Billionaire Heiress's Humiliation: A Brother's Fury

My fiancé' s mistress hacked off my hair in the middle of Van Cleef & Arpels while he laughed on the phone.

He told her to "teach the stalker a lesson," having no idea the woman in the hoodie was actually the billionaire heiress he was arranged to marry.

Ten minutes later, my brother' s private army shut down Fifth Avenue, and I picked up the scissors to return the favor.

I had spent a year doing humanitarian work in war zones, so I arrived at the jewelry store in jeans and a worn hoodie to collect my custom engagement tiara.

Glennie Kramer, a supermodel and Ashton' s "true love," sneered at my appearance and claimed the diamonds for herself.

When I tried to stop her, she grabbed gift-wrapping scissors and violently severed my waist-length hair while the staff watched in terror.

Desperate, I called Ashton, but he mocked me as a "pauper" and authorized security to hold me down while Glennie finished the job.

They smashed my phone, thinking I was helpless.

But the call hadn't disconnected before my brother, Ason Kane, heard everything.

The King of Wall Street arrived with a fleet of armored SUVs and a rage that froze the room.

Ashton collapsed when he realized he had just assaulted the sister of the most powerful man in New York.

I walked over to the trembling supermodel, the scissors cold in my hand.

"You said a nobody doesn't deserve beautiful hair," I whispered.

I didn't just ruin their looks; I sent them to the Black Cell and erased their existence from high society forever.

Chapter 1

Ashlynn POV:

The world thought I was a ghost, a myth, the quiet sister of the "King of Wall Street" who'd rather dig latrines in war zones than walk a red carpet. Today, I was proving them right-or wrong, I wasn't sure yet.

My brother, Ason, had a knack for turning my life upside down with a single phone call. This time, it wasn't about another humanitarian crisis. It was about a marriage, a strategic alliance, as he called it, to Ashton Avila, the rising tech CEO everyone was buzzing about. I' d spent a year mending lives shattered by conflict, and Ason thought my next mission was to mend a corporate balance sheet.

He' d insisted I return to New York, not for my own peace, but for his grand design. I' d resisted, of course. My sanctuary was the dust and the quiet dignity of suffering people, not the dazzling, hollow roar of the city. But Ason Kane rarely took no for an answer. His voice, usually a calm, dangerous hum, had taken on a steel edge I knew not to challenge. "Ashlynn," he'd said, his words cutting through the satellite phone static, "your year of penance is over. Come home. You have an engagement to plan."

He'd even arranged the tiara. A custom piece, he' d barked, from Van Cleef & Arpels. "Don't be late," he'd warned. Always the general, never just my brother.

I stepped out of the taxi onto Fifth Avenue, the jarring symphony of horns and hurried footsteps a stark contrast to the distant cries of children I'd grown accustomed to. The iconic green awning of Van Cleef & Arpels loomed. I adjusted the worn hoodie over my head, pulling the strings tighter. Jeans, a faded t-shirt, and sneakers-my uniform for the past twelve months. I didn't own a silk scarf, let alone a designer handbag. My wealth wasn't in my closet; it was in the resilience of the human spirit I' d witnessed.

A sales associate, impeccably dressed, greeted me at the door. "Welcome," she said, her smile polite but her eyes doing a quick, dismissive scan of my attire. I knew the look. I used to ignore it. Now, it just felt... foreign.

"I'm here to pick up a tiara," I stated, my voice calm, almost a murmur against the hushed opulence of the store. "For Ashlynn Kane."

Her eyes widened, just for a split second, before she regained her composure. "Ah, Miss Kane. Of course. We've been expecting you." She led me through a maze of sparkling showcases, each holding treasures that could feed a small nation. She stopped at a velvet pedestal. "The 'Starlight Bloom' tiara. Crafted specifically for your engagement gala."

It was breathtaking. Diamonds, intricately set to mimic a blossoming flower, shimmered under the spotlights. It wasn't my style, not truly, but I could appreciate the artistry. I reached out a hand, tracing the cool metal. "It's... something."

Just as my fingers brushed the delicate band, a sharp, imperious voice cut through the air. "Don't even think about it, darling."

I pulled my hand back, turning to face the voice. A woman, tall and impossibly thin, stood there, her blonde hair a cascade of perfect waves, her designer dress clinging to every curve. Glennie Kramer. Her face, plastered on countless magazine covers, was instantly recognizable. Her eyes, narrowed and cold, were fixed on me.

"That tiara is mine," she declared, her voice dripping with venom, as if the very air I breathed was an affront.

The sales associate, flustered, stepped forward. "Miss Kramer, this piece has been custom-ordered by the Kane family for Miss Kane. It's not available for purchase."

Glennie laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that echoed in the quiet salon. "The 'Kane family'? What, some obscure distant cousin you dug up from obscurity? Look at her." She gestured at me with a perfectly manicured hand. "She looks like she just crawled out of a dumpster. Does she even know what Van Cleef & Arpels is?"

My jaw tightened. I' d learned to pick my battles, to conserve my energy for real crises. This wasn' t one of them. "I assure you," I said, my voice steady, "I know exactly where I am, and what I'm here for."

"Oh, really?" Glennie purred, her eyes raking over my simple attire again, a sneer playing on her lips. "And what exactly are you here for, little pauper? To gawk? To pretend you belong?"

She turned to the sales associate, a saccharine smile replacing her sneer. "Darling, just take that piece from her. I'll pay double. Triple. Whatever it takes. Ashton would adore me in it."

The sales associate looked helplessly between us. "Miss Kramer, please understand, this is a bespoke piece. It cannot be sold to anyone else."

"Nonsense!" Glennie snapped, her patience wearing thin. She snatched the velvet display cloth from the pedestal, carelessly tossing it aside. "I want that tiara. And I want it now." She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. "You. Give it to her. You obviously can't afford it."

Before I could react, the sales associate, under Glennie's intense gaze, reluctantly reached for the tiara. Her hand trembled as she lifted it, a silent apology in her eyes. It felt like a physical blow, watching her take it from what felt like my grasp.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice quiet, but with an undercurrent that made the sales associate flinch. "I believe I had requested to purchase that item."

Glennie spun around, her eyes blazing with triumph. "Oh, you 'requested'? How quaint. Requests don't work when you're a nobody. Ashton told me to always go for what I want. And baby, I want that." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, "And Ashton always gets me what I want. He always has."

My mind reeled. Ashton? My fiancé? Glennie Kramer, the supermodel, was claiming Ashton Avila as her own?

"Ashton Avila?" I asked, a strange, cold knot forming in my stomach. "Are you referring to Ashton Avila?"

Glennie' s smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "Oh, you know him? How adorable. Yes, my Ashton. My childhood sweetheart. The man I'm destined to marry." She paused, letting the words hang in the air. "He'd never let some... thing like you near a piece of jewelry meant for his bride."

The realization hit me like a physical punch. This was Ashton's much-talked-about "childhood sweetheart." The one he allegedly always came back to. And Ason had arranged for me to marry him. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth.

"I need to make a call," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I pulled out my phone, my fingers fumbling as I typed Ashton's number. This couldn't be happening. Not like this.

The phone rang twice before a smooth, confident voice answered. "Avila."

"Ashton," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's Ashlynn Kane. Your fiancée." I glanced at Glennie, whose triumphant smirk didn't waver. "I'm at Van Cleef & Arpels, and there's been a... misunderstanding."

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a confused laugh. "Ashlynn who? Look, I don't know who this is, and I'm a little busy right now."

My heart sank. He hadn't even saved my number. He hadn' t met me, not properly, not in a way that mattered. This was Ason's arrangement, not his.

Then I heard another voice, light and playful, in the background. "Who is it, Ashton, darling? Some desperate fan?" It was Glennie. She was with him.

"Just some crank caller," Ashton said, his voice annoyed. "Look, whoever this is, stop bothering me. Glennie and I are celebrating. If you call again, I'll have security deal with you."

"Ashton, wait!" I pleaded, my voice cracking. "She's here, Glennie Kramer, she's trying to take my engagement tiara, she said you told her to 'teach me a lesson'-"

"Oh, she's talking about that?" Ashton's voice was laced with a patronizing amusement. "Listen, honey, Glennie deals with stalkers for me all the time. She's got my full permission to 'teach a lesson' to anyone bothering me. Now, if you'll excuse us."

Then, the line went dead.

My hand dropped, the phone clattering against my thigh. The silence in the store was deafening. Glennie, who had been listening with a sickening smirk, let out a triumphant cackle.

"Well, well, well," she purred, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Looks like Ashton has spoken. And he gave me permission to teach you a lesson, didn't he? How do you like that, little tramp?" She gestured at my hoodie and jeans. "Honestly, look at you. A glorified street urchin wanting to buy an engagement tiara. You don't deserve anything beautiful. You don't deserve to look good."

Her words were a sting, but the rejection from Ashton was the real wound. A cold fury began to simmer beneath my calm exterior.

"My attire," I said, my voice dangerously low, "is simply a choice. It doesn't define my worth, unlike some who wear their entire identity on their labels."

Glennie' s face twisted in a snarl. "Oh, you think you're clever, do you? Deflecting with your little philosophical nonsense? You know what? I don't like your face. I don't like your hair. And I especially don't like that you even dared to touch something that belongs to me!"

She snatched a pair of small, sharp gift-wrapping scissors from a nearby display. The sales associate gasped, but Glennie's eyes were fixed on me, wild with a twisted glee.

"You want a tiara?" Glennie shrieked, her voice high and shrill. "You don't even deserve a decent haircut. Let me fix you up, darling. Free of charge!"

She lunged. My first instinct was to dodge, to incapacitate her, as I'd been trained to do in countless tense situations. But something held me back. A strange, almost morbid curiosity. How far would she go? How low would they sink?

The silver gleam of the scissors flashed as she swung them at my head. I stood still, my eyes locked on hers, a chilling calm settling over me. The sales associate screamed. Onlookers, who had been quietly observing, started murmuring.

With a sickening snip, a long, thick strand of my hair, hair I hadn't cut in years, hair that had brushed my waist, fell to the pristine marble floor. It felt like a piece of me, violently severed.

Glennie laughed, a harsh, triumphant sound. "There! Doesn't that look better? Like a proper street dog!" She raised the scissors again, her eyes alight with cruelty. "You know what? I think you need more than just a trim. A nobody like you doesn't deserve beautiful long hair."

She continued to hack, uneven chunks of my dark hair falling around me like scattered leaves. The sales associate was openly weeping. The onlookers watched, horrified, some pulling out their phones.

I felt the cold bite of the metal against my scalp, the phantom tug on my hair, but I refused to flinch. I refused to give her the satisfaction. My breath came in slow, measured gulps, my hands clenched at my sides.

"Stop!" I heard the sales associate cry out.

Glennie, however, was in a frenzy. Another chunk of hair fell, then another. My vision blurred, not from tears, but from a rage so cold, so deep, it threatened to consume me.

"That's enough!" I said, my voice barely audible, but it cut through Glennie's mad cackle.

She paused, the scissors hovering near my ear, her eyes wide with malicious glee. "Or what, little nobody? Your rich brother will come save you? The one who abandoned you for a year? Or your precious fiancé, who told me to teach you a lesson?"

My gaze hardened. I had offered her a chance to retreat. She had chosen poorly.

"I want that tiara," I stated, my voice losing its quiet murmur, gaining a new, dangerous edge. "And I want it now. I'm going to buy it."

The sales associate, still trembling, shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Miss Kane, but... Miss Kramer said if we sold it to you, she would ensure our store loses its lease, its reputation... everything." She gestured desperately around the opulent salon. "She has connections, Miss Kane. Powerful ones. Please, I beg you, don't make this harder."

Glennie smirked, confident in her power. She held up her phone, a picture of Ashton Avila and her, arm in arm, flashing on the screen. "See? This isn't just about me. Ashton backs me up. He'd never let anything happen to his childhood sweetheart. But you? You're a liability."

A quiet hum began to emanate from me, a subtle shift in the air pressure around me. The onlookers, who had been whispering, fell silent, sensing something primal and dangerous. My jaw clenched, and my eyes, which usually held a calm, observant warmth, now gleamed with a frigid intensity. The sales associate took a step back, a flicker of genuine fear crossing her face.

"So," I said, my voice now a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floor, "I am to understand that my position here, my very right to exist in this space, is dictated by her whims and the precariousness of your lease?" I gestured to Glennie, whose confident smile wavered slightly. "And Ashton's blind indulgence?"

Glennie, visibly unnerved by the unexpected shift in my demeanor, quickly regained her composure, though a tremor ran through her hand as she lowered the scissors. "Don't try to intimidate me, you hobo! I told you, Ashton will back me up, and if you cause any trouble, he'll make sure you regret it! You'll be nothing!"

She turned to the sales associate, her voice screeching. "Tell her! Tell her what happens if she defies me! Tell her who we are!"

The sales associate, her face pale, wrung her hands. "Miss Kane, please... The Kramers are very influential. And Mr. Avila... he's a rising star. They could destroy us. You don't understand the power they wield."

The onlookers, a mix of curious shoppers and high-society eavesdroppers, began to murmur again.

"She's right," one woman whispered to her companion. "Glennie Kramer's family has deep pockets. And Ashton Avila's company is on fire. You don't cross them."

Another chimed in, "The girl's pretty, but she's got no idea who she's messing with. Best to just swallow her pride and leave."

My gaze swept over the murmuring crowd, then settled back on Glennie, whose eyes now held a desperate edge. She was trying to project strength, but I saw the fear beneath.

"You hear that, nobody?" Glennie sneered, emboldened by the crowd's whispers. "Everyone knows who runs this city. It's not some charity worker in tattered clothes." She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Now, get out of here before I make sure you never show your face in New York high society again. Go back to your dirty villages and leave OUR tiara alone." She held the mangled lock of my hair up, dangling it mockingly. "Or maybe I'll just finish the job and shave your head. Would that teach you a lesson?" Her eyes were wild, fully committed to the cruelty.

The air in the salon grew heavy, thick with the scent of fear and the unspoken threat hanging over me.