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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
A sleek, bulletproof Maybach glided silently down the garage ramp, stopping exactly two feet behind Kavon.
The driver's door opened. Silas Finch, Kavon's executive assistant, stepped out. He moved with the quiet efficiency of a ghost. He bowed his head slightly as he approached.
Silas's eyes flicked up and caught the smear of blood on Kavon's lower lip. Silas's body tensed instantly. His hand moved toward the inside of his jacket, reaching for his concealed weapon.
Kavon raised his hand. Between his index and middle finger, he held the $500,000 check.
He stopped Silas's movement without a word.
The corner of Kavon's mouth lifted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Cash this, Silas," he ordered softly. "Make sure every single cent clears."
Silas took the check with both hands. He glanced at the name printed on the top left corner. Charlize Chen. A flicker of profound shock crossed Silas's stoic face, but he quickly masked it.
Kavon turned and slid into the spacious back seat of the Maybach. He reached up and loosened his silk tie, pulling it free.
"I want a full background check on the Chen family estate," Kavon commanded, his voice turning to ice. "Every debt, every secret, every vulnerability. I want it in my hands before sunrise."
"Yes, sir," Silas said. He closed the door, got behind the wheel, and the Maybach vanished into the Los Angeles night.
Across the city, in a luxury penthouse overlooking the glowing skyline, Charlize kicked off her stilettos.
She walked barefoot across the thick Persian rug, heading straight for the marble wet bar. She grabbed a crystal glass and poured three fingers of neat whiskey.
She threw her head back and swallowed the burning liquid in one gulp.
The alcohol burned down her throat, but it didn't wash away the ghost of the kiss. She reached up, her fingers lightly touching her swollen lower lip. The aggressive, cedar-scented heat of that man was still clinging to her skin.
Charlize slammed the glass down on the marble counter.
She was not a woman who left things to chance. A man with that kind of physical presence and technical skill didn't just casually attend a Beverly Hills wedding. He was dangerous.
She walked down the hallway and stopped in front of a heavy oak door. She unlocked it and stepped into her private study.
She walked to the massive mahogany desk, pressed a hidden button under the rim, and a secret compartment slid open. Inside rested a matte-black laptop with no brand logos.
She opened it. The screen flared to life, scanning her retina and requiring a complex fingerprint sequence.
Once logged into the deep-web intelligence network she had built from the ground up, she pulled up the global search interface.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She typed: Kavon Velasquez.
She hit Enter.
The progress bar flashed across the screen. Three seconds later, the screen went completely black. A massive red warning box popped up in the center.
TARGET DOSSIER ENCRYPTION LEVEL: SSS. ACCESS DENIED. INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE.
Charlize's eyes narrowed. Her heart gave a hard thump. Her clearance level was at the absolute top of the civilian and corporate intelligence ladder.
She grabbed the encrypted satellite phone off her desk and hit speed dial.
"Kaylynn," Charlize said the second the line connected.
"Boss," Kaylynn Mercer's sharp voice came through. "What do you need?"
"I need you to use Kestrel Dynamics' core network. Break through the firewall on a man named Kavon Velasquez. Dig up everything."
There was a pause on the other end. The sound of rapid typing echoed through the phone. Five minutes passed in heavy silence.
"Boss," Kaylynn finally said, her voice tight with rare anxiety. "I can't. The firewall protecting his data is military-grade. If I push any harder, I'll trigger the highest-level international security agency's alert protocol."
Charlize gripped the phone tighter. "What can you see?"
"Only the public cover," Kaylynn replied. "He's the second son of the Velasquez family. He went missing twelve years ago. He just returned to the country this week. That's it. The last twelve years are a complete black hole."
Charlize hung up the phone. She leaned back in her leather chair, staring at the red warning box on her screen.
Twelve years missing. Military-grade protection.
She remembered the way he had looked at her in the smoke. The way his eyes had locked onto her mole.
A cold chill crawled up her spine. He wasn't just an arrogant billionaire. He was a predator. And for some reason, he was hunting her.
You may also like
9.0
On their seventh wedding anniversary, Kiley's billionaire husband, Aden, slid a thick stack of papers across the restaurant table.
It was a petition for divorce.
He was leaving her for his college sweetheart. Thanks to a ruthless prenup, Kiley was being thrown out with absolutely nothing.
That very night, their young son Jules was rushed to the ER, bleeding profusely. The doctor's diagnosis was a death sentence: acute leukemia.
When Kiley frantically called Aden for help, he dismissed the emergency as a simple nosebleed.
"I'm not paying for this. Deal with it," Aden sneered, the sound of his mistress giggling in the background.
To force Kiley to sign the divorce papers, Aden froze all her credit cards and canceled their son's health insurance. He refused to pay a single cent for the chemotherapy.
Even Kiley's adoptive parents sided with the wealthy Aden, calling her a burden and telling her to stop fighting him.
Driven to the brink of despair, with a dying child and no money, Kiley didn't understand how a father could be so monstrous to his own flesh and blood.
Until a news article on a friend's phone caught her eye.
It featured a fallen 9/11 firefighter hero from the ultra-wealthy Whitfield family. The man in the photo looked exactly like Jules, down to the very bone structure.
Kiley's mind raced back to the fertility clinic and the anonymous sperm donor.
Could this dead billionaire hero be her son's biological father?
Looking at her sleeping, fragile boy, Kiley wiped her tears and crushed the divorce papers in her hand.
She was going to find the Whitfield family, save her son, and make Aden lose everything he held dear.
9.5
Blaire's mother gave her a ruthless ultimatum: find a husband today, or never call her mother again.
Desperate to escape the suffocating control and disastrous blind dates, Blaire agreed to a fake marriage with a stranger she met through an old woman.
She thought she was marrying a dirt-poor salesman drowning in mortgage debt.
They lived in a rundown Queens apartment and split the living expenses fifty-fifty.
He drove a sputtering Toyota Camry, established extreme territorial rules, and treated her like a gold-digging biohazard.
When she accidentally tripped and spilled hot soup on him, he didn't help her up, instead accusing her of using pathetic tricks to seduce him.
Her own mother even crashed their apartment, ruthlessly mocking his pathetic financial state and calling him a total loser.
Blaire endured his coldness and extreme germaphobia, genuinely pitying him for his stressful, low-paying job.
She refunded his money and defended his dignity, refusing to take advantage of a struggling man.
But she couldn't understand why this supposedly broke guy possessed such a lethal, commanding aura, or why an incredibly expensive cashmere blanket mysteriously appeared on her when she was freezing on the couch.
Until her brother called with a shocking warning.
"Blaire, the name on your marriage certificate belongs to the notoriously secretive billionaire CEO of New York's top financial syndicate!"
Blaire laughed out loud, completely unaware that behind the bedroom door, her "broke" husband was frantically ordering his PR team to bury his true identity.
8.3
He laid me on the sheets, climbed over me, caged me with his arms. "Last chance to run," he said, voice low."I need the money," I whispered, feeling so tiny in his arms."You're soaking," he muttered. "Virgin or not, your pussy wants this."I moaned, looking away, couldn't help it,"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he pushed his tip in slowly."Fuck," he groaned. "So tight."He fucked me like he was claiming something. "Come for me," he whispered in my ears, moving faster."Damien," I cried out his name as I came."That's it," he growled. After a long minute he pulled out slowly. "One night," he said again, almost like a reminder....weeks later, I walked through the quiet hall of my school. A massive portrait stared back at me.Damien BlackwoodPrincipal Benefactor and OwnerColumbia University.Same man who'd just taken my virginity for money. My stomach dropped. "Oh fuck... what have I done?"
9.5
For nine years, I poured my soul into proving I was worthy of my wealthy boyfriend, Clayton Wright. I endured his endless, humiliating "tests," sacrificing everything for a place in his world.
But at our engagement party, the final test was revealed. He stood by as his ex-girlfriend, Anjelica, framed me for shattering a priceless family heirloom.
"You manipulative bitch!" he snarled, slapping me across the face. He then ordered his bodyguard to force me to my knees, grinding them into the sharp, broken fragments of the watch.
As I bled on the floor, he pulled out his phone and gave a single command: demolish my childhood home, the last piece I had of my deceased father.
He destroyed my past and my dignity, yet minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message from him.
"The engagement is just for show. I'll still marry you. You're my destiny."
That night, clutching the last of my father's life insurance, I booked a one-way ticket and vanished. He thought he had finally broken his little project, but he had just unleashed a woman with nothing left to lose.
7.8
On the day she married, Alina unknowingly took the place of the Hayes family's daughter and became Kellan's wife, the richest man in town who was rumored to be disfigured.
Everyone mocked their doomed marriage, expecting misery and disgrace.
Instead, Alina revealed brilliance no one expected-a renowned jewelry master, financial genius, and medical prodigy.
The woman the Hayes family ignored was actually the heiress they should have treasured.
As regret consumed them and her ex begged for another chance, Kellan stood beside her, now devastatingly handsome.
"Alina and I are perfect together. Stay away from my wife."
8.9
Aubree Hamilton was the top-tier executive assistant to Wall Street's most ruthless titan, Beck Franco. A month ago, she made a catastrophic mistake and spent the night in his bed.
Thinking she had erased the mistake with a morning-after pill, she panicked upon his return and lied about being engaged to push him away.
But Beck, a man who despised disloyalty above all else, immediately suspended her and ordered her escorted out of the building. Her nightmare only escalated when her toxic ex-boyfriend attacked her on the street, tearing her purse open and exposing the empty morning-after pill box to the public—and to Beck, who was watching from his penthouse. After having his security rescue her, Beck trapped her in his car, ruthlessly tearing apart her fake engagement. Later in her apartment, the suffocating tension between them almost ignited into a kiss, but a violent wave of nausea suddenly hit Aubree.
She shoved him away with all her strength and violently threw up in the bathroom.
Beck took it as the ultimate physical disgust. He walked out, deeply humiliated and dangerously obsessed, unleashing his resources to investigate her every move.
Left alone and trembling, Aubree finally checked the crushed white box. The pill she took had expired a month ago.
Staring at the two bright pink lines on the pregnancy test, she made a desperate vow: Beck Franco could never know she was carrying his child, and she had to disappear before he found out.