The Discarded Heiress's Spectacular Comeback

Helen was finally brought back to the luxurious Gallagher estate as their long-lost blood relative. But her new family didn't welcome her; they looked at her with undisguised disgust. The matriarch mocked her stench of poverty, while her step-sister Candice treated her like a feral animal. The patriarch, Fredy—who had built his empire by betraying Helen's mother—tried to break her spirit. He blackmailed Helen into attending a high-society gala by threatening to cut off her grandmother's medical funds. At the gala, Candice squeezed into a diamond-encrusted gown, desperate to seduce the guest of honor, Damian Montgomery. Damian was the most powerful man in New York, and he was currently tearing the city apart looking for a mysterious woman named Jane. Overhearing this, a sick, greedy smile spread across Candice's face. She planned to impersonate Jane to claim Damian's wealth and completely crush Helen under her heel. "Hide in the corner tonight. Don't you dare try to speak to anyone important!" They all thought Helen was just a helpless, uncultured country girl they could easily manipulate and step on to secure their stolen legacy. What they didn't know was that Helen was the real Jane. She was the lethal shadow who had saved Damian in the woods, shattered his grip, and robbed his highly guarded vault just the night before. Helen calmly adjusted her simple black dress and stepped into the ballroom, ready to tear their stolen world apart.

Areli was the hardest-working medic in the Blackridge Clan, but her efforts only earned her the title of a useless burden. Her supposed lover, Eugene, and her senior mentor, Gloria, lured her to the edge of the deadly Blackwind Cliff and shoved her straight into the abyss. She miraculously survived the freefall, only to return and find Gloria standing before the entire clan, wearing a mask of fake sorrow. "Look! The traitor is back! She eloped with wild males!" Gloria shrieked. Eugene stepped up, looking heartbroken, and publicly accused her of betraying his love. The crowd erupted, raining hisses and boos upon her, completely ignoring the horrific, life-threatening bruises that covered her battered body. They blindly believed the lies, treating her like garbage while Gloria secretly plotted to poison her water and destroy her completely. Areli felt a chilling sense of betrayal. How could the man who claimed to love her watch her fall with such cold eyes? To make matters worse, her modern biochemist instincts revealed a terrifying truth: she was unexpectedly pregnant with the child of a savage Warlord she had encountered in the wild. In this brutal, primitive world, showing any weakness was an absolute death sentence. But she wasn't going to cower or run away. Refusing the Warlord's offer to simply rescue her, Areli calmly placed a highly toxic herb on her drying rack and left her tent flap open. The bait was set. Now, she just had to wait for the screams.

Justine abandoned her career as a top trauma surgeon to marry Congressman Carl McConnell. She did it to fulfill her dying sister's last wish: to protect her son, Leo, from this ruthless political family. But the seven-year-old boy she swore to protect shoved her into a freezing koi pond, then cried to his father that Justine tried to drown him. Carl didn't even check the security cameras. He hugged his precious heir and looked at his freezing wife with pure disgust. "Are you out of your mind? Trying to hurt the heir to the McConnell family!" He locked Justine in a 55-degree wine cellar while she was burning with a 102-degree fever. When she finally told him the truth, Carl flew into a rage and hurled a heavy brass-cornered book at her face, slicing her cheekbone wide open. His mother even ordered the staff to starve her for seven days to reflect on her sins. Justine stood in the dark, blood dripping down her face, her heart completely dead. She had sacrificed her brilliant future and her pride for this family, only to be tortured and discarded like garbage. How could they be so utterly devoid of humanity? She pulled out her old medical kit and stitched up her own face. Then, she signed the legal documents to permanently relinquish her stepparent rights, threw them at the housekeeper, and calmly looked at her abusive husband. "I am divorcing you, Carl."

On the eve of my glamorous Waldorf Astoria wedding, I went to the penthouse to surprise my fiancé, Hugh, wearing my late mother's heirloom pearls. Instead, I heard my stepsister's familiar laugh and caught them tangled together on the sofa. Through the cracked door, I heard Hugh slur that he was only marrying me for my family's financial backing. "As soon as I secure my inheritance, she's the first thing I'm getting rid of," he promised her. Floy giggled and asked for my mother's pearl necklace, my only legacy. Hugh agreed without hesitation, mocking my dead mother's naivety and my desperate dreams of building a family. Every sweet word he had ever said was a lie, a knife he had been patiently sliding between my ribs for years. They planned to strip me of everything the moment I signed the prenup. I didn't cry or scream. The crushing weight of their betrayal hollowed me out, leaving behind a terrifying, absolute calm. Why should I be the one to lose everything while they stole my future and insulted my mother's memory? I calmly walked down the hall, set the prenuptial agreement on fire, and vanished into the rainy night. If Hugh wanted to play dirty for the Maxwell empire, I would play for keeps. Using a forgotten, century-old family covenant, I was going to marry Hugh's uncle-the comatose, paralyzed war hero, Fleet Maxwell. I would return not as a naive bride, but as their worst nightmare: his aunt, and the new lady of the house.

Years ago, when I was very small, we lived in a great house in a long, straight, brown-coloured street, in the east end of London. It was a noisy, crowded street in the daytime; but a silent, lonesome street at night, when the gas-lights, few and far between, partook of the character of lighthouses rather than of illuminants, and the tramp, tramp of the policeman on his long beat seemed to be ever drawing nearer, or fading away, except for brief moments when the footsteps ceased, as he paused to rattle a door or window, or to flash his lantern into some dark passage leading down towards the river.

Sera was the obedient, spoiled Hollywood socialite of the Beaumont family, completely devoted to her fiancé, Ethan. But her life ended in a freezing Eastern European warehouse, chained to a damp concrete floor. Right before she died, her captors shoved the transfer documents in her face. Ethan had sold her to human traffickers to cover his massive underground gambling debts. While she suffered in absolute hell, her adoptive mother went on national television. She squeezed out fake tears, publicly framing Sera for stealing family funds and eloping with a secret lover. Sera's reputation was completely destroyed, and she was left to die a miserable, agonizing death in the dark. She didn't understand why her family treated her like a disposable piece of trash. She understood even less how the man who promised to marry her could hand her over to monsters without a second thought. When she opened her eyes again, the biting cold and heavy iron chains were gone. She was back five years in the past. She was lying on a hotel bed, her limbs heavy with date-rape drugs, while a predatory Hollywood director hovered inches from her face. It was the exact "exclusive audition" Ethan had arranged to exploit her for the very first time. Sera didn't scream. With lethal, practiced precision, she shattered the director's wrist and brought a heavy crystal ashtray down on his skull. The bleeding man collapsed onto the carpet and whimpered. "Ethan promised... he said you'd be compliant..." Staring at his pathetic face, a cold, predatory smile stretched across Sera's lips. This time, she was going to systematically dismantle their lives.