The Fake Heiress Cancels Her Engagement
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I woke up in a luxurious private medical room, only to be hit with a crushing realization.
I had transmigrated into a novel as the fake heiress of the McConnell family, destined to be the ultimate villain.
In the original plot, I viciously bullied the real daughter who grew up in a trailer park, and tortured my adopted brother by using him as a living blood bank.
When the truth came out, my fiancé abandoned me, my family threw me away, and the brother I tormented eventually left me to bleed to death in a dark alley.
Right now, the timeline had just reached the deadly turning point.
The real heiress had been brought home, wearing faded rags and mercilessly mocked by our relatives.
My vicious cousin had secretly handed me corrosive acid disguised as expensive skincare, hoping I would melt my own face off.
Worse, an anonymously leaked audio of me admitting my fake identity had just gone viral, causing a massive corporate scandal.
My elite fiancé immediately marched into the penthouse with his lawyers, throwing the cancellation documents on the glass table.
"The Vance family does not merge assets with a fraud. We don't marry fake bloodlines."
Everyone waited for me to break down, beg, and viciously attack the real daughter like a hysterical thief clinging to a stolen life.
They thought I would willingly walk right back into my predetermined, gruesome death.
Instead, I calmly pulled off the five-carat diamond ring, dropped it on the table, and turned to expose the cousin's trap to protect the real heiress.
This time, I am rewriting the script.
The Fake Heiress Cancels Her Engagement Chapter 1
The harsh scent of rubbing alcohol burned the back of her throat.
Diana dragged her eyelids open. The harsh, sterile fluorescent lights above sent a violent stab of pain directly behind her eyes. Her vision swam. The room tilted.
A sharp, rhythmic throbbing hammered against the base of her skull. She sucked in a harsh breath, her lungs fighting against the sudden influx of cold air.
Beep.
The steady, mechanical sound of an intravenous drip pump echoed in the quiet room.
Diana forced her stiff neck to turn. The crisp Egyptian cotton sheets rustled against her skin. Her gaze swept past the silver medical trays and locked onto a leather medical chair less than three feet away.
A boy sat there.
He was painfully thin. His pale skin looked almost translucent under the harsh lights. Thick leather straps bound his wrists and ankles to the heavy chair.
A thick, large-gauge needle pierced the fragile skin of his inner elbow, buried deep into his vein.
Dark red blood pulsed through a clear plastic tube. It flowed rapidly, pooling into a sterile collection bag hanging below the armrest.
A man in a pristine white lab coat stood over him. Dr. Evans. He adjusted the flow valve with practiced, clinical precision, completely ignoring the human being attached to the machine.
The boy, Jorden, didn't flinch. His dark eyes were entirely hollow, staring blankly at the ceiling tiles. His jaw was locked tight, a muscle ticking faintly near his ear, but he offered no other reaction to the needle invading his body.
Then, the memories hit her.
It wasn't a gentle realization. It was a physical blow to the head. Seventeen years of someone else's life crashed into her brain. The extravagant parties. The cruelty. The name of the book: The Rules of Fifth Avenue Socialites.
Her stomach violently heaved. Acid burned the back of her throat.
She was the fake heiress. The villain. The one who ended up dead in the gutter.
Her heart rate skyrocketed. The ECG monitor beside her bed immediately picked up the panic, emitting a rapid, piercing alarm that shattered the sterile silence.
Dr. Evans paused. He turned his head, his hands leaving the blood valve.
He looked at Diana and offered a polished, sickeningly professional smile.
"The biological asset is ready, Miss McConnell. Your exclusive blood supply is prepped for transfusion whenever you feel weak."
Diana stared at the blood bag. It was warm. It was full of a teenage boy's life.
A wave of intense, physiological nausea hit her so hard she gagged.
She didn't think. She just moved.
Diana ripped the cashmere blanket off her body. She ignored the IV needle taped to the back of her own hand and yanked it out. A hot trickle of her own blood ran down her knuckles.
Her bare feet hit the freezing Italian marble floor.
The cold shot up her legs. Her knees buckled under the sudden weight, her muscles trembling from the concussion and weakness. She stumbled forward, her shoulder slamming hard into the edge of a metal tray.
"Miss McConnell!" Dr. Evans gasped, dropping his clipboard. He rushed forward, reaching out to support her arms.
Diana shoved his hands away. Her palms slammed against his chest, pushing him back with every ounce of strength she had left.
She lunged toward the apheresis machine.
Her trembling fingers found the large, red emergency stop button on the control panel. She slammed her palm down on it.
The machine let out a long, high-pitched whine. The internal pumps ground to a halt. The dark blood in the clear tube stopped moving.
Dr. Evans stared at her, his eyes wide with shock.
"Miss McConnell, what are you doing? Why did you interrupt the procedure?"
Diana gripped the edge of the machine to keep herself standing. Her chest heaved. She dug her fingernails into her palms until the pain grounded her.
"Pull the needle out." Her voice was hoarse, raw, but laced with absolute authority.
Dr. Evans blinked, confused. "Excuse me?"
"Pull the damn needle out of his arm, Evans. Now."
For the first time since she woke up, the boy in the chair moved.
Jorden slowly lowered his head. The deadness in his eyes seemed to ripple with a faint trace of confusion, a subtle fracture in his hollow mask, as if he couldn't comprehend why the person who constantly tormented him was suddenly protecting him.
Before anyone could speak, the sharp, rapid clicking of high heels echoed from the marble hallway outside.
The sound was fast. Angry. Approaching the door.
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The Fake Heiress Cancels Her Engagement of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
9.4
I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage.
But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death.
As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket.
Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her.
Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved.
I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies.
They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die.
I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred.
Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me?
Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12.
It was exactly three days before the world ended.
When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly.
"Just tell me where to send the money, Mom."
This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry.
7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
8.6
I woke up choking on rotting air in an alien jungle, surrounded by giant bioluminescent ferns and a three-eyed, armor-plated beast charging straight at me.
Before the monster could tear me apart, I was saved by a squad of men with metallic wings and laser rifles, but my nightmare was just beginning.
When they brought me back to their high-tech military base, every soldier we passed stopped dead, staring at me with a feverish, starving hunger that made my skin crawl.
In the medical wing, a manic doctor bypassed all protocol, pulling out a wicked silver needle to forcibly extract my blood, looking at me not as a patient, but as a winning lottery ticket.
Even their highest-ranking commander, a giant, scarred Admiral, immediately tried to claim me, demanding I be moved into his personal bedroom for "protection."
I didn't understand why I was being treated like a caged miracle, nor why a simple, accidental touch of my hand could bring my winged protector to his knees and silence his feral instincts.
"In the Aethel Empire, there are no females," my protector whispered, his icy blue eyes filled with raw desperation. "You are the only one."
The portal that brought me here was fading, trapping me in a universe of eighty billion shapeshifting Alpha males. Looking at the terrifying devotion in his eyes, I realized my life as an ordinary human was over, and to survive this, I had to tame the beasts.
7.4
Briony was devastated when her boyfriend proposed to her best friend in front of her. Not only was she betrayed, but she was also publicly humiliated.
Five years later, she became popular after writing her heartbreaking love story into a novel. Her ex-boyfriend was offended. When he condemned her, she swore she would have nothing to do with him anymore.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Briony accidentally hit a child with her car, who turned out to be the son of Alexander, her ex-boyfriend! As punishment, she was forced to be his nanny until his cast arm healed.
What would happen next? Could she endure the torture from the ex who secretly still wanted her?
9.6
Annabelle lay dying on a rotting mattress in a freezing apartment, her lungs failing from severe malnutrition.
Her phone rang. It was her fiancé, Axel, calling from his lavish wedding—with her best friend, Fay.
"You were just a naive ATM," Axel chuckled over the phone.
He admitted he had drained her trust fund and framed her for the drug scandal that ruined her life.
Fay took the phone, wearing the haute couture wedding dress Annabelle had designed for herself.
"Your parents' private jet crash wasn't an accident," Fay whispered viciously.
The brutal truth shattered Annabelle. She died in pure agony, vomiting blood, her eyes wide open in absolute hatred.
But as her soul floated above her corpse, the door was kicked open by Dangelo Valencia—the arrogant heir she had despised her entire life.
He held her ruined body, sobbing, and ordered his private army to destroy Axel and Fay, sending them to prison.
Then, Dangelo collapsed, dying from a military shrapnel wound he got just to prove his worth after she had cruelly rejected him years ago.
Watching him bleed out for her, Annabelle's soul screamed in excruciating guilt.
Why had she blindly trusted a parasite who murdered her family, while destroying the only man who would burn the world down to avenge her?
When she opened her eyes again, she was back in her pristine high school uniform.
She had returned to the exact day she was supposed to fund Axel's startup.
This time, she ripped his business plan to shreds and walked straight out to find Dangelo.
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.
