The Jilted Heiress: Rising From Betrayal

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 814 | Released on: 15/01/2026

loor. "I brought you soup," she said, her voice small.

at the thought of food. "I can't," she said softly. "I'll

unce. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, her thumbs flying across the screen w

creen into Kalea

le. Franco Preston was walking out of the revolving doors of the St. Regis Hotel. His hand w

alousy to hit. She waited for the heartbreak. Bu

g in anger. "While you were lying here with tubes down your

the bedside table and picked up he

Kalea's icy skin. "You know? That's it? Kalea, you have to dump him. Y

ure on that marriage license is worth three hundred million dollars to the Alexander Group. If I walk awa

Frida yelled, tears springing to her eye

aid, her voice

e the clutch. She pulled it

e phone. "Don't answ

eath, her posture straightening, her face smoothing

voice was steady, pleasant, the

the background noise of traffic and a car horn. "The traffic

m j

Kalea. Don't

ne wen

he looked at Frida and gav

ring curses under her breath. "He's a mon

torture devices. Her ankles wobbled, weak from dehydration and stress. She reached into her bag and pulled out a sm

ered, watching her. "W

paused, her hand on the metal

nowhere else t

lack of her heels echoing in the quiet corridor. She pressed the button for the lobby. The elevato

ight and busy. She walked out the autom

b, looking like a sleek, dark predator. The win

's personal chauffeur, stepped out and opene

n and slid int

sn't Franco's cologne. It was a sw

nie Spence

. The blue light of his phone illuminated his sharp jawline.

d them in. The air was thick with the scent of b

Chapter End

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The Jilted Heiress: Rising From Betrayal

Sakakawea Modern

“I woke up in a sterile hospital bed with the smell of antiseptic burning my throat, having just had my stomach pumped six hours ago. Before the sedatives even wore off, my mother called, not to ask if I was alive, but to demand I show up at my sister's birthday gala in two hours. To her, I wasn't a daughter; I was a three-hundred-million-dollar signature needed for a corporate merger. She didn't care that I was suicidal, or that my fiancé, Franco, was currently at a luxury hotel with his "secretary" while I was hooked up to an IV. At the gala, the humiliation only deepened. I watched my fiancé walk in with his mistress, the air thick with her cloying perfume. When my grandmother's "lost" emeralds-my rightful inheritance-spilled out of the mistress's purse, my mother didn't flinch. Instead, she hissed at me to give them back to avoid a scene. My sister, the "perfect" golden child, took the stage and told the elite crowd that I was mentally unstable and "confused" due to my medication. I stood there, drenched in champagne and bleeding from a glass shard, while my own family gaslighted me in front of the world's press. Franco didn't even look at me as he shielded his mistress from the cameras, leaving me to stand alone in the wreckage of a life they had dismantled. I realized then that my parents didn't want a daughter; they wanted a pawn who wouldn't talk back. Why was my life worth less than a line item in a budget? How could a mother hand her daughter's legacy to a mistress just to keep a contract intact? As my sister lunged at me in a fit of rage, I kicked her into the infinity pool and watched the "perfect" family mask finally shatter. I didn't wait for them to pull me down; I let the weight of my gown drag me into the dark water myself. Let them think the broken Kalea Alexander is gone. When I surface, I'm not coming back as a daughter-I'm coming back as their worst nightmare.”