Sweet Revenge Of The Stolen Heiress
I was only three and a half years old, living in a damp basement and beaten daily by Enoch Pruitt with a heavy leather whip.
"Get up, you useless waste of space!"
He always told me I was a stray he had picked out of the garbage.
But during one brutal beating that nearly stopped my heart, time froze, and a glowing figure called The Chronicler appeared.
"You are not an abandoned orphan, Clare. You carry the blood of the highest gods."
He revealed that I was the stolen daughter of the ultra-wealthy Barrett family.
Then, he showed me the horrific ending of my previous life.
I had died right here on this bloody dirt floor.
My real parents and three brothers went completely insane with grief, turning into ruthless monsters who destroyed themselves and the entire world to avenge me.
Meanwhile, the Pruitt family kept torturing me, locking me in a woodshed and feeding me moldy bread.
The memory of my bones breaking and my real mother's agonizing screams crushed my chest.
Why did I have to suffer like an animal while my true family tore the world apart looking for me?
This time, I refused to die in the mud.
I accepted my divine blood, my eyes glowing gold as I summoned a bolt of purple lightning to strike my abuser.
I just needed to survive the night.
Because my real father's heavily armed convoy was already tearing up the mountain, ready to burn this hell to the ground.
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Chapter 8
The heavy, armored door of the SUV slammed shut.
The thick glass and steel instantly cut off the sounds outside. Inside the cabin, it was dead silent. The only sound was the soft, steady hum of the climate control system.
Clare sat in the middle of the wide, leather backseat. She kept her knees pressed tightly together. Her shoulders were stiff. Her brain knew she was safe, but her body was still waiting for the next blow to fall.
Genevieve sat close beside her. She had her arm wrapped tightly around Clare's shoulders. Silent tears continued to track down her perfect makeup.
Silas sat in the rear-facing seat opposite them. His eyes never left Clare's face. He looked like a man who had just found water after years in the desert.
Suddenly, a loud, rumbling growl echoed in the quiet cabin.
It came from Clare's stomach.
Clare gasped. She immediately slapped both hands over her stomach and ducked her head. Her heart rate spiked. In the Pruitt house, showing hunger had always come with consequences.
Genevieve quickly wiped her eyes. She reached into the small, built-in refrigerator console between the seats. She pulled out a small, silver tray. On it were delicate, crustless sandwiches filled with turkey and cheese.
She held the tray out to Clare.
Clare stared at the fresh, soft bread. Her mouth watered instantly, but she didn't reach for it. She looked up at Silas, her eyes wide and questioning. She was waiting for permission.
Silas's chest hitched. He forced a gentle smile. "Eat, Clare. It's yours. Everything we have is yours now. You never have to wait for permission again."
Clare's hands shook as she reached out. She grabbed a sandwich and ate quickly, hungrily. She grabbed another before she had finished the first.
She ate too fast. The dry bread caught in her throat. She started to cough.
Genevieve quickly grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and held it to Clare's lips. She rubbed Clare's back in slow, soothing circles. "Slow down, baby. Take a breath. There's plenty more."
Clare drank the water, clearing her throat. She looked at the remaining sandwiches, forcing herself to slow down.
"What did they feed you?" Silas asked. His voice was quiet, but the muscles in his jaw were jumping.
Clare swallowed. She looked at the soft leather seats. "Bread," she said flatly. "But it was stale. And sometimes very little else."
Silas closed his eyes. He gripped the armrest of his seat so hard the leather creaked.
Genevieve covered her mouth, letting out a muffled sob.
"Thirsty," Clare whispered, her voice completely monotone. She pointed to her lips. They were chapped and cracked. The one word, spoken so matter-of-factly, was more devastating than any accusation.
Silas opened his eyes. They were bright with unshed tears and fury held carefully in check.
Clare pulled the oversized coat tighter around herself. "He made me wake up when it was still dark. I had to chop the wood and feed the animals. If I was slow, he used the leather strap."
She pointed to the dark, ugly bruises on her collarbone. "He said I was a waste of space."
She spoke about the hardship as if she were reciting a grocery list. The emotional detachment was a classic trauma response. It terrified her parents more than if she had been screaming and crying.
Genevieve couldn't take it anymore. She pulled Clare into her lap, burying her face in Clare's dirty hair. "I'm so sorry," she wept. "I'm so sorry we didn't find you sooner."
Silas leaned forward. He placed his large, warm hand over Clare's small, cold ones.
"I swear to you, Clare," Silas said, his voice trembling with the weight of his promise. "We will make sure justice is done. The law will hold those people accountable. And no one — no one — will ever hurt you again. You are home now. You are ours, and we are yours."
Clare leaned her head against Genevieve's chest. She listened to the steady, rapid beat of her mother's heart. The coldness inside her finally began to melt.
"I believe you," Clare whispered.
The SUV sped down the winding mountain road, leaving the compound far behind. They were heading straight for the Barrett family's private medical center in the city.
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7.4
Four years ago, to protect the man I loved from losing his billionaire empire, I drugged his drink, told him I only used him for his money, and vanished.
Now, at a high-society gala, Callum Wyatt is back. He isn't just a CEO anymore; he's a ruthless predator, and the second his eyes lock onto me, I know I am his prey.
When my wealthy half-sister publicly humiliated me, calling me the cheap bastard child of a homewrecker, Callum stepped out of the shadows. He nearly snapped her wrist in half and declared to New York's elite that anyone who touched me would be dismantled.
In the back of his Maybach, he pinned my arms above my head, his eyes burning with psychotic obsession.
"If you run again, Aubrey, I will burn your entire world to the ground just to keep you."
My heart bled. I had spent four grueling years tearing myself apart to keep him out of my messy, blood-soaked revenge against the family that watched my mother die.
But his terrifying protection only made my biological father's family target me harder, using their massive capital to buy out my movie set and crush my acting career.
They thought I would cower.
But as I walked onto the soundstage, facing the heiress trying to steal my role, I took off my sunglasses. I wasn't running anymore; it was time to make them pay.
7.9
Hannah came home under a false identity, ready to keep her head down and avoid trouble. Then a near-drowning opened her eyes, and the family she had wanted gave her nothing but disappointment.
She severed every tie, shed the disguise, and rose in revenge as a miracle doctor, brilliant hacker, and feared underworld ruler. Shock followed her family at every turn.
Her parents regretted everything. Her eldest brother clung desperately to the bond of their shared blood, while her second brother gave up his entire fortune just to earn her forgiveness. Her third brother offered up his own body for a surgery-all to save her.
But Hannah stayed cold and built her empire alone. Only one deadly rival refused to be ignored.
"I was hired to kill you, mister."
"Then take my heart, too."
7.2
Elara Vex had everything-a flawless ice core, the title of prodigy, and a place at the pinnacle of the High Tower. But in one brutal night, it was all ripped away. Her mentor tore the core from her chest. Her fiancé drove a sword through her back. Her own sister smiled as she bled out on the cold marble floor.
When Elara wakes, she's years in the past, mere hours before her core is scheduled to be stolen. This time, she won't be anyone's sacrificial lamb. She shatters her own core with forbidden blood magic and forges something far more terrifying in its place-a bottomless, ravenous Chaos Core that devours magic itself.
Now, branded a worthless cripple and cast into the deadly Abyss, Elara is pulled from the darkness by the outcasts of Elysium Academy-a school for heretics, psychopaths, and everything the Tower despises. Under the tutelage of a reclusive principal who knew her murdered mother, Elara will master her forbidden power and uncover the Tower's darkest secrets.
When the Five Academies Ranking Tournament arrives, Seraphina Vex stands in the arena, draped in white saintess robes, ready to claim ultimate glory. She doesn't know that a ghost from her past has clawed her way back from hell. She doesn't know that Elara is coming-and this time, the prodigal sister isn't asking for mercy. She's bringing chaos.
9.4
My retirement was finally approved, and I was supposed to be sipping drinks on a sunny beach.
Instead, a cold system voice forced me into a nightmare scenario: "Cursed Mates Who Want Me Dead." I woke up in a stinking cave, trapped in the body of a psychopathic tribal princess.
The memories that flooded my brain made me sick. The original owner of this body had forcibly marked seven of the continent's most powerful beast-men and reduced them to tortured pets. She had ripped the shimmering scales off Jordi the Merfolk prince, gouged out a proud wolf-man's power crystal, and snapped an eagle-man's magnificent wings.
Now, Jordi was a mutilated, terrified mess hiding in a corner. He was so traumatized that he tried to slit his own throat just to escape me. His sister was actively trying to assassinate me.
To make matters worse, the system warned me that if I didn't heal these seven ticking time bombs, my soul would be erased. Yet the future timeline clearly showed that these men would eventually unite, burn my tribe to the ground, and dismember me alive.
I was paying for a monster's sins. Every time I tried to show mercy, they thought it was a sick new torture method. Words were useless, and my very presence was a trigger.
But I am a Tier-S operative, and I don't play the victim. I forced the system to unlock my powers and strapped on my tactical gear.
"Stay here and don't starve."
I left the trembling Merfolk behind and walked into the deadly primitive forest, heading straight for the powerful Oasis Tribe to take back his stolen scales by force.
7.5
I was Nyx, a top-tier covert operative. But when I opened my eyes, I was trapped in the unfamiliar, overweight body of a bullied girl named Eliza.
Before I could even process the body swap, the bedroom door splintered open. I was in bed with Julian Malone, a wealthy military heir, both of us heavily drugged. Cameras flashed wildly. It was a vicious setup to ruin his career, and I was the bait.
To save his family's reputation, Julian was forced to marry me. But the moment the wedding was over, he abandoned me. His elite family treated me like a disease. His mother froze my only bank account, trying to starve me into submission.
I even intercepted a private conversation between his parents.
"Once she's in a private facility, she loses all legal standing. We can sign anything we want on her behalf."
They planned to lock me up in a mental asylum and erase my existence entirely to get rid of the "trailer park trash."
To them, I was just a weak, pathetic pawn they could crush without a second thought. They thought they had backed a helpless girl into a corner.
They had no idea they had just declared war on a lethal weapon.
I didn't cry or beg. Instead, I bypassed their state-of-the-art security, cracked their safe, and stole the financial secrets that could destroy their entire empire.
"I want five hundred thousand dollars, or these files go to the IRS."
This time, I was playing by my own rules.
7.4
I was only fifteen when my venomous family orchestrated my doom by forcing me into an arranged marriage with mafia heir Javier Velasquez.
On our wedding night, Javier paraded strippers into our suite to show his absolute contempt, turning me into the ultimate joke of the underworld overnight.
But being a joke was a luxury compared to what came next.
Three years later, Javier needed to be a widower to marry into a heavily armed family and secure their backing for a coup.
He didn't grant me the mercy of a bullet.
Instead, he dragged me to an abandoned underground safehouse, locked me in the damp, rotting dark, and told the world I had been assassinated.
For six months, I starved in that dungeon, surviving only on the desperate hope that my family was safe.
Then, on the day of his lavish new wedding, a cruel maid kicked a plate of spoiled food onto my floor and delivered the final, fatal blow.
"Annabel is dead. Pined away and died of a broken heart two weeks ago."
My gentle mother was dead, all because she actually believed his lie about my tragic murder.
Driven by pure agony and an all-consuming hatred, I shattered crates of smuggled chemical solvents and struck a match, letting the roaring inferno turn their bloody wedding into my funeral pyre.
I thought the fire was the end.
But when I opened my eyes, the suffocating smoke vanished, replaced by the biting chill of a Long Island winter.
I was standing in the snow, back on the exact day my descent into hell began.
This time, the terrified girl was dead, and I would use their own ruthless rules to tear their empire apart.