Rising From Hell: The Vengeful Heiress Returns
I was the Stanton family heiress, engaged to the President's son to secure a vital military alliance.
But he cornered me in the White House sitting room, slamming a thick manila folder onto the marble table.
"I said, sign the annulment agreement, Hester."
He looked at me like I was dirt, demanding I step aside so he could be with a manipulative intern named Tricia.
In my past life, I was a naive lamb. I cried and begged him not to end it. My devotion was rewarded with absolute cruelty. He ordered my bones broken and my reputation completely shredded. My trusted assistant forced poison down my throat, and I was left to die with a rope burning my neck.
Until my last breath, I didn't understand. I had done everything perfectly for the family. Why did my unwavering loyalty only bring me a gruesome death? Why did the monsters who tortured me get to live happily in the highest seats of power?
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating terror of the noose suddenly washed away. I was sixteen again, staring at the exact same annulment papers.
"Hester, please. Just let us be happy," Tricia whimpered, reaching out her trembling hand.
This time, I didn't cry. I picked up the solid gold fountain pen, stabbed it violently through the center of the contract, and prepared to drag the entire First Family straight to hell.
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Chapter 9
The Secret Service dragged Tricia's limp, bleeding body out of the room. The heavy doors clicked shut, leaving only the core members of the Harrison and Stanton families.
President Christian rubbed his temples, exhaustion and irritation radiating from him. He looked down at Domenic, who was curled on the floor, weeping silently from the physical pain and the crushing betrayal of his "true love."
Christian delivered his verdict with the emotionless precision of a butcher.
"You are stripped of all public appearances for the next three months," Christian ordered. "You will be confined to your suite in the East Wing. Half of your campaign budget is gone, and I am replacing your entire senior staff with my own people."
Domenic's head snapped up. "Dad, you can't-"
"Speak again, and I will pull your candidacy entirely," Christian hissed.
Domenic's mouth snapped shut. He slumped back down, completely broken. He was no longer a candidate; he was a prisoner.
Christian turned away from his son and looked at Elba. He smoothed his tie, his face shifting back into the calculating negotiator.
"Elba," Christian said smoothly. "To compensate the Stanton family for this unacceptable distress, I am prepared to offer your brother the two vacant undersecretary positions at the Department of Defense."
Elba's eyes flickered. Two high-level Pentagon appointments. It was a massive concession, one that would cement the Stanton family's grip on the military for a decade.
But she looked at Hester's bruised shoulder and felt sick. "Is my niece's life only worth two desk jobs, Christian?"
Christian sighed. He walked over to Hester, who was still leaning against Elba. He lowered his voice, making it sound incredibly sincere.
"Hester, if you are strong enough to stand by this family and maintain the engagement through the election, I promise you this: you will be the youngest cabinet member in the history of Washington."
Hester kept her head bowed. She let out a soft, shaky breath, playing the role of a girl overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the power being offered to her.
"I... I don't need a cabinet seat, Mr. President," Hester whispered, her voice trembling perfectly. "I just don't want Domenic to hurt me anymore."
Christian smiled. It was a patronizing, victorious smile. He thought he had her completely figured out-a naive, easily bought child.
"He will never touch you again. You have my word," Christian said. He looked at Elba. "The engagement stands. It is what's best for all of us."
Elba looked at her husband's smug face. She hated him in that moment more than she ever had. But she was a Stanton. She knew how to play the long game.
"I expect those appointments finalized by tomorrow," Elba said coldly.
Christian nodded. He signaled the agents to drag Domenic away, and then he swept out of the room with his detail, leaving Elba and Hester alone.
The silence in the room was heavy.
Elba turned to Hester and pulled her into a fierce hug. "I am so sorry, Hester," Elba whispered, her voice breaking. "I should have protected you. I should have ended it."
Hester rested her chin on Elba's shoulder. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but her voice was steady.
"It's okay, Aunt Elba. I know the family needs the Pentagon seats. I can endure this."
Elba squeezed her tighter, swearing to herself that she would burn the world down before she let Domenic near her niece again.
Hester smiled into the fabric of Elba's blouse. She didn't want to break the engagement. If she left the White House now, she would lose her access. She needed to stay right here, in the belly of the beast.
Elba called for the maids, ordering them to draw a hot bath in Hester's guest suite and posting two Secret Service agents at her door.
Hester allowed the maids to guide her toward the exit. She walked slowly, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.
As she reached the doorway, Hester paused. She looked back at the marble pillar. Tricia's blood was still smeared across the white stone.
Hester's eyes were completely devoid of pity. She turned and walked down the hall, ready for the real war to begin.
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7.2
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9.5
On the day she discovers she is pregnant, Amara is handed divorce papers by the man she loved for three years. Betrayed by her husband and her best friend, she walks away with nothing-except the secret growing inside her.
But what Ethan Cole doesn't know is that the woman he abandoned is not weak... and not alone.
When Amara returns as a powerful heiress, no longer the woman he could control, Ethan begins to regret everything. But as secrets unravel and the truth about her pregnancy comes closer to light, one question remains-
When he finally finds out the child is his... will it already be too late?
8.9
At my million-dollar wedding to the Hoffman heir, the priest was interrupted by a ringing phone.
My groom, Elijah, didn't silence it. He answered it right at the altar, yanked his arm from my grasp, and walked out because his "true love" Jalyn needed him.
I was left standing alone in front of three hundred elite guests, blinded by mocking camera flashes. My own mother rolled her eyes in disgust, later threatening to freeze my trust fund and sell me to a notorious playboy to recoup her losses. Elijah even had the nerve to call me, demanding I take the blame for the canceled wedding to save his PR, while live news feeds showed him cradling a fragile Jalyn in the hospital.
I had spent two years bending over backward to be his perfect bride, only to be discarded like trash. What made it sicker was finding out that Jalyn's sudden "medical emergency" was actually a ruptured cyst caused by having vigorous sex with Elijah right before he walked down the aisle.
I refused to let them destroy me.
Kicking off my six-inch heels, I stepped down from the altar and walked straight to the back row where Cristian Lowe sat. He was the ruthless iceberg of Wall Street and Elijah's most terrifying rival.
I looked up at his sharp jawline and asked the craziest question of my life.
"Will you marry me?"
He stood up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
"As you wish."
9.3
Elliana sat on the cold marble floor, staring at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test. Overjoyed, she went to her husband Garrett’s study to surprise him.
But the room was empty. On his iPad, she accidentally opened a muted security video from the night before. As a graphic novelist trained in facial anatomy, she easily read Garrett’s lips as he spoke to their housekeeper.
"Increase the hallucinogens and the birth control. Let her become a complete lunatic."
The truth shattered her reality. Her three years of inexplicable exhaustion and mental collapses were orchestrated to keep her away from her ex-fiancé, who was now married to Garrett’s sister, Cristina. The nightmare worsened during a horrific highway crash. As their SUV flipped and caught fire, Garrett ruthlessly abandoned a pregnant Elliana in the crushed backseat. He dragged Cristina to safety, leaving Elliana to burn. She survived, but her right hand—her drawing hand—was permanently destroyed.
Lying in the hospital with her career ruined and her intellectual property stolen by the husband who forged her signature while she was drugged, a freezing void of hatred consumed her. She was nothing but a sedated decoy to hide Garrett's twisted, incestuous obsession with his own sister.
When Garrett knelt by her hospital bed with fake tears, Elliana didn't scream or expose him. Instead, she forced a pathetic, dependent smile, playing the perfect broken wife. She was going back to his penthouse to steal his encrypted files, ready to feed him to Manhattan's most cutthroat divorce lawyer and watch his empire burn.
7.6
Elliana Lewis lay dying on the freezing concrete of a federal penitentiary, her ribs shattered by a guard's heavy boot.
She had been flawlessly framed for murder by the one person she trusted with her life: her sweet, innocent stepsister, Jovita.
During her final prison visit, Jovita wore their mother's diamonds and smiled cruelly behind the glass. She revealed she had liquidated the family company, caused their father's stroke, and paid the guards to ensure Elliana suffered a grueling, agonizing death.
"Your marriage was a joke from day one, Ellie. You have nothing left."
As her lungs stopped, the tragic truth finally dawned on Elliana. She had spent months screaming for a divorce and publicly humiliating her billionaire husband, Damon Stirling, believing his silence was weakness. She didn't realize until it was too late that his endless tolerance was the deepest form of protection. She had pushed away the only man who would have burned the world down to keep her safe.
Why had she been so incredibly stupid? Why did she blindly trust a monster and destroy the only person who truly loved her?
Then, a blinding light pierced her retinas. Elliana bolted upright, gasping for air on a massive, king-sized bed.
There was no pain. No broken bones. The digital clock on the nightstand flashed a date from exactly ten years ago.
It was the morning after her disastrous wedding night.
This time, she would tear Jovita's life apart piece by piece. And she would hold onto Damon so tightly that nothing could ever pry them apart.
8.8
Sold for scraps.Saved by a monster. Destined to rule them all.
Faith is a "Dud", a wolfless orphan living in the shadows of the trenches. Treated as a servant by her own family, she hides a mind more brilliant than any Alpha's instinct. But in the process of winning a life-changing scholarship, she is betrayed. Drugged and sold to traffickers by her own aunt, Faith thought her life was over -until she falls from a third-story window and lands on the hood of a car that belongs to the most dangerous man in the country.
Killian Nightshade. Billionaire. Alpha of the Blackwood Pack. A man who rules with ice in his veins and power in his hands.
Killian doesn't do favors. He makes investments. He claims Faith as his "Personal Shadow" to work off the debt of his ruined car. But as he forces her into the shark-infested waters of the North Elite Academy, he finds himself breaking his own rule: Never get attached to the help.
While Faith battles ruthless bullies and the predatory interest of Killian's rival, Silas, a twenty-year-old secret begins to stir in her blood. She isn't just a Dud. She is a legend. And when the girl who was sold for scraps finally shifts, the entire werewolf world will have to decide: Will they bow to their new Queen, or be burned by her fire?