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 6
The door opened, bringing a gust of cold air and the smell of concrete dust.
Kamron Cobb walked in first. He looked older than his photo. His shoulders were slumped, his work boots caked in grey lime.
Behind him was a giant of a man. Mason. He had tattoos on his forearms and eyes that missed nothing.
Trailing them was the youngest, Lucas, wearing headphones around his neck and a scowl that seemed permanent.
They stopped dead when they saw the Louis Vuitton trunks blocking the entryway.
"Are those... are those real?" Lucas asked, his eyes wide as he took in the monogrammed leather. "Those trunks cost more than our truck."
Journey didn't miss a beat. "High-quality replicas," she lied smoothly, patting the lid of a trunk that was worth fifty thousand dollars. "I got them on Canal Street years ago. They look good, don't they?"
Lucas snorted, the awe replaced by dismissal. "Fake. Figures. Just like the princess act."
"Kamron," Elara said, her voice shaking with joy. "This is... this is Journey."
Kamron's hard hat fell from his grip. It hit the floor with a loud clack. He stared at Journey, his mouth working silently. He looked like he was seeing a ghost.
"Shut up, Lucas," Nolan snapped, stepping in.
Journey looked at Lucas. She didn't blink. "Yes. They kicked me out. I'm homeless now."
Lucas blinked. He had expected a defense, not an agreement. He looked away, muttering.
Mason hadn't moved. He was staring at Journey's face. His eyes were narrowed, focused on her eyes.
"We've met," Mason said. His voice was gravel.
The room went quiet.
Journey turned to him. Her heart skipped a beat. Six months ago, she had been in a dive bar in Brooklyn, scouting a location. A fight had broken out. She had stepped in, using a connection to call off the local gang members who were cornering a bartender.
That bartender was Mason. She had been wearing a mask-part of her "Luna" persona when she went underground-but her eyes...
"Maybe in a dream?" Journey smiled. It was her media smile. Perfect. Impenetrable. "You have a familiar face."
Mason didn't buy it. He took a step closer, radiating suspicion. He remembered the authority in that woman's voice. He saw the same steel in Journey's posture. But the woman in the bar had been surrounded by bodyguards in the shadows. This girl was here, dragging fake Louis Vuitton trunks up four flights of stairs.
"I used to work catering events," Journey added, offering a plausible alternative. "Maybe I served you a drink once?"
Mason paused. The explanation was logical, even if his gut screamed otherwise. He slowly uncrossed his arms.
Kamron stepped forward, breaking the tension. He wiped his hands on his dirty pants, then held them out, palms up. He didn't dare touch her.
"Child..." Kamron's voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry we let you down."
Journey reached out and took his hands. They were rough, like sandpaper. They were warm.
"You didn't let me down," she said. "I'm lucky to be here."
Mason watched her hold his father's dirty hands. The hostility in his eyes receded a fraction, replaced by confusion. The woman who saved him had looked at the grime of the bar with the same indifference.
"Alright," Elara said, clapping her hands nervously. "Wash up. Dinner."
"We don't have foie gras," Lucas muttered as he squeezed past Journey.
"I'll eat anything that isn't poison," Journey retorted.
Lucas paused, looking back at her with grudging respect.
Mason passed her last. He leaned in, his voice a low rumble only she could hear.
"I don't know who you really are," he whispered. "But if you're lying to them, I'll find out."
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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