For three years, I wasn't a foster child. I was a living, breathing cure. Hidden away in the attic of the Thomas mansion, my sole purpose was to keep their precious daughter alive. Every week, they drained my blood to treat her rare disease, leaving me anemic, scarred, and invisible. I was the "walking blood bag" from the wrong side of the tracks-a stray they'd reluctantly taken in. The day Katharina was finally cured, I overheard the truth. "That walking blood bag has served her purpose," the grandmother hissed. "We are done with her." They threw me out into a freezing rainstorm, tossing a crumpled check at my feet like a tip for a beggar. Payment, they said, for the years I'd "leeched" off their family. Payment for the six thousand milliliters of blood they'd stolen, for the chronic anemia, for the scars. I shredded their charity in front of their faces and walked into the storm. They laughed, screaming that I'd be back, that I'd be begging on the streets by morning. But as I stood alone on that dark road, my world shifted. A sleek, black Rolls-Royce pulled up in silence. The door opened, and my real family stepped out. I wasn't a stray from the slums. I was their lost heiress. And the Thomases are about to learn that the girl they bled dry is now the one holding all the power.
The rusted zipper on the worn canvas bag screeched in protest as Ainsley fought to close it over her last faded gray t-shirt. The sound echoed off the slanted walls of the narrow attic room-a space so small a full-grown person could stand upright only in its exact center.
Three months ago, she'd discovered the truth. It wasn't a confession. It was an announcement. The family had gathered in the grand living room downstairs, and Eleanor, with theatrical sorrow, had "revealed" that Ainsley wasn't a Thomas-Yates by blood. Just a girl adopted from a Rust Belt orphanage. The timing was too perfect-days after Ainsley had caught Katharina with her boyfriend.
Outside the thin wooden door, the sharp click of high heels against expensive hardwood suddenly pierced the silence.
Ainsley's hands stilled.
"-can still see the red mark, Grandmother. The nurse was so rough today." Katharina's voice filtered through the cheap wood, dripping with manufactured petulance.
"Oh, my precious girl." Eleanor's tone shifted instantly to cloying concern. "Don't you worry. That won't be necessary much longer. The doctor confirmed your latest tests came back perfect."
"Finally. I was so tired of coming up to this dusty floor. The smell of poverty up here clings to my clothes."
Eleanor's voice dropped slightly but remained perfectly audible through the flimsy barrier. "Consider it a small price to pay. That little orphan served her purpose perfectly. A mobile blood bag from the slums-exactly what we needed to cure my granddaughter's blood disorder."
Katharina's light, cruel laugh followed. "Thank God it's over. I won't have to look at her cheap clothes or that vacant expression ever again."
Ainsley looked down at her left arm. In the dim light filtering through the single grimy window, the dense constellation of old needle marks stood out against her pale skin like a roadmap of betrayal. Three years of forced donations. Six thousand milliliters.
A humorless smile twisted her lips.
She yanked the zipper closed with brutal force. The sharp metallic sound cut through the hallway conversation like a blade.
Silence fell instantly on the other side of the door. A beat of stillness, then Eleanor's breathing became audible-sharper now, irritated at being caught.
Ainsley grabbed the canvas bag by its worn strap and swung it over her shoulder. The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness crashing through her skull. Her vision grayed at the edges. She bit down hard on her lower lip, the sharp pain anchoring her to consciousness.
When the world steadied, her eyes were flat. Calm. Empty.
She reached for the cold brass handle and pushed the door open.
The hallway's crystal chandelier blazed to life, its light flooding the dark attic and forcing Ainsley to squint.
Katharina stumbled back half a step, her delicate silk nightgown brushing against the wall's wainscoting. Eleanor immediately stepped forward, positioning herself between Ainsley and her granddaughter like a mother hen protecting her chick from a fox.
Ainsley stepped over the threshold. Her worn sneakers landed directly on the expensive Persian runner.
"Stop right there." Eleanor's voice snapped through the corridor like a whip. "What do you have in that bag? If you've stolen anything from this household-"
Ainsley stopped walking. She turned her head slowly, and when her dark eyes met Eleanor's, the older woman's mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. Something in that gaze was ancient and cold and completely unfazed by wealth or status.
Katharina, recovering her nerve, lifted her chin. "You should be grateful. Three years of free room and board, and this is how you leave? With no thank you, no-"
Ainsley dropped the bag onto the carpet. The dull thud echoed in the tense silence. She yanked the zipper open and upended the contents.
A few worn shirts tumbled out. A pair of faded jeans. And several thin, battered notebooks that landed face-down, their pages fluttering to reveal dense handwriting-chemical formulas and molecular diagrams.
Katharina glanced at the scattered papers and immediately dismissed them with a contemptuous flick of her eyes. Gibberish. The scrawls of a failing student.
When Ainsley's voice finally came, it was hoarse but precise. "Six thousand milliliters. That's how much you took. Enough to buy this house three times over on the open market."
Eleanor's face flushed an ugly shade of red. "You ungrateful little-"
Ainsley was already on her knees, shoving the clothes and notebooks back into the bag with efficient, disinterested movements. She didn't look up. She didn't need to.
Katharina's eyes glistened with practiced tears. "She always does this. Plays the victim. Makes us look like the villains when we took her in from-"
The zipper closed with a definitive finality.
Ainsley stood. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and walked forward, directly into the narrow gap between the two women.
Her shoulder connected with Katharina's with deliberate force.
Katharina gasped, stumbling sideways and slamming against the wall with an undignified thud. Her hand flew to her shoulder, genuine pain flickering across her features.
"Katharina!" Eleanor spun to check on her granddaughter.
By the time Eleanor turned back, Ainsley was already at the top of the sweeping staircase that led to the first floor. Her back was straight. Her stride didn't waver.
A cold wind swept through the hallway as a window at the far end blew open, rattling its frame. The curtains billowed like ghosts.
Eleanor stared after the retreating figure, a chill running down her spine that had nothing to do with the draft.
Downstairs, the front door stood open. Ainsley walked through it without looking back, the canvas bag bumping against her hip.
She was free.
he Return of the Discarded Heiress
Ying Luo
Modern
Chapter 1 Who is playing the victim
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Chapter 2 You ungrateful little bitch!
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Chapter 3 3
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Chapter 4 Fiancé
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Chapter 5 Your family is waiting for you
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Chapter 6 Get the hell out of here right now, you pathetic stalker!
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Chapter 7 A family bringing shame upon themselves
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Chapter 8 The Return of the Lost Heir
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Chapter 9 9
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Chapter 10 10
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Chapter 11 11
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Chapter 12 12
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Chapter 13 13
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Chapter 14 14
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Chapter 15 15
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Chapter 16 16
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Chapter 17 17
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Chapter 18 18
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Chapter 19 19
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Chapter 20 20
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Chapter 21 21
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Chapter 22 22
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Chapter 23 23
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Chapter 24 24
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Chapter 25 25
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Chapter 26 26
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Chapter 27 27
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Chapter 28 28
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Chapter 29 29
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Chapter 30 30
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Chapter 31 31
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Chapter 32 32
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Chapter 33 33
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Chapter 34 34
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Chapter 35 35
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Chapter 36 36
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Chapter 37 37
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Chapter 38 38
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Chapter 39 39
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Chapter 40 40
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