The Abandoned Heiress Is A Secret Zillionaire
Seventeen years after going missing, Brooklyn was finally brought back to her ultra-wealthy biological family.
But instead of a tearful reunion, her parents and sisters treated her like infectious garbage, mocking her cheap clothes and calling her a country bumpkin.
They dumped her into a remedial class to hide her away, cut off her allowance, and threatened to lock down her trust fund to force her into absolute submission.
One night, Brooklyn stood in the shadows of the estate and overheard a conversation that shattered everything.
She hadn't wandered off as a child.
Her parents had deliberately thrown her away because a fake fortune teller claimed her birth chart was a jinx to the family's wealth.
They felt zero remorse, only plotting to banish her again the moment she turned eighteen.
Her biological father thought he was putting a leash on a helpless, uneducated girl by cutting off her pocket change.
He had no idea that Brooklyn was the anonymous VIP who casually dropped sixty million dollars on an emerald at the city's most exclusive auction.
He didn't know she was the elusive medical genius that the world's most powerful billionaires were currently tearing the city apart to find.
The last microscopic shred of hope for a family withered into cold ash in her chest.
"Lock down my trust fund?"
She pulled out her encrypted phone and activated her shadow networks, severing herself entirely from their pathetic surveillance.
Since they believed she was a jinx, she was going to show them exactly what a real curse looked like.
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Chapter 2
The morning sun sliced through the gap in the heavy curtains, hitting Brooklyn right in the eyes.
She was already awake. She had been awake for hours, listening to the faint, muffled voices drifting up from the floor below.
She pushed herself off the mattress. She didn't bother opening her suitcase. She pulled the exact same washed-out denim jacket from the chair, slipped it on, and walked out the door. Her footsteps made absolutely no sound on the thick carpet.
As she neared the dining room archway, Harmony's shrill voice pierced the air.
"Grandma, how can she live here? My friends are going to laugh me out of the city!"
Estelle's raspy voice followed. "That was your mother's brilliant idea. This house is losing all its standards."
Brooklyn stepped into the archway.
The dining room went instantly quiet. Every head snapped toward her. The air grew thick with a toxic mix of disgust, scrutiny, and Diana's suffocating guilt.
Diana jumped up from her chair, her napkin falling to the floor. "Brooklyn! Come, eat breakfast." She hurriedly pulled out a chair near the center of the long mahogany table.
Brooklyn didn't look at her. She walked straight past Diana and pulled out the chair at the absolute far end of the table, putting maximum physical distance between herself, Estelle at the head, and Harmony.
A maid in a black-and-white uniform immediately stepped forward, placing a porcelain plate of delicate French pastries and eggs in front of her.
Brooklyn stared at the perfectly plated food. She picked up a piece of dry toast and took a slow, deliberate bite. The crunch was loud in the silent room.
Harmony leaned over, speaking loudly enough for the entire room to hear. "Some people chew like animals. I guess you can't wash the country stench off."
Kristen kept her head down, taking a tiny sip of her juice, but her lips twitched upward into a hidden smile.
Bryan dropped his silver fork onto his plate with a sharp clatter. He scowled.
Brooklyn swallowed the dry bread. She didn't look up from her plate. Her voice was steady and completely devoid of emotion.
"If it hurts your eyes, stop looking."
Harmony choked on her breath, her face turning red. She opened her mouth to scream, but Estelle tapped her crystal water glass with a spoon.
"Eat!" Estelle commanded, glaring at Brooklyn.
Bryan grabbed his linen napkin and wiped his mouth aggressively. He locked eyes with Brooklyn, his tone strictly business.
"Since you're back, you follow the rules of this house," Bryan snapped. "From now on, you don't wander around without my permission. You don't bring outsiders here. And you absolutely do not embarrass this family."
Brooklyn slowly lifted her eyes. Her gaze hit him like a physical blow-cold, heavy, and completely unbothered.
"Embarrass?" Brooklyn repeated quietly. "You mean like sitting around a table gossiping about your own family behind their backs?"
Bryan's face darkened instantly. The veins in his neck bulged. "You-"
Estelle slammed her hand on the table. "Insolent!"
Diana waved her hands frantically, her voice shaking. "Bryan, please! She just got here, she's not used to-"
"Used to?" Bryan roared, cutting Diana off. "She doesn't want to fit in! Look at her, Diana! This is your perfect daughter!"
Brooklyn pushed her chair back. The wooden legs scraped harshly against the floor. She dropped her linen napkin onto the table.
"I'm done," she said.
She turned and walked out of the dining room. Behind her, Harmony muttered the word "bumpkin," and Estelle let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. Brooklyn didn't miss a step.
She made it halfway down the corridor when she heard the frantic clicking of heels.
Diana grabbed her forearm. Her grip was tight, her palms sweaty. "Brooklyn, please. They just... they need time."
Brooklyn stopped. She turned her head and looked down at Diana's hand clutching her jacket. A flicker of something dark and complex crossed Brooklyn's eyes, but it was gone in a millisecond, replaced by a wall of ice.
"Time doesn't cure prejudice, ma'am," Brooklyn said.
She didn't say Mom. She said ma'am.
Diana's breath hitched. Her hand went limp, dropping away from Brooklyn's arm as if she had been burned.
Brooklyn turned and walked away, leaving Diana frozen in the hallway.
The moment Brooklyn closed her bedroom door, her phone vibrated against her thigh. She pulled it out.
Garret: The invitation for the MK Auction House just arrived. Tomorrow at 3 PM.
Brooklyn stared at the screen. The tightness in her chest loosened slightly. Received, she typed back. A spark of genuine interest finally lit up her eyes.
Downstairs, the dining room was still tense.
Estelle leaned close to Bryan. "That girl's eyes are wrong. They're too cold. It's not normal. She makes my skin crawl."
Bryan waved a dismissive hand. "What's there to worry about? She's an uneducated brat. The problem is keeping her away from Harmony and Kristen so she doesn't drag them down."
Kristen set her fork down gently and looked up, her expression the picture of innocence.
"Dad," Kristen said softly. "If she just stays hidden in the house, people will talk. They'll say we're ashamed of her. Why don't we... send her to school? That way she's out of the house, and it shows the family hasn't given up on her."
Estelle's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant idea. St. Jude's Prep. It's far away, and they have strict discipline."
Bryan nodded slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Done. I'll call Dean Holloway today."
At the top of the stairs, Diana stood gripping the wooden banister. Her knuckles were white. She heard every word of their plan to exile her daughter, but her throat was completely closed. She couldn't force a single sound out.
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8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
7.6
The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage.
8.9
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.
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.
8.9
For three years, Alana acted as the sole tactical brain for the Dawnbreaker squad, keeping them alive despite being labeled a useless "Dud" Conduit.
But right before the crucial Ascension Trials, squad leader Cash handed her a corporate sponsorship contract. The condition? She had to become the "private companion" to a greasy corporate heir just so the squad could get high-tier gear.
When she refused, the teammates she had bled for unanimously voted to kick her out.
"You're just window dressing, a liability."
They revoked her safehouse access, burned her belongings, and the academy advisor even tried to force her into a state-sanctioned breeding program. They left her to freeze in the slums, betting she would desperately crawl into the rich man's bed.
What they didn't know was that her inability to summon an Eidolon wasn't a lack of talent. Her teammate Dallin had been secretly sabotaging her rituals for years, crippling her potential just to keep her chained as their free tactician.
Stripped of everything and pushed to the absolute brink, Alana's despair morphed into a deadly resolve.
Using a million-credit black market loan and a forbidden blood matrix, she forcibly anchored an Apex-Tier cosmic wolf disguised as a harmless silver pup.
When her ex-squad tried to publicly humiliate her and burn her new "pet" alive in the cafeteria, a flash of silver light severed Dallin's hand instantly.
Looking at her screaming former teammates, Alana finally smiled.
8.8
Alaia Dudley spent her life playing the devoted partner, completely unaware that her fiancé Austen was sleeping with another woman.
She thought the worst he could do was break her heart, until she found herself pinned to a cold operating table.
Austen held her down with a cruel smirk while a scalpel sliced through her sternum.
They cracked her chest open while she was still fully conscious.
The agonizing pain of her heart being cut out burned into her nerve endings.
She realized then that to him, she was never a lover—just a spare organ, a boring piece of wood to be discarded the second his true love needed it.
She died in excruciating agony, choking on her own blood while the man she loved walked away with her heart.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand why she had to suffer so brutally.
Why did she waste her life begging for a monster's attention? Why did they get a happy ending while she was carved up like an animal?
But then, ice-cold water flooded her lungs, and Alaia violently broke the surface of her bathwater.
Her trembling fingers touched her smooth, flawless chest. No scars. Her heart was still beating.
The date on her phone glared back at her: it was exactly five years ago.
Tonight was the exact night Austen first took his mistress to a hotel room.
This time, she wouldn't just expose them. She would use Wall Street's most terrifying tyrant as her personal weapon to strip them of everything they had.