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 6
The word hung in the air, freezing the blood in Preston's veins.
For two seconds, absolute silence reigned in the lobby. Then, Preston's face flushed a violent, ugly crimson. He was the heir to the Vaughn family; no one spoke to him like that.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Preston shouted, his voice cracking. He pointed wildly at the ceiling. "I am a Silver Tier member here! Manager! Get the manager out here right now and throw these trashy freaks out!"
The crowd parted as the general manager of The Grand sprinted across the marble floor. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his face pale with terror.
He didn't look at Preston. He skidded to a halt three feet away from Ellis, his knees visibly shaking. He bent at the waist, executing a perfect, trembling ninety-degree bow.
"M-Mr. Burnett," the manager stuttered, his voice echoing in the dead silent room. "I am so incredibly sorry for this disturbance."
The name dropped like a bomb.
Burnett.
The crowd gasped. The wealthy socialites who had been laughing a moment ago physically recoiled, taking panicked steps backward.
Preston's arm dropped to his side. The blood drained from his face, leaving him a sickly, translucent white. His brain short-circuited. He stared at the man in front of him, finally connecting the cold, ruthless features to the god of Wall Street he had only seen in financial magazines.
Kimora let out a strangled squeak. Her knees buckled, and she grabbed Preston's jacket to keep from collapsing, her manicured nails digging into his arm.
Ellis didn't acknowledge the manager's apology. He didn't even look at him.
Ellis raised his right hand. He snapped his fingers. A single, sharp crack.
Before the sound faded, eight massive security guards in black suits and tactical earpieces surged from the hidden alcoves of the lobby. They moved with military precision, instantly surrounding Preston and Kimora.
"Hey, wait!" Preston panicked, putting his hands up. "My father is-"
The lead guard didn't let him finish. He grabbed Preston's arm, twisting it violently behind his back. Preston let out a high-pitched scream of agony as he was forced to bend double. He tried to struggle, and the guard drove a brutal knee into his stomach. Preston collapsed, gagging on the marble floor.
Two female guards grabbed Kimora by the arms, hauling her off her feet. She kicked and shrieked hysterically. Her custom diamond hairpin fell from her hair, hitting the floor. A guard's heavy combat boot stepped on it, crushing the diamonds into the marble with a sickening crunch.
The manager stood up straight, his voice booming across the lobby. "Remove them. Their membership is under immediate and permanent review." He then turned slightly, bowing his head even lower. "Mr. Burnett, I assure you, they will never set foot in here again."
The guards dragged them toward the rear service exit like bags of garbage.
As she was being dragged away, Kimora twisted her head back. Her eyes locked onto Arielle, who was still standing safely behind Ellis. Kimora's face was twisted in pure, venomous hatred.
Arielle met her gaze. Slowly, deliberately, Arielle let the terrified facade drop for a fraction of a second. The corner of her mouth ticked up into a cold, mocking smirk.
Kimora saw it. She let out a wail of absolute despair before the service doors slammed shut, cutting her off.
Ellis turned to face her, the lethal aura melting away the second his eyes found Arielle. He still held her hand, his thumb absently brushing over her knuckles.
"Did they frighten you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur.
Arielle immediately looked down at her muddy boots. She gave a small, jerky shake of her head, her free hand tightening around the strap of her bag.
Ellis's gaze lingered on her bowed head. Without a word, he pulled her forward, his grip on her hand secure, and walked straight toward the back wall, ignoring the terrified stares of the billionaires in the lobby.
There was a single elevator there, framed in dark gold. It had no buttons. It was the private lift for the board of directors.
Ellis stopped in front of it. He leaned forward, taking off his gold-rimmed glasses. He aligned his right eye with the biometric scanner hidden in the wall.
A red laser swept over his pupil. A soft ding chimed, and the heavy metal doors slid open silently.
He guided Arielle inside. The doors closed, sealing them in a small, plush cabin lined with mahogany and mirrors.
The elevator shot upward with terrifying speed.
The sudden G-force hit Arielle's knees. She stumbled backward, her boots slipping on the polished wood floor.
Ellis moved faster. Still clasping her hand, his other arm shot out, his large hand wrapping firmly around her waist to catch her. Even through the damp layers of her jacket and shirt, the heat of his palm was shocking, sending a jolt of electricity straight up her spine.
Arielle gasped, her body going rigid. She planted her free hand on his chest, instinctively trying to shove him away.
Ellis didn't budge. He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her flush against his solid chest.
"Don't move," he whispered, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. "We're almost there."
Arielle's heart hammered against her ribs, but this time, the panic was real.
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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."