Revealing My Secret Identities! My Bros Are Speechless!
For seventeen years, I was the crown jewel of the Kensington empire, the perfect daughter groomed for a royal future. Then, a cream-colored envelope landed in my lap, bearing a gold crest and a truth that turned my world into ice.
The DNA test result was a cold, hard zero percent-I wasn't a Kensington. Before the ink could even dry, my parents invited my replacement, a girl named Alleen, into the drawing room and treated me like a trespasser in my own home.
My mother, who once hosted galas in my honor, wouldn't even look me in the eye as she stroked Alleen's arm, whispering that she was finally "safe." My father handed me a one-million-dollar check-a mere tip for a billionaire-and told me to leave immediately to avoid tanking the company's stock price.
"You're a thief! You lived my life, you spent my money, and you don't get to keep the loot!" Alleen shrieked, trying to claw the designer jacket off my shoulders while my "parents" watched with clinical detachment.
I was dumped on a gritty sidewalk in Queens with nothing but three trunks and the address of a struggling laborer I was now supposed to call "Dad." I traded a marble mansion for a crumbling walk-up where the air smelled of exhaust and my new bedroom was a literal storage closet.
My biological family thought I was a broken princess, and the Kensingtons thought they had successfully erased me with a payoff and a non-disclosure agreement. They had no idea that while I was hauling trunks up four flights of stairs, my secret media empire was already preparing to move against them.
As I sat on a thin mattress in the dark, I opened my encrypted laptop and sent a single command that would cost my former father ten million dollars by breakfast. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves, but they forgot one thing: I'm the one who leads the pack.
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Chapter 3
One million dollars.
Journey looked at the zeroes. To a normal person, it was a fortune. To the Kensingtons, it was the catering budget for the annual summer gala. It was a payoff. A bribe to go away quietly.
"Severance," Preston said. "Enough to buy a property in Queens. Cash."
Journey felt a laugh threaten to escape again. She kept it behind her teeth. She placed her fingertips on the check and slid it toward her.
"Done."
Alleen made a small, choking sound. Her eyes were wide, fixated on the paper. She looked like she wanted to snatch it.
"However," Victoria added, her voice hardening, "you must sign this Non-Disclosure Agreement. Whatever happened in this house, stays in this house."
Journey took the pen from Preston's hand. She didn't read the text. She knew standard Kensington legal boilerplate better than she knew the Bible. She signed her name with a flourish. Journey Cobb.
She stood up. "I'll pack."
"Wait," Alleen said. She scrambled to her feet, blocking Journey's path to the door. "You can't take the Kensington things."
Journey looked down at the girl. Alleen was shorter, softer.
"Excuse me?"
"The clothes," Alleen said, pointing a shaking finger at Journey's outfit. "The jewelry. The bags. Mom and Dad paid for those. They belong to the family."
Victoria looked uncomfortable. "Alleen, honey, let her have the clothes..."
"No!" Alleen stomped her foot. "She's stealing!"
Journey turned to Higgins, who was hovering by the door. "Bring my trunks down, please."
Higgins nodded, disappearing. Moments later, two footmen carried three large Louis Vuitton trunks into the drawing room.
Alleen lunged for the nearest one, popping the latches. She threw the lid open. Inside, rows of silk, cashmere, and limited-edition leather stared back at her.
"See!" Alleen shrieked. "This is worth more than the check! You're a thief!"
Preston frowned, stepping forward. "Journey, if these were purchased with the family allowance..."
Journey reached into her handbag. She pulled out a thick stack of paper, clipped together. She tossed it onto the coffee table. The papers fanned out.
Receipts.
"Check the payment method," Journey said. Her voice was bored.
Preston picked up the top sheet. His brow furrowed. "L.C. Holdings? Who is this?"
"A private trust left to me by a godparent you've likely forgotten, managed through a holding company to minimize taxes," Journey lied smoothly. "Or perhaps you recall the dividends from my junior investments? I've been self-sufficient since I was sixteen."
Preston narrowed his eyes, studying the document. The explanation was plausible-L.C. Holdings looked like a standard shell for trust fund disbursements. He made a mental note to have his secretary run a background check on the entity later, just in case. For now, however, the paperwork appeared legal.
"Very well," Preston muttered, dropping the receipt. "It seems valid."
Alleen began digging through the trunk, her hands rough on the delicate fabrics. She was desperate to find a flaw, a Kensington crest, anything to prove Journey was a fraud. But there was nothing.
Journey stepped forward. She grabbed the lid of the trunk and slammed it shut. The wind from the movement blew Alleen's hair back. Alleen yanked her hand away just in time to avoid broken fingers.
"Don't touch my things," Journey said. Her voice dropped an octave. It wasn't a request. It was a command.
Alleen stumbled back, her eyes wide with genuine fear. For a second, she saw something behind Journey's eyes that wasn't a displaced socialite. She saw a shark.
Journey signaled the footmen. "To the curb."
She picked up the check, folded it once, knowing it would take three business days to clear the bank's fraud detection protocols, and walked out the door without looking back.
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9.2
He killed my brother. I swore I'd make him pay. But now I'm trapped in his penthouse... and I think I'm falling for him.
As the youngest son of the Romano mafia, Luca swore vengeance on the man who killed his brother-Damian Moretti, the cold, ruthless billionaire don of the rival Moretti family.
But when a failed assassination attempt leaves Luca at Damian's mercy, he's not tortured. He's... kept.
And he says Luca belongs to him now.
7.7
Jaclyn woke up in the sterile hospital room after falling down the stairs. The nurse delivered the devastating news: she had bled heavily and lost her baby.
But before she could even cry, her trusted cousins, Katelyn and Cherri, locked the door and revealed the horrifying truth.
"It wasn't an accident," Katelyn smirked, pinning Jaclyn's arm down. "The lubricant on the top step was a very deliberate choice."
They needed her broken and unstable. They had forged her signature, draining her massive trust fund to save their uncle's bankrupt business.
What shattered Jaclyn's world was the fresh hickey on Cherri's neck. Her lover, Bradford, had helped plan the entire murder.
When Jaclyn tried to scream, they smothered her with a pillow, framing her as a lunatic having a mental breakdown.
Two weeks later, when she confronted them, Bradford violently shoved her through a second-story glass window to silence her forever.
As she fell to her death, the husband she had spent her life hating—the ruthless billionaire Gaines—burst through the doors.
He threw himself forward, his face filled with pure terror, desperately trying to catch her.
When her body hit the stone patio, Gaines fell to his knees in her blood, weeping and begging her not to close her eyes.
Until her last breath, Jaclyn was consumed by suffocating regret. Why did she trust the monsters who killed her, and hate the only man who truly loved her?
Opening her eyes again, she was back in the penthouse, exactly one month into her marriage with Gaines.
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.
7.9
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster.
During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde.
When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability.
Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave?
Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket.
"What are you looking at, Foster?"
Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket.
8.7
On the night of her engagement, Lila Hart discovers that her fiancé isn't just cheating-he's selling her to the cruel Alpha of the Silvermoon Pack to settle a debt.
Dragged into the arms of Damien Blackwood, a ruthless billionaire Alpha feared across the werewolf world, Lila vows to escape. But Damien isn't what he seems-behind his icy exterior lies a dangerous secret... one that ties Lila to him in ways neither can deny.
8.4
In her past life, Serena Vale was the perfect daughter and sister. She sacrificed everything, her dreams, her university admission, and even her inheritance, so her stepsister could live the life she deserved.
But kindness was repaid with betrayal.
At twenty-eight, just hours after her billionaire fiancé finally proposed, Serena was poisoned by the very sister she had spent her life protecting.
When she opens her eyes again, Serena is eighteen, back to the day before she is supposed to give up her university admission to her stepsister.
This time, she refuses.
She keeps her future.
She takes back her inheritance.
And the cold billionaire her sister desperately wanted?
Serena decides to claim him first.
Not because she loves him but because she knows that in ten years, Adrian Kingsley will become one of the richest men in the world.
But things start changing.
The supposedly distant and emotionless billionaire is watching her closely... protecting her... and looking at her as if she belongs to him.
And sometimes, when their eyes meet, Serena wonders
Does he remember their past life too?
This time, Serena isn't the naive girl who died with regrets.
This time, she's here for revenge