The Ruined Heiress Returns With His Heirs

Angelena's shoulder slammed hard against the textured wallpaper of the hotel corridor. Her vision swam. The heavy, gold-leafed patterns on the walls blurred into dark, dizzying streaks. She bit down on her lower lip, tasting the sharp, metallic tang of her own blood. The sudden pain sent a brief, desperate shock of clarity to her drug-addled brain. Heavy footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. The static crackle of a walkie-talkie hissed in the quiet corridor. "Find her. She couldn't have gone far." Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm that made it hard to breathe. Her skin burned. A terrifying, unnatural heat was spreading through her veins, melting away her rationality. She stumbled forward, her trembling hands dragging along the wall until she hit the cold, polished wood of a double door. It was slightly ajar. Without thinking, Angelena pushed through the gap. She fell into the pitch-black entryway of the presidential suite. She scrambled to her knees, reached up, and slammed the heavy door shut, twisting the deadbolt until it clicked. Her body gave out. She collapsed onto the thick carpet, her chest heaving. Outside, a fist pounded against the wood. "Open up!" a rough voice cursed. Angelena clamped both hands over her mouth, suppressing a whimper. The drug was taking over completely now. Her breathing turned shallow and hot. Her fingertips felt numb. "Who are you?" The voice came from the darkness. It was low, freezing cold, and dripping with authority. Angelena gasped, her head snapping up. Through the faint, silvery moonlight spilling from the floor-to-ceiling windows, she saw the towering silhouette of a man. He stepped closer. The sheer physical pressure radiating from him made the air in the room feel suffocatingly thin. Angelena tried to scramble backward, but her limbs felt like lead. Driven by pure survival instinct, her hand shot out. She grabbed the crisp fabric of his suit trousers. "Help... me," she choked out. The man stopped. He suffered from severe insomnia, and his patience was non-existent. He let out a low scoff of disgust. He bent down, his large, calloused fingers gripping her chin, fully intending to drag her out of his suite. But the moment his skin touched hers, he froze. She was burning up. And beneath the heat, a faint, incredibly unique medicinal fragrance drifted from her skin. It was a scent that instantly pierced through his raging headache, bringing a bizarre, sudden wave of calm to his frayed nerves. The drug in Angelena's system reached its peak. She lost her mind. Her arms flew up, wrapping tightly around the man's neck. She pulled herself against his solid chest, seeking relief from the fire consuming her. The man's breath hitched. His initial resistance crumbled under the overwhelming assault of that soothing scent and her desperate heat. Outside the window, a massive crack of thunder shook the glass. Lightning illuminated the room for a split second. They fell backward onto the massive velvet bed. Pain tore through Angelena. A single, humiliating tear slipped from the corner of her eye, soaking into the dark sheets before the darkness finally swallowed her whole. Blinding morning sunlight stabbed through the gap in the curtains, hitting Angelena straight in the eyes. She woke up with a violent start. Her head throbbed as if it had been split open. Every muscle in her body ached, a crushing soreness that made her stomach churn. She sat up, clutching the white duvet tightly to her chest. The other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cold. The stranger who had taken her innocence was gone. Before she could process the horror, the electronic lock on the door beeped. Angelena's head snapped toward the sound. The heavy door swung open. A tidal wave of people surged into the bedroom. The blinding flash of cameras erupted like strobe lights. Angelena let out a sharp gasp, diving under the duvet to cover her face. The aggressive clicking of shutters and the high-pitched shouts of reporters filled the room, deafening her. "Ms. Beasley! Is it true you sold yourself for money?" "Look at this mess!" The crowd parted slightly. Dara Schneider, her cousin, stepped forward in a pair of six-inch heels. A triumphant, vicious smirk played on Dara's lips before she quickly morphed her expression into one of exaggerated horror. "Angelena!" Dara gasped, covering her mouth. "How could you? In a place like this?" Arleen Schaefer, Angelena's supposed best friend, stepped up right behind Dara. She pointed a trembling finger at the bed. "I can't believe this. You were so desperate for money you'd sleep with some disgusting old man? You make me sick!" Angelena's blood turned to ice. The betrayal hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. She lowered the duvet just enough to glare at the two women. Her hands shook violently. "Arleen," Angelena's voice was hoarse, scraping her throat. She pointed a trembling finger at her so-called best friend. "What did you put in my drink last night?" Arleen's eyes darted away. She took a quick step back. Dara immediately stepped in front of Arleen, blocking Angelena's view. "Don't you dare blame your slutty behavior on your friends!" Dara yelled, making sure the reporters caught every word. "You did this to yourself!" The camera lenses were practically shoved into Angelena's face. The invasion was suffocating. The anger boiling in her chest reached a breaking point. Ignoring the risk of exposing herself, Angelena grabbed a heavy pillow and hurled it violently at the nearest camera lens. The photographer stumbled back with a curse. Dara took advantage of the chaos. She leaned in close, her face inches from Angelena's ear. "This is what happens when you try to fight me for the family trust fund, Angel," Dara whispered, her voice dripping with pure venom. "I arranged every second of this. You're finished." Angelena's eyes turned bloodshot. Her breathing hitched. She raised her arm and swung with every ounce of strength she had left. Smack! The sharp, echoing sound of her palm connecting with Dara's cheek silenced the entire room instantly. Dara let out a dramatic shriek. She threw herself backward, collapsing onto the carpet. She clutched her red cheek, squeezing out two fake tears. "She hit me! She's out of her mind!" The camera flashes exploded again, capturing the 'assault'. Arleen whipped out her phone, recording the scene. "Look at the high and mighty Beasley heiress now! Acting like a complete psycho!" Angelena tried to lunge off the bed to rip the phone from Arleen's hand. But her legs gave out completely. She crashed hard onto the floor, her knees hitting the carpet. She was utterly defenseless. Hotel security guards finally burst into the room, shouting and pushing the reporters back. The chaos was absolute. Angelena's dignity was being trampled into the dirt. Dara allowed a security guard to help her up. She looked down at Angelena, a cold, victorious sneer on her face. "I'm sending this straight to Grandmother. You're going to be ruined." Angelena bit her lower lip so hard it bled again. She forced herself to stop shaking. She tilted her chin up, locking eyes with Dara. "I will remember this," Angelena said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, devoid of all warmth. Dara felt a sudden chill run down her spine. She broke eye contact, clearing her throat loudly. "Let's go," Dara ordered. She turned and swept out of the room, taking Arleen and the swarm of reporters with her. The heavy door clicked shut. The silence that followed was deafening. Angelena curled her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs, burying her face. A raw, guttural sob finally tore from her throat. After several long minutes, she forced herself to stand. Her legs trembled as she walked into the bathroom. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was covered in red marks. She turned on the cold water and splashed her face. She would make them pay. Every single one of them. Her eyes dropped to the marble vanity. Lying next to the sink was a single, custom-made men's cufflink. It was dark platinum, engraved with a complex crest. Angelena picked it up. She squeezed it in her fist. The sharp metal edge bit deep into her palm, drawing a bead of blood. She didn't care about the pain. She hated the stranger who had ruined her just as much as she hated Dara.