
The Disowned Heiress And Her Billionaire Protector
9.3 / 10.0
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I was the rightful heir to the Valenzuela estate, but my aunt and cousin treated me worse than a stray dog.
On a freezing rainy night, they forged documents to strip me of my trust fund and violently ordered their bodyguards to throw me out.
My cousin snatched the rosewood urn containing my mother's ashes. She smashed it onto the marble floor and maliciously ground the white powder under her stiletto heel.
When Aidan, the elderly butler who had protected me since I was a baby, tried to shield me from their assassins in the storm, he was stabbed in the back.
His hot blood poured over my hands as he died in the muddy puddle, while my aunt's men laughed and raised their blades to finish me off.
They thought I was just a nameless orphan they could easily erase.
The next day, they went to the press, branding me a degenerate thief who ran away, happily preparing to parade around at my grandfather's charity gala using my stolen wealth.
But they didn't know I was rescued from the rain by the most ruthless billionaire in New York, a man willing to burn the city down to protect me.
Staring at my pale reflection in the penthouse mirror, I took a pair of heavy silver scissors and chopped off my long hair.
"From today on, the weak girl is dead. I am Evelena Valenzuela, and I am going to make them bleed for every single thing they took."
The Disowned Heiress And Her Billionaire Protector Chapter 1
The rain battered the stained glass windows of the Valenzuela estate. The sound was deafening. It sounded like heavy stones hitting the glass, completely drowning out the violence happening inside the grand hall.
Two massive private bodyguards twisted Tina's arms behind her back. They dragged her out of the second-floor corridor. Her shoes scraped against the expensive carpet, leaving long, ugly marks.
Tina kicked her legs. She fought with every ounce of strength in her small body. Her arms screamed in pain, but she did not let go of the object against her chest. It was a rosewood urn carved with lily patterns. She curled her body around it, turning herself into a human shield.
The bodyguard on her left grunted in annoyance. He shoved her forward. The force was too much. Tina tumbled down the last few steps of the grand staircase. She hit the marble floor of the hall with a sickening thud.
A sharp pain exploded in her knees. It traveled straight up her spine. Tina bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. She refused to scream. Instead, she immediately curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, wrapping both arms securely around the rosewood urn.
Cathi Finley sat in the single leather sofa by the massive fireplace. She crossed her legs. She slowly swirled the bourbon in her crystal glass. The amber liquid hit the ice cubes, making a soft clinking sound.
Cathi reached into her designer bag. She pulled out a legal document stamped with a heavy red seal. She threw it onto the floor right in front of Tina's face. She smiled. It was a cold, practiced smile. She announced that as of this minute, Tina was stripped of all family rights and evicted from the property.
Tina slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull air into her lungs. She stared at Cathi and asked how she could legally alter the trust fund her grandfather had left specifically for her.
Footsteps echoed from the top of the stairs. Felicia Roberts walked down. She wore an expensive silk robe that trailed behind her. She looked down at Tina and laughed. She called Tina a nameless stray dog who never belonged in this house anyway.
Felicia reached the bottom of the stairs. She walked right up to where Tina was curled on the floor. She raised her foot. She drove the sharp, metal heel of her stiletto directly into Tina's already bleeding knee.
Tina flinched. Her whole body jerked from the fresh wave of agony. But she did not look away. She kept her eyes locked on Felicia, her gaze burning with pure, unfiltered hatred.
Felicia hated that look. It made her stomach twist with anger. She bent down suddenly and grabbed the edge of the rosewood urn in Tina's arms. She yanked it hard.
Tina's survival instinct kicked in. She squeezed the box tighter against her chest. She lunged forward and sank her teeth directly into Felicia's wrist.
Felicia let out a high-pitched scream. She ripped her hand back. Without missing a beat, she swung her other hand and slapped Tina across the face. The sound echoed loudly over the rain.
The slap made Tina's ears ring. A high-pitched whine filled her head. Blood pooled in the corner of her mouth and dripped onto her chin. She ignored the stinging in her cheek. She just hugged the urn closer, like a mother protecting a newborn.
Cathi stopped swirling her drink. Her face hardened. She looked at the bodyguards and ordered them to get to work. She told them to take that cursed rosewood urn and throw it out of her house.
The two men stepped forward. One bodyguard placed his heavy leather shoe squarely on the center of Tina's spine. He pressed down hard, pinning her to the marble. The other man grabbed Tina's hands. He forcefully pried her bloody fingers off the wood, one by one.
The urn was ripped from her grasp. The bodyguard held it up and respectfully handed it over to Felicia.
Tina felt her lungs empty. She let out a desperate, raw scream. She pushed against the heavy shoe on her back, trying to claw her way up from the floor to get her mother back.
Felicia looked at the rosewood urn. A malicious smile spread across her face. She lifted the urn high above her head. She looked right into Tina's eyes, and then she threw it down onto the marble floor with all her might.
A sharp, cracking sound filled the hall. The wooden exterior split open. The ceramic liner inside shattered into a hundred pieces. White ash exploded outward, mixing with the sharp shards of ceramic across the floor.
Tina's pupils dilated. Her brain completely shut down. It felt like a physical hand had reached into her chest and ripped her heart out. She could not breathe.
Lightning flashed outside the window. The harsh white light illuminated the pile of ash on the floor and the completely blank, dead look on Tina's face.
A guttural sob ripped from Tina's throat. It did not sound human. She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, ignoring the pain. She reached out with shaking hands, trying to push the white powder back together.
Felicia stepped back in disgust. Then, she deliberately placed her shoe right in the middle of the ash pile. She ground her heel into it, smearing it across the marble.
Something inside Tina snapped. The numbness vanished, replaced by a rush of boiling heat. She grabbed a large, jagged piece of ceramic from the floor. She lunged forward and slashed it hard across Felicia's calf.
Felicia shrieked. She collapsed onto the floor. Bright red blood instantly soaked into the expensive Persian rug beneath her.
Cathi jumped up from the sofa. Her bourbon spilled onto her hand. Her face turned pale with panic. She screamed at the bodyguards to grab the crazy bitch and break her legs right now.
The bodyguard pulled a steel telescopic baton from his belt. He swung it down hard. The metal connected with the center of Tina's back. Tina coughed violently. A spray of blood hit the floor as she collapsed face-down.
The man raised the metal baton again, aiming for the back of her head. Before he could bring it down, the heavy side door of the hall crashed open.
Aidan Vance, the elderly estate butler, charged into the room. He was holding a double-barreled shotgun. He aimed the dark, hollow barrels directly at the bodyguard's chest.
Aidan's eyes were red and watery. His hands shook slightly, but his voice was loud. He ordered everyone to step back. He swore he would pull the trigger if anyone touched another hair on the girl's head.
Cathi dropped behind the leather sofa. She covered her head and screamed at the guards to kill the old man.
The bodyguards froze, their eyes fixed on the shotgun. Aidan did not waste a second. He grabbed Tina by the back of her shirt and hauled her up. He pulled her behind him, keeping the gun pointed forward as he backed toward the main entrance.
Aidan pushed the heavy oak doors open. The violent wind and freezing rain instantly rushed into the hall. He dragged the heavily bleeding Tina out into the pitch-black storm.
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The Disowned Heiress And Her Billionaire Protector of Contents
New Release Novels

7.8
Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library.
But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor.
"It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting."
He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case."
To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend.
That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery.
When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused.
"Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you."
For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes.
He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game.
The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold.
When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract.
She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent.
This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.

8.6
In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters.
I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone.
Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate.
They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run.
As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance.
"She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed.
"Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back.
I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood.
Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start.
Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room.
Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever.
I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me.
This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.

7.5
To save my family's dying company, I was forced to marry a billionaire I hadn't seen in fourteen years.
But right outside the City Clerk's office, he tossed our marriage certificate at me like a cheap receipt and shoved a four-year-old boy into my arms.
"Your new life has begun. You're on babysitting duty now."
He sneered and left me stranded on the sidewalk. I realized with absolute horror that my new husband was Ellsworth Marshall, the sickly boy I had relentlessly bullied in middle school.
He didn't spend five billion dollars to save the Bradford family. He bought me to execute a slow, suffocating revenge.
He used his orphaned nephew as a pawn, explicitly threatening my father that if I failed to play the perfect, compliant nanny, he would instantly destroy our family's legacy.
He even had his guards lock me out of his Long Island estate on my first night, forcing me to stand in the cold dark just to prove he owned me.
I was trapped in a gilded cage, suffocated by the guilt of my past and the terror of my present.
Why did he involve an innocent child in his twisted vendetta? How much humiliation was enough to pay for my childhood cruelty?
Looking at the terrified little boy clinging to my skirt, I tightened my grip on my suitcase.
If he wanted to destroy my will piece by piece, I had to find a way to survive the monster I created.

7.4
Evelina Barrett was the legitimate daughter, yet she was framed for a disgusting sex scandal, expelled from the Ivy League, and locked out of her late mother's massive trust fund.
While she was thrown out to rot on the streets with a jagged, hideous red scar covering half her face, her father and step-family were throwing a lavish charity gala to celebrate her total ruin.
They laughed as they officially published her disownment notice in the Times to cut her off forever.
"Without the school halo, that ugly freak will be begging on the streets by tomorrow," her sister Aspen sneered.
Her stepmother Annabella toasted to taking out the trash, perfectly happy to steal Evelina's inheritance while ignoring the fact that Evelina knew exactly how they had murdered her mother.
For years, Evelina had been locked in a dark basement, abused by bodyguards, and treated worse than a stray dog.
Why should she, the true heir, suffer in the gutter while the leeches who destroyed her life enjoyed the wealth that rightfully belonged to her?
She refused to be their victim anymore.
Washing away her fake scar to reveal her true, breathtaking face, Evelina blackmailed New York's most lethal billionaire into marriage to secure the ultimate shield.
Then, she put on a black mourning dress, ordered a dark web ghost crew, and climbed into a heavy semi-truck.
At exactly 6:00 PM, she smashed through the iron gates of her family's elegant gala, delivering three pure black coffins directly to the lawn.

8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.

9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.








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