Too Late To Beg The Heiress
For eighteen years, Arielle was raised in a cramped trailer park, treated as nothing more than a walking blood bag to keep her sick sister, Kimora, breathing.
But today, her adoptive family hurled her belongings into a muddy pothole and kicked her out into the freezing rain.
"Get the hell out, you ungrateful parasite! You'll rot in the gutter!"
Kimora’s wealthy biological mother threw a check at her chest, warning her to stay away, while Kimora stepped out of a Porsche to mock her in the mud, flaunting her upcoming violin solo at Lincoln Center.
They didn't care that Arielle was the one locked in a basement, forced to write that very violin piece until her fingers bled.
They had drained eight hundred milliliters of her blood every month to keep up the illusion of Kimora's health, and now that they were done using her, they threw her away like garbage.
Did they really think she was just a fragile, broken country girl who would starve without them?
They had no idea she was a top-tier hacker who had just frozen a third of their offshore assets with a single keystroke.
As a massive, armored Maybach pulled up to take her back to her true bloodline—the ultra-wealthy Chandler empire—and her terrifyingly powerful billionaire fiancé, Arielle wiped the mud from her face.
Manhattan was waiting, and she was going to burn their world to the ground.
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Chapter 4
Kevin didn't care about the mud ruining his Italian leather shoes. He sprinted across the flooded parking lot, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead.
He stopped two feet away from the awning, his chest heaving. He stared at the girl huddled against the brick wall. The resemblance to his mother was undeniable, but she was so thin, so pale.
His lips trembled. He swallowed hard against the massive lump in his throat. "Arielle?" he choked out. "I'm... I'm your brother."
Arielle executed her role perfectly. She flinched violently at his voice, pressing her spine harder against the wall. She pulled her knees together, her eyes wide and darting, filled with absolute distrust.
"Are you..." Her voice shook, perfectly mimicking the rasp of someone who had been screaming. "Did the Tysons send you? I don't have the keys. I dropped them."
The words hit Kevin like a physical blow. A sob tore from his chest. He ripped off his soaked suit jacket and took a step forward, holding it out to wrap around her freezing shoulders.
Arielle shrank away, dodging his touch. She let a single, perfect tear spill over her lower lash line.
"No, no, baby, no," Kevin pleaded, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm a Chandler. We've been looking for you for eighteen years. I'm here to take you home."
Before Arielle could respond, the sound of the rain hitting the pavement suddenly vanished.
A massive, custom black umbrella had been silently positioned over their heads.
Arielle looked up.
Her breath hitched, and this time, it wasn't acting.
A man stood in the shadows just behind Kevin. He held the umbrella with one hand, his other hand tucked casually into the pocket of his trousers. He radiated a suffocating, predatory aura that made the air feel instantly thinner.
Ellis Burnett looked down at her. His eyes were the color of a starless night, and they were currently dissecting her. His gaze swept over her wet hair, the cheap fabric of her jacket, the muddy boots, and finally, settled on her hands gripping the canvas bag.
Arielle felt the hairs on her arms stand up. The way he looked at her wasn't with pity. It was an interrogation.
She immediately dropped her gaze, biting her lower lip to make it tremble. She reached out with a shaking hand and grabbed the wet fabric of Kevin's shirt sleeve, hiding half of her body behind his broad back.
A microscopic smirk touched the corner of Ellis's mouth.
"Get her in the car, Kevin," Ellis ordered. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in Arielle's chest. "She's freezing, and we are wasting time."
Kevin snapped out of his emotional daze. "Right. Yes. Come on, Arielle. It's warm inside."
He gently guided her toward the idling Maybach. Ellis walked a half-step behind them, keeping the umbrella perfectly angled so not a single drop of rain touched Arielle.
The driver held the door open. Kevin helped Arielle slide into the massive rear cabin, then climbed in after her.
Ellis closed the umbrella and got in through the opposite door. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing them in a soundproof vault.
The temperature inside was perfectly regulated, but the moment Ellis sat down, the atmosphere became unbearably dense. A sharp, aggressive scent of cedar and dark amber filled the space, invading Arielle's lungs with every breath.
She pulled her knees up slightly, hugging her canvas bag tight against her stomach, making herself as small as physically possible on the wide leather seat.
Kevin immediately opened the center console fridge. He pulled out a bottle of room-temperature Fiji water, twisted the cap off, and pressed it into Arielle's hands.
"Drink this," Kevin said softly. "You're safe now. I swear to God, no one will ever hurt you again."
"Thank you," Arielle whispered. She took the bottle. She forced her fingers to tremble just enough that a few drops of water sloshed over the rim, landing on the back of her hand.
Ellis leaned back against the headrest. He reached up to the compartment above him and pulled out a dark grey, silk pocket square.
He didn't hand it to Kevin. He reached straight across the gap and held it out to Arielle.
Arielle stared at the expensive fabric. She looked at Kevin, then slowly shifted her eyes to Ellis, playing the part of the intimidated victim perfectly. She didn't move to take it.
Ellis didn't withdraw his hand. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unyielding.
"Dry your hands," Ellis commanded softly. "Before you ruin the leather."
Arielle bit the inside of her cheek. She slowly reached out.
As she took the silk square, her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand. His skin was burning hot.
The moment their skin made contact, Ellis's fingers twitched. He didn't pull away. Instead, he pressed back slightly, his thumb grazing the pads of her index and middle fingers.
He felt the rough, hardened calluses there.
Arielle's stomach dropped. She yanked her hand back instantly, clutching the silk to her chest. She ducked her head, letting her wet hair fall forward to hide the flash of pure panic in her eyes.
He knows. A girl who only pulled weeds wouldn't have calluses like these. He'll figure it out.
Kevin noticed nothing. He turned to Ellis, his face twisted in rage. "Did you see her? The Tysons starved her. I want them destroyed, Ellis. I want them ruined."
Ellis slowly pulled his hand back, resting it on his knee. He rubbed his thumb against his index finger, committing the texture of her skin to memory.
"The Burnett legal team has already been dispatched," Ellis said, his voice smooth and detached. "They will pay for every second."
The Maybach pulled onto the highway, accelerating smoothly into the night. Arielle sat in the dark, her fingers tightly crushing the silk handkerchief. The fabric still held the heat of his skin, a burning reminder that the man sitting across from her was the most dangerous threat she had faced yet.
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8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
9.0
On their seventh wedding anniversary, Kiley's billionaire husband, Aden, slid a thick stack of papers across the restaurant table.
It was a petition for divorce.
He was leaving her for his college sweetheart. Thanks to a ruthless prenup, Kiley was being thrown out with absolutely nothing.
That very night, their young son Jules was rushed to the ER, bleeding profusely. The doctor's diagnosis was a death sentence: acute leukemia.
When Kiley frantically called Aden for help, he dismissed the emergency as a simple nosebleed.
"I'm not paying for this. Deal with it," Aden sneered, the sound of his mistress giggling in the background.
To force Kiley to sign the divorce papers, Aden froze all her credit cards and canceled their son's health insurance. He refused to pay a single cent for the chemotherapy.
Even Kiley's adoptive parents sided with the wealthy Aden, calling her a burden and telling her to stop fighting him.
Driven to the brink of despair, with a dying child and no money, Kiley didn't understand how a father could be so monstrous to his own flesh and blood.
Until a news article on a friend's phone caught her eye.
It featured a fallen 9/11 firefighter hero from the ultra-wealthy Whitfield family. The man in the photo looked exactly like Jules, down to the very bone structure.
Kiley's mind raced back to the fertility clinic and the anonymous sperm donor.
Could this dead billionaire hero be her son's biological father?
Looking at her sleeping, fragile boy, Kiley wiped her tears and crushed the divorce papers in her hand.
She was going to find the Whitfield family, save her son, and make Aden lose everything he held dear.
9.3
Ginny was chained to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, bleeding and betrayed by the two people she trusted most.
Her fiancé, Brant, and her adopted sister, Coretta, had just slashed her face open. Brant coldly admitted she was nothing but a disposable key to a vault, right before he tossed a lighter onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
As Ginny burned alive in the roaring inferno, the heavy iron doors were violently smashed open. Bedford Parks—the notoriously ruthless, germaphobic "monster" of Silicon Valley whom Ginny had always feared—charged straight into the flames. Ignoring the blistering heat, he shielded her charred body with his own. A massive steel beam collapsed, snapping his spine.
"I love you."
He coughed up blood, whispering his final words against her blackened skin before dying to protect her.
Hovering as a ghost, Ginny's soul screamed in agonizing realization. She had spent her life terrified of Bedford, yet he was the only one who truly loved her, while her supposed family laughed at her gruesome murder.
Suddenly, a blinding white light swallowed the warehouse.
Ginny gasped for air, opening her eyes to find herself sitting in the back of a luxury Maybach. She was eighteen again, wearing the humiliating clown makeup Coretta had tricked her into wearing on the day she was brought back to the wealthy Steele estate.
Ginny stared at her reflection, her dark eyes turning cold and sharp.
This time, she would tear her betrayers apart piece by piece, and she would protect her "monster."
8.6
Aubree pushed Ezra down the grand staircase, crippling the only man who silently protected her.
She thought she was finally escaping his control to be with her true love, Foster Newton.
But she had no idea it was a vicious trap meticulously set by Newton and her sweet, innocent cousin, Brandi.
Once Ezra was driven out of New York in despair, Aubree's life became a living hell. Her father completely disowned her. Brandi smoothly took over her home and her millions in inheritance.
"You were just a stepping stone for us, Aubree."
That was the last thing Newton sneered before leaving her to die.
Lying on the freezing floor, her warm blood pooling in her palms, Aubree finally saw the horrifying truth. She had destroyed her own family and ruined the one man who genuinely cared for her, all for a pair of greedy parasites.
Endless regret and suffocating hatred consumed her fading consciousness. Why was she so blind? Why did she let them manipulate her into destroying her own life?
Then, her eyes snapped open.
A violent wave of dizziness hit her. She looked down at her pale, flawless hands. There were no deep cuts. There was no sticky blood.
She was back. She had miraculously returned to the exact night she pushed Ezra, just two hours before his private jet was scheduled to leave forever.
Hearing her father's furious roar outside her bedroom door, Aubree didn't cower.
She wiped the smeared makeup from her face, her eyes turning dead cold. This time, she was going to make Ezra stay, and she was going to send those leeches straight to hell.
7.1
For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart.
Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig.
He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce.
His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement.
He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash.
Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage.
I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion.
Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up.
He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions.
Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line.
"I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more."
Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.
7.5
For three years, I was trapped in a paper marriage to a billionaire I had never met, until my father forced me to finally visit his hotel suite.
But when I walked in, I found my husband, Bryton Lott, heavily drugged by my own father. Stripped of all reason, Bryton violently pinned me down and took my innocence, making me a pawn in my father's sick scheme to force a pregnancy and save his bankrupt company.
After escaping his feral grip, I overheard Bryton call my father. He called me a useless, invisible wife, vowing to hand me divorce papers the second he saw my face. The nightmare didn't end there. When I brought a priceless antique jade bracelet to my mother's birthday, she slapped me across the face in front of the entire elite crowd. My stepsister publicly accused me of selling my body. Hiding in the shadows, I even heard my mother admit she wished I was dead, only keeping me around to exploit my marriage.
I had played the obedient, impoverished daughter for years, enduring their endless abuse just to protect my grandmother's legacy. Why did my own flesh and blood treat me like a sacrificial lamb to be sold and destroyed?
The last thread holding my heart together completely snapped. I left the multi-million dollar bracelet on the cold stone sill and walked out into the freezing night. Snapping my everyday SIM card in half, I pulled out an encrypted satellite phone and activated my true identity as the underground world's top operative, "King."
"Run a full hostile intelligence sweep on Apocalypse Corp."