The Ruined Heiress's Vengeful Comeback
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Three years ago, Collette was framed in a vicious drug and sex scandal by her half-sister. Her father didn't ask a single question before banishing her to the gutters of Europe.
She clawed her way back to New York for revenge, willingly becoming a disposable, cheap toy for the city's most dangerous billionaire, Hartwell Lara, just to use him as her weapon.
But Hartwell’s heart belonged entirely to his delicate future wife, Isabell. When Collette nearly died of severe pneumonia on a freezing balcony, Hartwell left her bleeding and alone to patiently peel apples for Isabell. Isabell then barged into Collette's hospital room, maliciously tore her life-saving CFDA design sketch to shreds, and brutally slapped her own face.
"Collette... why are you being so mean to me?!"
Isabell screamed, collapsing to the floor just as Hartwell violently pushed the door open. His dark eyes locked onto Collette, filled with the same absolute, chilling disgust her father had shown three years ago.
Why was she always the one thrown away like garbage? Why did her own blood family destroy her, and why did the man she surrendered her dignity to trample her last hope for a liar?
Staring at her ruined life's work beneath Isabell's designer shoes, the tiny crack of warmth Hartwell had left in Collette's heart froze completely. She didn't bother to explain or beg. She just smiled her signature empty smile, ready to burn the Norris family and the Lara Empire to the ground.
The Ruined Heiress's Vengeful Comeback Chapter 1
The crystal stem of the champagne flute dug so hard into Collette's palm that her knuckles turned stark white.
She stood beneath the blinding glare of the Waldorf Astoria's chandelier, forcing her facial muscles to hold a bright, empty smile.
The heavy stench of alcohol and cheap cigars rolled off the Wall Street investor standing in front of her.
His thick, sweaty hand slid unapologetically onto the bare skin of her lower back.
Collette's stomach violently rolled. Bile burned the back of her throat.
She needed the entry ticket to the CFDA design competition. She needed it to survive.
Swallowing the sour taste in her mouth, she let out a soft, practiced laugh.
She smoothly twisted her body, stepping just an inch away from his wet palm under the guise of raising her glass.
She tipped her head back and swallowed the harsh, burning champagne in one long gulp.
The investor let out a loud, booming laugh, clearly pleased by her obedience. He slapped his chest, loudly promising that her competition spot was guaranteed.
"Excuse me for a moment," Collette murmured, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
The second she turned her back to him, the smile dropped from her face like dead weight.
Her eyes turned flat and cold.
The alcohol hit her empty stomach fast. A heavy wave of dizziness crashed over her brain.
The heel of her stiletto caught on the thick carpet, making her stumble slightly.
She sucked in a sharp breath and pushed open the heavy mahogany door leading to the restrooms, cutting off the loud jazz music of the ballroom.
The AC in the hallway was freezing.
Collette slumped against the cold marble wall, her chest heaving as she dragged air into her lungs.
A sharp, nervous cramp twisted her stomach. She bent forward, her hands instinctively pressing hard against her abdomen to stop the pain.
Fighting the nausea, she stumbled toward the sink and twisted the brass faucet.
Ice-cold water splashed over her fingers. She splashed it onto her face and looked up.
The woman in the mirror had heavy makeup and eyes full of naked, desperate ambition.
Collette let out a dry, mocking sound.
She unclasped her clutch and pulled out a tube of Tom Ford lipstick. The color was blood red.
She carefully traced her lips, rebuilding the armor of the cheap, money-hungry woman she needed to be tonight.
She snapped the lipstick shut. Perfect. Untouchable.
She turned around and pushed the restroom door open, ready to step back into the warzone.
She took half a step forward and slammed face-first into a solid wall of muscle.
The impact sent a jolt of pain through her forehead. White spots danced in her vision.
The sharp, dominant scent of cedarwood mixed with premium tobacco instantly invaded her lungs.
Collette's heart skipped a violent beat. She snapped her head up.
Hartwell Lara stood there.
He wore a custom-tailored black suit. He stared down at her, his face an unreadable mask of cold stone.
But his dark eyes were a storm of suppressed rage and heavy mockery, slowly dragging down her messy curls and the deep V-neck of her dress.
A low, freezing scoff vibrated in his chest.
"You really have no standards," Hartwell said, his voice a low growl. "Eating out of the hands of greasy old men just to climb a little higher."
The words felt like a physical slap.
Collette's chest tightened, but she instantly stretched her lips into that careless, seductive smile.
She reached out. Her slender fingers boldly hooked the knot of his silk tie.
She stepped up on her toes, closing the distance until she could feel the heat radiating off his chest.
"Are you jealous, Mr. Lara?" she whispered, her breath brushing his jaw.
The air around them instantly dropped to freezing.
Hartwell's eyes went pitch black. The muscle in his jaw ticked violently.
His large hand shot out, clamping around her narrow waist like a steel vice.
He shoved her backward.
Collette's spine hit the marble wall hard. A sharp gasp of pain left her lips.
Panic flared in her eyes for a split second.
Before she could make a sound, Hartwell crushed his mouth against hers.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a brutal punishment.
His teeth scraped against her bottom lip, tasting the red lipstick, demanding total submission.
Collette pushed against his chest for exactly two seconds before her hands curled into his shirt, her body going soft against the cold wall.
When he finally pulled back, Collette was gasping for air. Her lips were swollen, the corners of her eyes flushed a physiological red.
Hartwell didn't say a single word.
He ripped off his suit jacket and roughly threw it over her bare shoulders, hiding her skin from the world.
His arm locked around her waist, half-carrying, half-dragging her down the hallway toward the VIP elevator.
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The Ruined Heiress's Vengeful Comeback 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
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.
8.6
I was the youngest Paladin in history, the absolute pride of the Azure Blade.
But after a disastrous mission in the snow, I was falsely accused of slaughtering my own squad.
Grand Master Bernardo Rowe didn't just exile me; he surgically severed my connection to the magic Aether, turning me into a crippled mortal.
Desperate to survive, I tried to climb the Holy Stairs to reclaim my legendary sword, "Rebellion."
Instead of answering my call, my own blade shrieked in absolute rejection and blasted me down the thousand stone steps.
My bones snapped like dry twigs, and I was left in a pool of my own blood.
The pilgrims laughed at me. The guards declared me a lost cause and left me to rot in the dirt.
I should have died there, betrayed by the Order and the holy magic I once served.
But a silent, massive laborer named Cato Sims dragged my mangled body into the shadows.
He healed my shattered skeleton in mere days with impossible skill, yet he allowed lowly servants to spit on him and beat him just to keep my presence hidden.
I didn't understand why my holy sword had abandoned me, and I understood even less why this stranger was protecting a condemned criminal.
When I finally snapped and demanded to know his price for saving my life, he didn't ask for money or my body.
"The mountain does not forget its debts. I am reclaiming what was taken from it."
Staring into his unyielding eyes, I realized my exile wasn't the end, but the beginning of a terrifying truth.
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.
9.0
I am the undisputed ice queen of the ER, a doctor whose life is built on absolute control. A month ago, I impulsively married a stranger to create a legal shield against my ex-mentor's betrayal.
Our prenup had one strict rule: a fake marriage with zero interference in each other's lives. But tonight, my "husband on paper" was wheeled into my ER, unconscious, reeking of cheap whiskey, and suffering from a bleeding ulcer.
To authorize his emergency surgery, I had to sign the consent form as his wife, detonating a gossip bomb among my colleagues. Worse, his overbearing family found out he was hospitalized. To stop his terrifying mother from flying in and exposing our sham marriage, I had to lean over his hospital bed and take a fake, loving couple's selfie.
I didn't understand why this disciplined math professor was suddenly drinking himself to death, nor why my chest tightened when he looked at me with exhausted eyes and begged for homemade soup. My perfectly ordered, untouchable life was crumbling into a chaotic mess, and I was losing my grip on the narrative.
"We should probably spend some time together beforehand. We could be roommates."
To prepare for an unavoidable family dinner and a wedding, my stranger husband just asked me to move into his apartment. The ultimate uncontrolled variable has just crossed the line, and our fake marriage is about to become dangerously real.
9.0
Allegra woke up in a sterile alien hospital with no memory, no ID chip, and a terrifying snow leopard General claiming responsibility for her crash.
But a routine ID scan at a local boutique shattered her fragile cover.
The machine shrieked, flashing a fatal red warning: NO NEURAL LINK DETECTED.
She was a "Ghost"—an illegal, unregistered biological entity in a ruthless Hybrid Empire.
The boutique locked down instantly. Heavily armed police swarmed the plaza, laser sights painting her chest red.
She was dragged into a subterranean military black site, where a manic geneticist tested her blood and discovered the impossible truth.
She wasn't a Hybrid. She was a pure Homo Sapiens—an extinct race whose mere presence could cure the Hybrids' fatal Psyche collapse.
To keep her all to himself, the scientist lied to the General, branding her a toxic, mutating bio-weapon.
Forced by Imperial law, the General abandoned her to the scientist's cruel custody.
Allegra was locked inside a reinforced glass cage in the deepest isolation ward, waiting to be dissected.
She huddled on the floor, trembling in absolute despair.
She didn't belong in this nightmare world. Why was she being treated like a monster? Why did this madman look at her like a prize to be torn apart?
Watching the scientist's fox ears twitch in manic stress outside the glass, her human empathy momentarily overrode her terror.
She stood up and pressed her palm against the glass, perfectly aligning it with his.
"Don't be so nervous, Mr. Fox."
Instantly, an invisible wave of human resonance flooded his core, shattering his genetic madness.
The terrifying predator was reduced to a whimpering, devoted puppy, pressing himself against the window in absolute submission.
Allegra slowly pulled her hand back, her heart skipping a beat.
Well, she thought, that changes things.
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