The True Heiress Returns After Divorce
For two years, Emmie’s marriage to Daxton Ellis was nothing but a cold medical contract. She was merely a living vessel, kept around to provide a bone marrow transplant for his true love, Hortensia.
When Emmie's grandfather was dying in the ICU, she desperately begged Daxton to save him. Instead, he coldly refused, ordering his bodyguards to trap her so her surgery wouldn't be delayed.
To completely destroy Emmie, Hortensia maliciously faked a severe allergy attack and then intentionally threw herself down a steep flight of iron stairs.
She perfectly framed Emmie for attempted murder right in front of Daxton's eyes.
Believing his lover's lies, Daxton violently choked Emmie and locked her in a pitch-black room, cutting off all her communication with the outside world.
Trapped in the freezing darkness, Emmie received a secret call from the weeping butler.
"Master Silas... his heart stopped. He was calling your name. He died calling your name."
The phone slipped from her fingers, the agonizing realization hitting her that because of Daxton, she didn't even get to say a final goodbye to her only family.
The raw, guttural scream that tore through her throat marked the absolute death of her six years of unrequited love. Clutching the signed divorce agreement and the key to her grandfather's hidden billionaire trust, Emmie wiped her bloodstained hands and prepared to make them pay.
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Chapter 1
A jagged blade of agony twisted deep inside Emmie's lower abdomen.
Her fingers dug into the cold edge of the marble island in the penthouse kitchen. The pristine white stone offered no comfort.
The pain ripped through her again, sharper this time. Her knees buckled.
She hit the hard ceramic tile floor with a heavy thud. The impact sent a shockwave up her spine, but it was nothing compared to the tearing sensation in her gut.
Her vision blurred into a mess of gray shadows. Cold sweat instantly soaked through the thin silk of her nightgown, clinging to her spine like a layer of ice.
Her hand trembled violently as she reached out. Her fingers brushed against the cold screen of her phone lying on the floor.
She pressed the speed dial button for Daxton. Her chest heaved as she waited.
"Please," she gasped to the empty room.
A cold, automated female voice filled the silence. Please leave your message after the tone.
Her fingers went completely numb. The phone slipped from her weak grasp.
It hit the tile with a sharp crack.
The edges of her vision turned black. The darkness rushed in, swallowing the pain, the cold floor, and the suffocating silence of the penthouse. Emmie closed her eyes and let it take her.
The sharp, chemical stench of bleach burned Emmie's nostrils.
She forced her heavy eyelids open.
The blinding white ceiling lights of a hospital room pierced her eyes. The steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep of a heart monitor echoed in the sterile space.
She slowly turned her head.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. The bespoke charcoal suit fit him perfectly. Daxton Ellis. Her husband.
Emmie's dry, cracked lips parted. She tried to push his name out of her throat, but no sound came.
Daxton turned around. His deep, dark eyes locked onto hers. There was no warmth in them. No relief. He looked at her the way a mechanic looks at a broken machine.
The heavy wooden door pushed open. Dr. Evans walked in, a metal clipboard in his hand, breaking the suffocating silence.
"Mr. Ellis," Dr. Evans said, his voice professional and tight. "Mrs. Ellis suffered a severe shock induced by acute stomach cramps. Her body is under immense stress."
Daxton's brow furrowed slightly. He didn't look at Emmie.
"Will this affect the bone marrow transplant next month?" Daxton's voice was a flat, emotionless line. He cut the doctor off completely.
Emmie's heart violently contracted in her chest. The tiny spark of hope that had just ignited in her chest instantly turned to ash.
Dr. Evans flipped a page on his clipboard, clearing his throat. "As long as she rests and follows the nutritional plan, the hematopoietic stem cell activity will not be compromised."
The tight line of Daxton's jaw visibly relaxed. He gave a short, cold nod. "Understood."
Dr. Evans turned and walked out, pulling the heavy door shut behind him with a soft click.
The room fell dead silent again.
Emmie dug her elbows into the mattress, forcing her weak, trembling body to sit up against the headboard. Her breathing was shallow.
Daxton didn't move an inch to help her. He stood exactly where he was, his gaze sweeping over her pale face, assessing her like a medical asset.
"Is Hortensia's life the only thing you care about?" Emmie asked. Her voice was a broken, raspy whisper.
Daxton casually lifted his arm and adjusted the cuff of his expensive suit.
"Yes," Daxton said brutally. "Do not forget that is the only value this marriage holds."
Emmie's fingers gripped the white hospital bedsheets. She squeezed so hard her knuckles turned stark white.
She lifted her chin, looking at the man she had loved for a decade. "I have been by your side for six years, Daxton. Two years as your wife. Can you not give me even a fraction of a second of your concern?"
Daxton let out a low, mocking scoff. He took two slow steps toward the bed.
He looked down at her, his expression a wall of solid ice. "Do not beg for things that do not belong to you, Emmie. It is pathetic."
He lifted his wrist, glancing at his Patek Philippe watch.
"I'll be in the waiting room," he stated. "The board can wait."
He turned on his heel. His long legs carried him toward the door without a single moment of hesitation.
The door slammed shut. The sound echoed in the room, leaving Emmie entirely alone in the suffocating silence.
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8.9
I returned to New York for my welcome-home party, expecting a warm embrace from Edwin, my devoted fiancé of twenty years.
Instead, his first words to me were a cold, public warning to stay away from his new girlfriend, Kacy.
He stood in my family's hotel, shielding a girl I had never even met, and painted me as a vicious, jealous bully.
"She is very sensitive, Kaitlyn. Her background is tough. Please, be gentle with her. Don't upset her."
He humiliated me in front of our entire elite circle, allowing them to mock me as the aggressive, discarded ex while he carried her away like a fragile princess.
For twenty years, I had been his loyal shadow, fixing his mistakes and loving him unconditionally.
I couldn't understand how decades of deep devotion could be instantly erased by a few crocodile tears and a manipulative damsel act.
He was absolutely certain I would throw a tantrum, cry, and eventually crawl back to beg for his attention.
But he was wrong.
He didn't know that Everett Rowe, a billionaire tech mogul, had been patiently waiting five years to marry me.
He also didn't know that during my three years abroad, I wasn't just studying art—I became "K.B.", the ruthless Wall Street predator who could swallow his family's empire whole.
I calmly pulled out my phone, ignored the mocking whispers around me, and typed a single message to Everett.
"Yes. I'll marry you."
8.5
After four years of marriage, my wealthy husband Brad handed me a $50,000 severance check outside the Manhattan Family Court.
He linked arms with his mistress, Jenna, who flaunted the diamond ring that used to be mine.
"Just take it, Hayley. Take the money and get out of our lives," he sneered, looking at me with absolute disgust.
I tore the check into pieces, but my nightmare was just beginning.
To access my grandfather's trust fund, I had exactly seventy-two hours to get legally married, so I desperately proposed a one-year contract marriage to a poor insurance salesman I met in a dive bar.
When Brad found out, he and his arrogant family cornered me at their estate.
Brad mocked my new husband for being a penniless, money-grubbing parasite, while my former mother-in-law slapped me hard across the face, knocking me to the ground.
"You are trash, just like your mother," she spat, watching my knee bleed onto the sharp gravel.
Jenna gleefully kicked my phone away, shattering the screen and cutting off my only lifeline.
Lying there in the dirt, I stared at the broken glass in absolute despair.
I didn't understand why four years of quiet devotion had earned me nothing but cruel betrayal and endless humiliation from the people I once called family.
Just as I thought I had completely lost, a black Lincoln Navigator slammed to a halt at the gates.
My "penniless" new husband stepped out, radiating a terrifying, righteous fury that made the entire Patton family freeze in horror.
9.1
For three years, June played the perfect, submissive wife to billionaire Augustus Pruitt, hoping a child would finally warm his cold heart and secure their marriage.
But when she cautiously suggested they have a baby, he looked at her with pure, unfiltered disgust.
"A woman who schemes her way into a marriage doesn't get to carry my blood."
He sneered, leaving immediately to lavish his mistress with diamonds. The nightmare only escalated from there. Augustus bought the one painting June desperately wanted—a piece she had secretly created herself—just to gift it to his mistress. He publicly outbid June at the gallery, mocking her lack of wealth, and left her to collapse in the freezing rain. When the storm gave her a severe 104-degree fever and she nearly died on their staircase, he didn't even stay by her hospital bed. Instead, he sent an assistant with a box of jewelry to buy her silence, then forced her to attend a family dinner where his mother and sister viciously mocked her barren womb and background.
Looking at Augustus, who sat there casually cutting his steak while his family tore her apart, the last flicker of hope in June's chest sputtered and died.
She finally understood that her three years of bleeding devotion were nothing but a pathetic joke to them.
She dropped her silverware, the sharp clatter silencing the entire room. She wasn't going to be their punching bag anymore. It was time to finalize the divorce papers, reclaim her hidden identity as the world-renowned artist 'mr.sun', and make them all regret it.
9.2
The tip of my fountain pen hovered over the divorce agreement. Across the mahogany desk, my billionaire husband, Chandler, looked at me with cold, dead eyes, waiting for me to sign my life away.
What he didn't know was that a phantom pain was still tearing through my chest—the memory of cold steel sliding between my ribs.
In my previous life, I foolishly signed these papers, burning down my marriage for my lover, Chace, and my sweet stepsister, Annalise.
Only to be left to bleed to death in a dark alley while they laughed, planning to steal my son and Chandler's fortune.
Reborn at the exact moment of my ruin, I tore the divorce agreement to shreds.
I desperately tried to make amends, even joining a reality show with my traumatized six-year-old son to prove I had changed.
But Chace and Annalise wouldn't let me go. Seeing my public redemption, they panicked and released a hyper-realistic deepfake sex tape of me and Chace.
They demanded $300 million from Chandler, framing my newfound love for my family as an elaborate, sickening long con.
Chandler burst into the house, throwing the blackmail papers at my feet.
His eyes were filled with broken agony and absolute disgust, fully believing that my tears, my apologies to our son, and my desperate kisses were all just a performance for money.
He thought I was the exact same monster who had destroyed him once before.
The old me would have screamed, cried, and played right into their hands.
Instead, I calmly stepped forward, gently smoothed the collar of his suit jacket, and looked into his tortured eyes.
"I'm not going to explain the video, or the money."
"I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness."
"I am asking you for one thing, Chandler."
"You have to trust me."
8.8
I've always been the unwanted child-the invisible one. The rebel no one ever tried to understand.
And yet, I never resented my perfect, beloved sister. All I ever wanted was for her to be happy.
But one cruel twist of fate-and a devastating betrayal by someone I trusted-changed everything.
I woke up in a stranger's bed, losing the one thing I had guarded so carefully. Back then, I thought that was my greatest loss.
I was wrong.
Because not long after, my sister introduced me to her fiancé.
And the man standing in front of me... was the same stranger from that night.
Now he haunts me-day and night, in my dreams and in my waking hours. And just when I start to believe the nightmare might finally fade with the dawn, Alan walks back into my life.
This time, he has no intention of letting me forget.
Not the insult I dealt him.
...or that one unforgettable night.
8.4
For thirty years, Javen and I were inseparable childhood sweethearts, and for the last three, we were the perfect engaged power couple.
But at our engagement celebration, hiding behind a velvet curtain, I overheard him telling his best man that our entire relationship was a corporate sham to protect his real girlfriend, Keely.
He laughed, calling my lifelong devotion a "convenient crush" that kept his strict parents off his back.
Worse, the horrifying truth about my car crash three years ago was soon revealed.
Javen didn't just lose control of the wheel. He deliberately swerved to avoid hitting Keely, who had run into the road during a jealous tantrum.
The impact crushed my side of the car, killed our unborn baby, and left me permanently infertile.
He sacrificed our child to protect his mistress, then played the devoted fiancé while I grieved in the hospital.
I had given him thirty years of unwavering love, only to be treated as a disposable human shield.
How could the man who wiped my tears be the same monster who orchestrated my absolute destruction?
I didn't shed a single tear.
I calmly projected their secret texts and videos onto the ballroom screen, publicly broke off the engagement, and walked out into the night.
It was time to build my own jewelry empire, and I was going to let his powerful older brother help me burn Javen's world to the ground.