again, I was back backstage on the night I won my Oscar, four years ago.
My fiancé smiled, holding out his arms to hug me.
I pushed him away in disgust, marched straight into the crowded theater, and kissed my billionaire rival on live television.
"Let's get married tomorrow."
This time, I would use him to burn them all to the ground.
8.7
I was pregnant with the future heir of the Blackwood Pack, but my fated mate, Alpha Gavin, was nowhere to be found when sharp, tearing agony ripped through my swollen belly.
Instead of rushing to my side, he was in a luxury penthouse with his mistress, Piper.
When I desperately called his human number for help, it was Piper who answered the phone.
"I'm Piper. His future Luna."
Minutes later, I received a leaked audio file of Gavin promising to formally reject me the moment our pup was born.
Before the heartbreak could even set in, my armored SUV was violently rammed off the road by a massive truck.
It wasn't an accident. It was a targeted hit paid for by Piper's pack.
I woke up in the clinic with an empty womb. My pup was dead.
Gavin didn't even show up. He just mind-linked the butler to say he was "too busy" to deal with my loss.
He let his mistress murder our child and treated me like disposable trash, assuming my grief would make me a weak, compliant victim.
He thought he could just bury my trauma and move on with his perfect new life.
He was wrong.
I faked my own death in a fiery crash, leaving him with nothing but my signed rejection papers and the bloody receipt proving his mistress hired the killers.
Now, armed with a new identity and untraceable wealth, I am stepping out of the shadows.
I am going to bankrupt their packs from the inside out and make my former Alpha watch his empire burn.