The Impostor Heiress

The Impostor Heiress

Gavin

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My eighteenth birthday was supposed to be the culmination of a perfect life, the grand debutante ball cementing my place in Dallas society. I was Gabrielle Johns, poised, confident, and ready to claim the life I' d meticulously prepared for, always mindful of the recurring nightmare of a girl screaming I was a fake. Then, just as my father was about to speak, the ballroom doors burst open. A girl, Maria Chavez, a wild, aggressive stranger, stood there. She pointed directly at me, yelling, "She' s a fraud! I am the real Blakely daughter!" The room plunged into shocked silence, all eyes on me as I registered her worn clothes against my designer gown. My heart pounded, but a single, calculated tear traced a path down my cheek as I whispered, "Daddy?" Maria lunged, splashing wine on my white dress, a violent stain shattering the perfect image. My own brother, Andrew, my closest confidant, then shockingly defended her, presenting a 'DNA report' from a shady lab and claiming her story was true. He chose her over me, leading this sobbing stranger further into my home, while my fiancé, Wesley, quickly abandoned me for her. How could my family, my brother, be so easily manipulated, so quick to doubt the daughter they raised, over a desperate plea and a flimsy lie? Even as the world tilted, a cold resolve settled in my bones. The dream wasn't a nightmare; it was a warning. They expected me to break, to crumble. But I was a strategist, and this was only the first battle. I would fight for my life, expose the impostor, and reclaim everything that was rightfully mine.

Introduction

My eighteenth birthday was supposed to be the culmination of a perfect life, the grand debutante ball cementing my place in Dallas society.

I was Gabrielle Johns, poised, confident, and ready to claim the life I' d meticulously prepared for, always mindful of the recurring nightmare of a girl screaming I was a fake.

Then, just as my father was about to speak, the ballroom doors burst open.

A girl, Maria Chavez, a wild, aggressive stranger, stood there.

She pointed directly at me, yelling, "She' s a fraud! I am the real Blakely daughter!"

The room plunged into shocked silence, all eyes on me as I registered her worn clothes against my designer gown.

My heart pounded, but a single, calculated tear traced a path down my cheek as I whispered, "Daddy?"

Maria lunged, splashing wine on my white dress, a violent stain shattering the perfect image.

My own brother, Andrew, my closest confidant, then shockingly defended her, presenting a 'DNA report' from a shady lab and claiming her story was true.

He chose her over me, leading this sobbing stranger further into my home, while my fiancé, Wesley, quickly abandoned me for her.

How could my family, my brother, be so easily manipulated, so quick to doubt the daughter they raised, over a desperate plea and a flimsy lie?

Even as the world tilted, a cold resolve settled in my bones.

The dream wasn't a nightmare; it was a warning.

They expected me to break, to crumble.

But I was a strategist, and this was only the first battle.

I would fight for my life, expose the impostor, and reclaim everything that was rightfully mine.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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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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