The Fake Heiress: Captured By Her Warden
I was a ghost in the rafters of Sotheby’s, five floors above the most expensive pavement in New York, clutching a ten-million-dollar ledger hidden inside a drop of blood-red agate. I had the perfect exit planned, but I didn't count on Harding Bishop, a security predator who could track a shadow through a rainstorm.
When the exits were sealed and the tactical teams started swarming, I made a split-second choice to survive. I stepped out of the shadows and looked into the eyes of a billionaire socialite searching for her missing daughter, whispering a single, broken word: "Mom?"
Just like that, I wasn't a thief anymore; I was Cassandra Sterling, the heiress who had been gone for five years. But the homecoming was a nightmare. My new "sister" promised to send me back to the gutter, my "father" held a gold-plated pistol to my knee the moment the limo doors closed, and the family patriarch tried to strike me down with his cane just for breathing his air.
Every second was a high-wire act. I had to play the part of a traumatized victim while a ten-million-dollar stone was literally sewn into the raw, bleeding wound on my shoulder. If I moved wrong, I’d bleed out; if I spoke wrong, I’d be buried in the backyard of the Hamptons estate.
Harding Bishop didn't believe a word of it. He moved into the room next to mine, watching my every breath and checking my hands for gun calluses under the guise of protection. He thinks he’s the warden and I’m his prisoner, but he’s about to find out that a cornered rat is the most dangerous thing in the house.
"Sleep tight, Vesper," he whispered as he locked my door, using my real name for the first time.
He thinks he’s won, but he has no idea that I’m already reaching for the Agate hidden under my pillow, ready to burn his empire to the ground.
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Chapter 8
"Chin up! Shoulders back! You walk like a duck!"
The etiquette coach poked Vesper in the back with a ruler.
It was the third day of "rehabilitation." Eleanor was throwing a "Welcome Home" Gala. It was a debutante ball for a grown woman.
Vesper balanced a book on her head. She hated this. She knew how to walk. She had walked into embassies and bank vaults. But she had to play the clumsy girl.
She deliberately tripped. The book fell. She stepped on the coach's foot.
"Ouch! You clumsy little-"
"Problem?"
Harding leaned against the marble column. He was watching her. He was always watching her.
"She is hopeless," the coach huffed.
"She needs a partner," Harding said. He walked onto the parquet floor. He held out his hand. "May I?"
Vesper looked at his hand. It was a trap.
"I don't dance," she said.
"You'll need to dance at the Gala," Harding said. "Unless you plan to hide in the kitchen."
He grabbed her hand. He pulled her close. Too close.
His other hand settled on her lower back. His fingers splayed over her spine. He wasn't just holding her; he was checking for a wire. For a weapon.
"Tango," Harding said to the musician.
The music started. Sharp. Aggressive.
Harding led. He moved with a predatory grace. He spun her.
Vesper followed. Her body knew the steps. She tried to be stiff, to stumble, but Harding was forcing her into the rhythm.
"Stop fighting it," he whispered. "Your muscles know what to do. Muscle memory doesn't lie, Cassandra."
He dipped her. Her hair swept the floor. His face was inches from hers.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm the girl you're harassing," Vesper hissed.
"You're a liar," Harding said. He pulled her up, his chest colliding with hers. "And I'm going to catch you."
"You tried that," Vesper said. "The prints were clean."
"The sample was corrupted," Harding corrected. "And the file your prints did match was a juvenile record conveniently unlocked just minutes after my system rebooted. Which means you're not just a thief. You're a pro."
The music ended. They stood there, breathing hard. The sexual tension was a physical thing, sharp and dangerous.
Vesper pulled away. "I have to get ready."
She ran upstairs.
She checked the guest list on her tablet.
Baron Von Hellsing.
A known black-market buyer. He was coming to the Gala.
This was it. The Crimson Agate was burning a hole in her shoulder. She needed to sell it and vanish.
But she needed a mule.
She found Liam in the garden, smoking.
"Liam," she said. "I have something. From my... travels. A stone. I need to sell it tonight."
Liam's eyes lit up. "Is it real?"
"It's worth more than this house," Vesper said. "I'll give you ten percent if you make the exchange."
Liam grinned. "Deal."
Up in the security room, Harding watched the silent feed. He saw the exchange. He saw Liam's greed.
"Gotcha," Harding whispered.
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7.1
Princess Aurelia Blackwood has spent her entire life learning how to obey.
As the sole heir to a modern royal dynasty, her future has already been written, strategic alliances, a public marriage, and a crown that allows no room for personal desire. Love is a luxury she was never meant to claim.
Everything changes the day she meets Dr. Elara Voss, the academy's newest senior lecturer.
Calm, brilliant, and devastatingly attractive, Elara represents everything Aurelia should avoid. Their connection is immediate, unsettling, and impossible to ignore. What begins as restrained conversation and stolen glances soon deepens into something far more dangerous, an emotional bond that threatens duty, reputation, and the crown itself.
The age gap, the hierarchy, and the rules of the monarchy stand firmly between them. When their forbidden relationship is exposed, Aurelia is forced to choose between the life she was born to live and the woman she was never meant to love.
Because some hearts are not meant to be ruled.
Some crowns are meant to be rewritten.
And some love stories are worth breaking tradition for.
8.5
Elara spent three years invisible in her marriage to billionaire Damien Cross. When he hands her divorce papers, she disappears without a fight.
Six months later, an accident steals Damien's memory of the past five years. He doesn't remember his ex-wife, but he can't stop searching for the woman with sad eyes who haunts his dreams.
When he finds Elara thriving in Seattle, she refuses to let him back in. But this Damien is nothing like the cold husband she remembers, and as he uncovers their past, devastating secrets emerge.
Can you forgive someone who doesn't remember breaking you?
9.6
For five years, I was Barron Santana's elite bodyguard and loyal shadow. I stood between him and bullets, giving him my youth and my entire heart.
But last night, the CEO announced his engagement to a flawless socialite on national television.
Heartbroken, I got blackout drunk and ended up crashing on the couch of Cassidy Gross, a billionaire tech CEO who saved me from a bar creep.
When I showed up late to work, Barron locked me in his freezing office. He pinned me against the glass, smelling Cassidy's cologne on my clothes.
"Are you already looking for your next meal ticket?"
He snarled the words, treating me like a cheap whore. When I defended myself, he pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his fingers, acting as if my very touch contaminated him.
Then, he coldly ordered his assistant to draft my termination papers.
Five years of risking my life for him, thrown away like garbage just because of his twisted ego.
Devastated, I ran out and collapsed in the hallway, sobbing uncontrollably until a kind coworker gently pulled me into his arms to comfort me.
I didn't know Barron had followed me out.
Seeing me clinging to another man, his legendary control completely shattered, replaced by a dark, violent possessiveness.
But it was too late. I was done playing his obedient dog, and it was time to take Cassidy up on his offer.
7.2
For three years, I was imprisoned by Anderson Hopper, the monster who forced me to watch my fiancé, Kendall, plummet into a freezing river.
But when I saw the morning news, I realized Kendall wasn't dead. He had returned as Eben Gill, a ruthless tech billionaire.
I risked my life to escape and find him, only to be met with eyes full of absolute hatred.
He publicly humiliated me, dragged me to the exact bridge where he "died," and sneered at the C-section scar on my stomach.
"Anderson Hopper's bastard," he spat, completely unaware that the baby was actually his—the very child Anderson had murdered in the operating room to break me.
To make matters worse, Anderson used Kendall's dying mother as a hostage to force me back into my cage.
I knelt on the freezing asphalt, begging the man I loved to just visit his mother, while he coldly ordered his driver to run me over.
I had lost my baby, my freedom, and my dignity, all to protect him from Anderson's blackmail. Why was I the one being tortured and treated like a traitor?
"Don't think your little kneeling stunt earned you my forgiveness."
He whispered those cruel words before walking away without looking back.
Staring at his cold, retreating figure, the last shred of my love finally turned to ash.
That night, under the cover of a torrential storm, I bypassed the estate's laser grids and walked out into the dark.
8.4
Everly spent four years playing the perfect, accommodating wife to Carson Moss, swallowing every grievance just to secure medical treatments for their sick daughter.
But at a high-society banquet she exhausted herself organizing, Carson's pregnant mistress crashed the party.
The woman shoved an ultrasound of Carson's "real heir" directly into Everly's frail grandfather's face.
The shock triggered a massive heart attack.
Carson refused to use his private helicopter to save the dying old man, choosing to protect his mistress and his company's IPO instead. Her grandfather died on the hospital table.
Instead of remorse, her mother-in-law demanded Everly publicly cover up the murder.
"You will do exactly as I say, or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."
When a battered Everly returned to the estate, she discovered her three-year-old daughter covered in dark bruises and pinch marks. Her in-laws were deliberately torturing her disabled child.
Everly couldn't comprehend how a family could be so utterly heartless. Her only family was murdered, her child was abused, and her husband threw a five-million-dollar check at her face as hush money.
They thought she would just break and quietly disappear.
But when a terrifyingly powerful billionaire unexpectedly blocked Carson's security team from locking her up, Everly finally saw her window.
She grabbed her sleeping daughter and ran out into the freezing storm, making a blood-bound vow to make the entire Moss family bleed.
7.4
When I called my husband while trapped in a kidnapper's warehouse, he laughed. "Stop faking," he said, "my delicate mistress needs her sleep." He hung up. I signed the divorce papers drenched in my own blood, giving up everything just to escape the monster I married.
His mother threw a broken umbrella at me in the rain. I had nothing—no money, no identity, no hope.
But the moment I turned away, eight black Escalades encircled the street. A man in a tailored suit stepped out of a Rolls-Royce, shielding me with an umbrella. In his hand was a DNA test—and twenty-three years of relentless search.
"Your last name isn't Smith," he said, wiping blood from my wrist with his handkerchief. "It's Wilder. The Wilder family. And the man who left you to die?" He smiled, icy. "He owes us nine billion dollars."