Revenge Of The Neglected Heiress

Revenge Of The Neglected Heiress

Gavin

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I was just a freshly unemployed paralegal in Chicago, killing time by hate-scrolling the trashiest online serial, "Heiress Undone." "This writing is an abomination," I muttered, typing a furious comment about the doormat protagonist and cartoon villains. The moment I hit 'post,' my screen flickered. A pop-up declared: [Narrative Correction System Activated.] Before I could react, my apartment dissolved. One blink later, I was in a ridiculously opulent mansion, dressed as a personal assistant, right in the middle of the Miller family drama I' d just criticized. It was the exact scene: Eleanor Miller shrieked at meek Ava, while her 'sister' Brittany feigned illness. My tablet chimed, revealing a grim truth: Ava's narrative was at "98% failure" for justice. Then, the unbelievable offer: fix this story, and I'd get $7.8 million in royalties. My paralegal brain screamed "Insane!" but the payout was real. Yet, seeing Ava' s quiet despair, the infuriating injustice of these cartoon villains resonated deeper than any sum. I was just a reader, but now I was unexpectedly tangled in a living, breathing train wreck. As Eleanor demanded Ava apologize, I stepped forward. "Actually," I said, my voice clear, "Ava has nothing to apologize for." The System buzzed. This wasn't just about the money anymore. "We're going to get you out of this mess," I promised Ava. "I'm in."

Introduction

I was just a freshly unemployed paralegal in Chicago, killing time by hate-scrolling the trashiest online serial, "Heiress Undone." "This writing is an abomination," I muttered, typing a furious comment about the doormat protagonist and cartoon villains.

The moment I hit 'post,' my screen flickered. A pop-up declared: [Narrative Correction System Activated.] Before I could react, my apartment dissolved. One blink later, I was in a ridiculously opulent mansion, dressed as a personal assistant, right in the middle of the Miller family drama I' d just criticized.

It was the exact scene: Eleanor Miller shrieked at meek Ava, while her 'sister' Brittany feigned illness. My tablet chimed, revealing a grim truth: Ava's narrative was at "98% failure" for justice. Then, the unbelievable offer: fix this story, and I'd get $7.8 million in royalties.

My paralegal brain screamed "Insane!" but the payout was real. Yet, seeing Ava' s quiet despair, the infuriating injustice of these cartoon villains resonated deeper than any sum. I was just a reader, but now I was unexpectedly tangled in a living, breathing train wreck.

As Eleanor demanded Ava apologize, I stepped forward. "Actually," I said, my voice clear, "Ava has nothing to apologize for." The System buzzed. This wasn't just about the money anymore. "We're going to get you out of this mess," I promised Ava. "I'm in."

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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