The Devil's Heir at Blackwell Academy
Jane Carter was supposed to be grateful.
Her mother's billionaire boyfriend, Richard Hale, plucked them from a leaking two-bedroom apartment and dropped them into the elite Blackwell Academy, it felt like winning the lottery. But at Blackwell, the air is thin and the students have "sharper teeth".
Standing in her way is Edmund Hale, the school's arrogant prince and her new stepbrother. He's cold, lethal, and determined to see Jane break. But as Jane uncovers the truth behind her father's imprisonment and the dark "Mountain View" clinic where the Hales hide their secrets, she realizes Edmund isn't just her rival, he's a fellow prisoner.
In a house built on lies and a school ruled by status, Jane must decide: Will she play the part of the perfect, grateful daughter, or will she team up with the boy who hates her to light the whole gilded cage on fire, as a forbidden love grows between them?.
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Chapter 1
The iron gates of Blackwell Academy didn't just open; they hissed, a hydraulic sigh of welcome that was more like a warning.
I stood on the sidewalk for a full minute, my fingers tracing the frayed strap of my thrift-store backpack. Behind me lay the city I knew,the smell of exhaust, the rhythm of the subway, and the ghost of the girl I used to be. Ahead of me lay a movie set.
The campus was a strange mix of old brick and perfectly trimmed hedges. Students moved in groups, draped in the school's signature navy and silver, their confidence radiating like heat.
They didn't walk; they glided, possessed by the easy grace that comes from a life where every door is already unlocked.
"You belong here, Jane," my mother had said that morning, her voice fluttering with a desperate kind of hope as she straightened my collar for the fifth time. Her hands had smelled like the expensive floral perfume Richard had bought her, a scent that didn't quite cover the faint lingering aroma of the diner grease she'd lived in for a decade.
"Mr. Hale didn't offer to pay your tuition out of pity. He sees your potential".
Richard. My mother's boyfriend of six months. The man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere to rescue us from a two-bedroom apartment that leaked whenever it rained. To her, he was a hero. To me, he was a question mark with a very high credit limit.
I shook the thought away and stepped onto the gravel path. Every crunch under my boots felt too loud, like I was breaking a silence that should not be disturbed.
Blackwell was my dream, the golden ticket I'd spent late nights at the library working for. Now that I was here, the air felt thin, like I was climbing a mountain without enough oxygen.
The interior of the main building smelled of lemon-scented floor polish and the subtle, metallic tang of money. I checked my crumpled schedule: AP Literature, Room 301.
When I found the room, it buzzed with the low, rhythmic chatter of reunited friends. I scanned the rows.
Most were full, occupied by kids who sat with their legs crossed just so, their laptops already open and glowing. Then, I saw it...an empty desk by the window in the second row. A sliver of morning light hit the mahogany surface.
I slid into the seat, the wood cool against my palms, and pulled out my notebook. I was just beginning to breathe when a shadow fell across my paper.
"Excuse me."
I looked up. Standing there was a girl who looked like she'd been born in a boardroom. Her blonde hair was a liquid sheet of gold, and she was mid-shrug as she pulled on a cashmere sweater, looking down at me as if I were a stain she couldn't quite scrub out.
"Yeah?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
"You're in Edmund's seat".
I paused. "Edmund?".
She blinked, her expression shifting from annoyance to genuine disbelief, as if I'd just asked who the sun was.
"Edmund Hale?".
The name hit me like a physical weight. At home, Edmund was a ghost,a name Richard mentioned in passing, a son who was always at a debate tournament or a crew meet. Here, the name was a title.
"I don't see his name on it," I said, leaning back and crossing my arms.
"You can't just..." she started, her face flushing a deep, indignant pink.
"Is there a problem, Jessica?".
The teacher, Ms. Peterson...a woman with sharp silver hair and glasses that seemed to magnify her scrutinizing gaze,stood at the front of the room.
"She's in Edmund's seat, Ms. Peterson," Jessica said, pointing a manicured finger at me.
"I see that." Ms. Peterson's eyes shifted to me.
"And you are?".
"Jane Carter. I'm new".
"Welcome, Jane. That seat is perfectly fine. Edmund can sit elsewhere today".
Jessica looked like she'd been slapped. She opened her mouth, saw the finality in the teacher's expression, and retreated to her friends, her whispers trailing behind her like a toxic vapor.
I tried to focus on my books, but the back of my neck prickled. I could feel the eyes,heavy, judging, and curious.
The bell rang, a sharp, authoritative chime. Ms. Peterson began to speak about the summer reading, but the momentum of her lecture was cut short by the door swinging open.
The room didn't just go quiet; it pressurized. Everyone straightened their spines.
A boy walked in, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing the charcoal school blazer with an effortless, bored arrogance. His hair was dark, his jawline sharp enough to draw blood.
He didn't look at the teacher. He didn't look at the class. He walked straight toward me and stopped, his presence blotting out the window's light.
"You're in my seat," he said. His voice was a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards.
I looked up, meeting a pair of eyes that were the color of a winter sea. "Hi to you," I replied.
His brows twitched. "I've sat here for three years".
"Congrats on your consistency," I said, a small, dangerous spark of defiance lighting up in my chest.
A muffled laugh erupted from the back of the room, quickly silenced by a glare from Jessica.
Edmund didn't laugh. He leaned down slightly, his shadow engulfing my desk.
"Move," he said, the word clipped and final.
"Mr. Hale," Ms. Peterson interrupted without looking up from her roster. "There are plenty of other seats. Choose one".
For a long moment, Edmund didn't move. He stared at me, searching for a flinch that I refused to give him.
Finally, he reached for the empty desk directly behind me and dragged it across the floor with a screech of metal on wood that made half the class wince.
He sat down, and the air behind me felt heavy with his focused, silent heat.
"Now," Ms. Peterson continued as if the world hadn't just shifted on its axis. "Let's discuss The Great Gatsby. Jane, since you're new, why don't you start? What did you think of Nick Carraway as a narrator?".
The spotlight was blinding. I took a breath, thinking of the way Richard looked at my mother-with a kindness that felt like a mask.
"He's unreliable," I said, my voice gaining strength. "He claims he's nonjudgmental, but he spends the whole book judging everyone. He's complicit in everything that happens, but he pretends he's just an observer".
"Interesting," Ms. Peterson said, leaning against her desk. "And why do you think Fitzgerald made that choice?".
"Because that's what people do," I said, and for a second, I wasn't in a classroom.
I was in my old kitchen, watching my father being led away in handcuffs while the neighbors watched from behind their curtains.
"We tell ourselves we're good people while we watch bad things happen and do nothing about it".
The silence that followed was heavy. Then, from directly behind me, came a voice that was smooth as silk and cold as ice.
"I think Nick is more complicated than that," Edmund said. I could almost hear the smirk in his tone.
"He's caught between two worlds. He recognizes the corruption, but he's drawn to it anyway. That's not complicity, Jane. That's being human".
I turned in my seat to look at him. "So you're saying he's innocent?".
"I'm saying he's flawed," Edmund countered, leaning forward until we were only inches apart. "There's a difference".
"Flawed is forgetting someone's birthday," I snapped back. "Standing by while people destroy each other is a choice".
"Easy to judge from the outside," he said, his eyes narrowing.
"Easy to make excuses when you relate to him".
Edmund's face hardened, the bored mask finally cracking. "You don't know anything about me".
"I know entitled when I see it," I said.
Ms. Peterson clapped her hands, looking far more delighted than a teacher should. "Alright! I can see this year will be interesting. Let's continue".
The rest of the class was a blur of literary analysis, but my heart wouldn't stop hammering against my ribs. When the bell finally rang, I scrambled to shove my books into my bag, desperate to escape the gravitational pull of the boy behind me.
"Jane Carter."
I froze. I turned slowly to find Edmund standing there, his backpack slung over one shoulder with practiced negligence.
"What?".
He stepped closer, his presence commanding the hallway. "You're going to want to watch yourself here".
"Is that a threat?".
"It's advice," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This school has rules. Social hierarchies. You don't just walk in and disrupt things".
I tightened my grip on my bag and looked him dead in the eye. "Or what?".
Edmund leaned slightly closer, his scent...something like cedar and expensive soap, filling my senses. "Or you'll find out why I've been at the top for three years".
"Looking forward to it," I said, and I walked past him before he could notice that my hands were beginning to shake.
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7.9
For ten years, I was the invisible backbone of the Silver Creek Pack.
I cooked the books to hide Alpha Ethan's gambling debts. I ghostwrote the peace treaties that kept our borders safe. I warmed his bed every night, waiting for the bite that would mark me as his Luna.
On the night of our tenth anniversary, I didn't get a ring.
I got replaced.
Ethan walked into the gala with Ashley, a wealthy heiress dripping in gold, clinging to his arm.
When I tried to speak to him, he didn't just ignore me. He used an Alpha Command—a biological weapon that hijacked my free will.
"Go to the kitchen," he ordered, forcing my knees to hit the floor in front of the entire pack. "Ashley is sensitive to the smell of stress. You're ruining her night."
He humiliated me in the house I helped build. He wore the crown I polished for him, thinking I was nothing more than a glorified housekeeper he could discard at will.
He forgot that while he held the title, I held the passwords.
I didn't go to the kitchen. I went to the office.
I initiated a permanent wipe of the cloud backups, reformatted the local servers, and deleted ten years of financial strategies.
Then, I snapped the mate bond and walked out into the rain.
Three days later, I walked back into the conference room.
Ethan laughed, thinking I was there to beg for my job back.
I threw a foreclosure contract onto the table.
"I'm not here to serve drinks, Ethan. I'm the new owner of your debt. Get out of my chair."
9.0
After giving birth, I lost my beauty when I started gaining weight in all the wrong places.
Stretch marks. Soft stomach. Tired eyes.
The same body that carried our child became the body my husband couldn't stand to look at.
"I can't take you anywhere like this."
That was what Marcus Hawthorne my powerful, untouchable CEO husband said to me the night he stopped bringing me to events.
The whispers started after that.
She let herself go.
He deserves better.
How embarrassing for a man like him.
I heard them all.
And Marcus?
He never defended me.
Instead, he grew colder crueler and distant each day.
The same man I sacrificed my everything for made me feel like I was no longer worth loving.
And when tragedy struck and I lost the only thing keeping me togheter -our child.
I realized the bitter truth not only was I meant to grieve a failed marriage alone but a dead child too because Marcus didn't hesitate to replace us with his new family.
And that was the breaking point for me.
Determined to start over, I fled the country for my own sanity.
Worked on the weight that had made me feel unattractive.
Rebuilt the career I had abandoned for love until I became the successful woman I was always meant to be.
Now seven years later I'm back.
And guess who can't take his eyes of my new body?
Marcus!
Only he isn't the man I left behind. He's now being haunted with a very serious problem.
One that only I could help him with and he's ready to do whatever it takes to get me back.
But here's the problem.
The woman who would have forgiven him no longer exists.
And this woman here?
She's not sure if she want to have anything to do with him again.
9.3
Mark & Alex
9.3
Mark Windsor, Australia's most feared and respected CEO, has built walls as high as his empire. After losing his parents, the only warmth left in his life comes from Mary Smith, the woman who cooks his meals and feels more like home than family ever did.
When Mary's son Alex visits the estate, Mark doesn't expect the sharp-tongued, smiling graduate to unsettle him. Alex doesn't expect to fall for the man who owns the house he lives in or the company he refuses to work for.
Forced proximity, secret glances, late-night conversations, and quiet meals slowly turn into something dangerous. When Alex finally joins Mark's company on his own merit, love becomes a risk neither of them can afford.
In a world where reputation matters more than truth, Mark and Alex must decide if love is worth the fall.
8.3
Alena landed at JFK, eager to call her fiancé of three years.
But a sudden message from her best friend shattered her world: a high-resolution photo of Darrin passionately kissing another woman. The woman was Katrina, her older sister.
Alena rushed to the grand ballroom and confronted them in front of New York's elite. Instead of an apology, her own mother slapped her across the face.
"You jealous, spiteful girl. Trying to ruin your sister's happiness because you can't handle your own failures."
Darrin coldly wrapped a protective arm around Katrina. The nightmare worsened when they ambushed Alena at her apartment, demanding she sign an NDA to cover up the affair and save their family's failing business. If she refused, her father threatened to tell her frail grandfather the truth, knowing the shock would trigger a fatal heart attack.
Alena was suffocated by the sheer magnitude of the betrayal. Her family was weaponizing the only person who truly loved her, treating her like a disposable pawn to protect the sister who stole her life. How could her own flesh and blood be so sickeningly cruel?
Cornered and entirely out of options, Alena pulled a matte-black business card from her pocket.
It belonged to Andrew Spencer, the ruthless billionaire who had rescued her from the freezing rain, and the apex predator Darrin feared most. He had offered her a transactional marriage. If her family wanted to destroy her, she would become their worst nightmare. She picked up her phone and dialed his number.
7.0
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.
9.2
I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it-she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future.
"Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother's trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead.
I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent-or finish me off for good.
I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything.
I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it.
"I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing."
He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father's entire empire.