The Heiress Who Rose From The Ashes

The Heiress Who Rose From The Ashes

Gavin

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I loved Blake Vanderbilt with everything I had. He was my world, and when he told me about his rare, career-ending nerve condition, my heart truly shattered. The experimental treatment was $80,000, a fortune for a struggling songwriter like me, but I would do anything. So, I sold my father's most treasured possession, a vintage 1959 Gibson Les Paul, the last piece I had of him. Handing over that guitar felt like losing a piece of my soul, but it was for Blake, for us, for our music. Days later, bringing him cookies at his upscale clinic, I overheard voices from a half-open door. "Can you believe she actually sold it?" Chloe Astor's mocking laugh cut through me. Then Blake's voice, clear and strong, "Eighty grand, straight into my account. Paid for this lovely clinic visit, and Chloe's new demo." My blood ran cold. They had laughed about my sacrifice, my tears, and planned to play a video of my heartbreak at a party – my birthday party. The cookies clattered to the floor, my world crumbling around me. He was healthy, radiant, and everything had been a lie. The betrayal knocked the air from my lungs. How could someone I loved so deeply be so monstrously cruel? Weeks later, after being publicly humiliated and assaulted by Chloe's friends, waking up in a hospital bed with stitches in my head, I received a cryptic text. It was from a lawyer, informing me that my long-lost grandfather, a legendary music mogul, had just passed away. And he'd left his entire multi-million dollar estate to me.

Introduction

I loved Blake Vanderbilt with everything I had.

He was my world, and when he told me about his rare, career-ending nerve condition, my heart truly shattered.

The experimental treatment was $80,000, a fortune for a struggling songwriter like me, but I would do anything.

So, I sold my father's most treasured possession, a vintage 1959 Gibson Les Paul, the last piece I had of him.

Handing over that guitar felt like losing a piece of my soul, but it was for Blake, for us, for our music.

Days later, bringing him cookies at his upscale clinic, I overheard voices from a half-open door.

"Can you believe she actually sold it?" Chloe Astor's mocking laugh cut through me.

Then Blake's voice, clear and strong, "Eighty grand, straight into my account. Paid for this lovely clinic visit, and Chloe's new demo."

My blood ran cold.

They had laughed about my sacrifice, my tears, and planned to play a video of my heartbreak at a party – my birthday party.

The cookies clattered to the floor, my world crumbling around me.

He was healthy, radiant, and everything had been a lie.

The betrayal knocked the air from my lungs.

How could someone I loved so deeply be so monstrously cruel?

Weeks later, after being publicly humiliated and assaulted by Chloe's friends, waking up in a hospital bed with stitches in my head, I received a cryptic text.

It was from a lawyer, informing me that my long-lost grandfather, a legendary music mogul, had just passed away.

And he'd left his entire multi-million dollar estate to me.

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I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved. On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there. I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera. She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning. I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine. "She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad." My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family. "Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you." The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control. They were about to find out just how wrong they were.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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