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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8.4
For twenty years, I lived as the adopted daughter of the wealthy Hill family.
But today, they forced me to sign a severance agreement and kicked me out so their precious biological daughter, Malia, could marry my fiancé.
To ruin me completely, they framed me for stealing Malia's engagement bracelet, threatening me with prison.
I calmly exposed the "sapphire" as cheap glass, then rolled up my sleeves to show the reporters my scarred, punctured arms.
For two decades, I wasn't a daughter. I was Malia's living blood and bone marrow bank.
They drained my health to keep her alive, even ordering doctors to ignore my failing organs just so she could attend a gala.
"Take this million dollars and shut your mouth," my adoptive father sneered, throwing a check at my feet.
My ex-fiancé looked at me with disgust, and Malia screamed that I was a crazy, vindictive liar.
They had stolen my life and my health, yet they still looked down on me like I was garbage.
I ripped the check into pieces and threw it in their faces.
Just as they ordered the butler to drag me out, a group of men in black suits shattered the chaos.
The heir of the untouchable Montgomery dynasty stepped through the door, ignoring the Hills' fawning, and handed me a DNA report.
I wasn't a disposable blood bag. I was the long-lost true heiress of old New York money.
And now, I was going to take back everything they stole from me.
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.
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
8.0
My wedding was tomorrow. I was a crisis counselor who had finally found peace with my loving fiancé, Dexter, and my best friend, Barbara.
A late-night call about a forced marriage led me to a hotel penthouse, where I found them naked in bed together.
It was all a cruel, three-year "savior game." They were bored heirs, and I was their project. They destroyed my career, caused me to lose our baby, and put my mother in the hospital.
They forced me to be a bridesmaid at their wedding-the one that should have been mine.
In front of hundreds of guests, they exposed my traumatic past and then tried to marry me off to a drunken stranger as a joke.
As I stood there, broken, a text from Barbara arrived.
"Your mother saw the livestream. She had a heart attack. She's not going to make it."
With nothing left, I ran to the 20th-floor window and jumped. They thought they had erased me. But my death was just the beginning.
9.3
To escape my abusive adoptive mother selling me to a loan shark for $50,000, I rushed to City Hall to marry a blind date.
In a blind panic, I grabbed the wrong man.
He was Julian Cardenas IV, a billionaire CEO who desperately needed a fake wife to dodge a corporate arranged marriage. We signed the papers on the spot.
He became my legal shield. He moved me into his pristine penthouse and secretly protected me from my family's violent threats. When I broke down crying in the freezing cold, he quietly left me hot cocoa. For the first time in my life, I felt safe.
But then, Julian overheard me complaining to my sister about my constantly breaking-down car, groaning that I had to "get rid of this baby four times."
He thought I meant abortions.
The man who was slowly melting my frozen heart instantly turned to ice. He threw away the dinner he had specially bought for me, his eyes filled with absolute disgust and blinding rage.
I was left entirely confused and terrified. Why did my savior suddenly look at me like I was the most repulsive thing in the world? What had I done to deserve this sudden cruelty?
I thought this fake marriage was my ticket out of hell. I didn't realize I had just locked myself in a cage with a furious, ruthless CEO who now wanted to destroy me.
9.3
Charlene was locked in a Swiss asylum by the wealthy Gay family, force-fed antipsychotics until her hands shook violently.
Her adoptive brother, Columbus, dragged her out of the psych ward merely to parade her as a prop for the paparazzi.
He had locked her up to get a psychiatric evaluation, ensuring she was declared legally insane and unable to claim her massive trust fund.
The moment she returned to the estate, the torment worsened.
Her other brother, Antwan, kicked her to the ground and shattered her wrist on the gravel.
"You lost your legal rights, you stupid bitch," he sneered, while the staff blindly ignored her agony.
Her childhood bedroom was completely gutted and given to a distant cousin.
Worse, she discovered Columbus was secretly sleeping with Isabela—the fake heiress who had framed Charlene in the first place.
Every trace of her existence in the family was being violently scrubbed away.
She had lost her dignity, her health, and the baby the doctors claimed had died in the delivery room.
She couldn't understand why the family she loved hated her so viciously, stripping away everything she had.
That was until she saw a little boy in the hospital hallway, a perfect, miniature replica of her own face.
Clutching the gold-crested cufflink he dropped, she realized the asylum's doctor had stolen him.
Her baby was alive.
With her heart turned to stone, Charlene made a silent vow to crawl out of hell and burn the Gay family to the ground.