The Jilted Heiress In Blood Red
8.4 / 10.0
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Harlene was locked out of her own family's estate in a freezing blizzard, still trembling from a severe panic attack.
Her mother delivered a cold ultimatum through a security screen: attend her golden-child sister Estella's award gala, or lose her medical funds.
To make it worse, her ex-fiancé, Dennis, had chimed in to call her embarrassing and pathetic.
At the gala, Harlene was treated like a diseased outcast.
Dennis fiercely protected his new lover, Jailyn—the very woman who had stolen Harlene's designs.
But the ultimate betrayal came when Estella flaunted a silver-embroidered antique dress.
It was Harlene's grandmother's dress, her only pure memory of love, handed over to the enemy as a trophy.
When Harlene demanded answers, her own father slapped her across the face in front of the press, just to protect their pristine image.
They had stolen her career, her fiancé, and her inheritance, all while branding her the crazy, unstable daughter.
The sheer hypocrisy and cruelty finally severed the last thread of her sanity.
Why should she play the silent victim while they played the perfect family?
Instead of crying, Harlene smiled.
She drew a hidden dagger, slashed the antique dress to ribbons, and dragged Estella and Jailyn to the center stage.
Standing under the blinding spotlight with a bloody blade, she looked out at the terrified crowd.
"The Beaumont family is done hiding," she declared into the microphone. "Tonight, the curtain falls."
The Jilted Heiress In Blood Red Chapter 1
The black sedan skidded on the ice, the tires letting out a sharp shriek that cut through the howling wind. The car jerked to a stop just inches from the wrought-iron gates of the Beaumont estate.
Harlene was curled into a tight ball in the backseat, her fingers digging into the leather of her coat so hard her knuckles were white. Her chest heaved, each breath a shallow, painful gasp that rattled in her throat. The panic attack had subsided, but the aftershocks still trembled through her body, leaving her feeling hollowed out and bruised from the inside.
Mitch, the driver, hesitated. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes full of pity. "Miss Harlene, are you sure-"
A burst of static from the gate interphase cut him off. The cold, mechanical voice of the gate security crackled through the car. "Vehicle denied entry. Protocol lockdown."
Harlene closed her eyes, fighting down the bile rising in her throat. The nausea was a physical weight pressing against her ribs. "I'll handle it," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
She pushed the car door open. The Washington D.C. blizzard hit her like a physical blow. The freezing wind and sleet slammed into her, soaking through her thin coat instantly. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering as she stepped onto the slush-covered driveway.
Her heel caught on a patch of black ice. Her ankle twisted, a sharp pain shooting up her leg, but she bit down on her lip until she tasted copper and forced herself to stand straight.
Agnes stepped out of the gatehouse. She wore a perfectly tailored cashmere coat and held an umbrella over her head, looking at Harlene the way one might look at a stray dog that had tracked mud onto a Persian rug.
"Miss Harlene," Agnes said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Your mother has a message. You are required to attend Miss Estella's celebration dinner tomorrow night."
Harlene let out a short, hollow laugh that the wind snatched away. "Required? I'm not going to that circus."
Agnes shifted her body, blocking the access panel with her shoulder. Her eyes were like flint. "You don't have a choice. Right now, you don't even have the right to walk through that gate."
Agnes pulled a tablet from her coat and held it out. The screen glowed to life, showing the face of Genevieve Beaumont. She looked impeccable, her makeup flawless, her expression radiating cold annoyance.
Harlene took the tablet. She didn't speak. She just stared at the woman who had given her life, her bloodshot eyes unblinking.
Genevieve didn't even look at Harlene's face. She tapped her manicured nails against her desk, the sound clicking through the speaker. "Just agree, Harlene. Stop making everything so difficult."
"I'm sick," Harlene said, her voice raspy like sandpaper dragging across stone. "I need rest."
Genevieve scoffed, a cruel twist to her lips. "Your 'sickness' is just an excuse to avoid your responsibilities. We all know that."
Harlene's grip on the tablet tightened. Her fingers pressed so hard against the glass she thought it might shatter beneath her fingertips.
"If you don't show up tomorrow," Genevieve said, her tone dropping to a lethal whisper, "I will freeze every medical account. I will cut off your trust fund. You will have nothing."
A wave of dizziness washed over Harlene. Not the dizziness of panic, but the sickening vertigo of absolute clarity. She was worth less than the dirt on their shoes.
Genevieve leaned closer to the camera. "And Dennis called. He's very... concerned about your behavior."
At the sound of his name, Harlene's pupils contracted. Her heart seized, squeezed by an invisible fist so tight she couldn't breathe.
"He thinks you're embarrassing yourself," Genevieve continued, a sadistic smile playing on her lips. "He thinks you're pathetic."
The memory of Dennis's disgusted glare flashed in Harlene's mind. The exhaustion that had weighed her down evaporated, replaced by a sick, burning rage that tasted like iron in her mouth.
Slowly, a smile crept across Harlene's face. It wasn't a smile of joy. It was a grotesque, terrifying stretching of lips that made her look like a wolf bearing its teeth.
"Okay," she said, her voice steady and cold. "I'll go."
Genevieve blinked, clearly thrown off by the immediate surrender. She hesitated, then the screen went black.
The tablet's dark screen reflected Harlene's face. The twisted, manic grin staring back at her didn't look like her own.
Agnes snatched the tablet back. "Dress appropriately tomorrow. Don't embarrass the family."
Harlene didn't even look at her. She turned and walked back to the car, her steps no longer unsteady. They were heavy, deliberate, carrying the weight of impending destruction.
She slid into the backseat and slammed the door shut, sealing out the storm.
Mitch stared at her in the mirror, wide-eyed.
Harlene looked up, her eyes burning with a fierce, unholy light. "Mitch," she said, her voice vibrating with intensity. "Go buy me a red dress. The most garish, eye-catching one you can find."
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The Jilted Heiress In Blood Red 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. 8Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.9
Allyson was the most hated actress in Hollywood, forced to wear a cheap, tearing gown after America's sweetheart, Joanne, stole her S-tier role.
During a red carpet disaster, Allyson tripped and fell—straight into the arms of the untouchable megastar, Byron Estes.
The internet exploded, accusing Allyson of faking the fall to seduce him. Drowning in bad press and desperate to pay her agency's termination fee, she signed a reality TV contract. She was forced to play the desperate, clingy villain, acting as a pathetic stepping stone for Joanne and Byron's highly anticipated on-screen romance.
"You could throw yourself at Byron a hundred times, and you'd still never make it into his bed," Joanne mocked.
What Joanne and the furious public didn't know was that three years ago, when Byron was in a horrific crash, Joanne had abandoned him. It was Allyson who stayed.
Even more absurd? Allyson and Byron were actually secretly married, bound by a multi-million dollar NDA.
Determined to play her villainous role and get paid, Allyson memorized a book of cringe-inducing pickup lines, ready to disgust her secret husband on live television.
"The stars are in the sky. But you... are in my heart."
She expected the ice-cold superstar to push her away in disgust. Instead, when another male guest got too close to her, Byron completely shattered his untouchable facade, his eyes burning with a lethal, undeniable possessiveness that sent the internet into absolute chaos.
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.
9.1
He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times.
Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her.
I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her.
Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online.
That was when I stopped feeling anything.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London.
He thinks I’m coming back in a week.
He has no idea I’m gone for good.
Nineteen broken promises. One silent goodbye. And a new life waiting across the ocean.
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?
8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.
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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