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Jilted Heiress: Rising From The Ashes

Chapter 6 No.6

Word Count: 843 | Released on: 22/01/2026

melled of fresh lilies and expensive coffee. The floors were polished

ked against the linoleum as

hem before

!" Deirdre's shrill voice drifted from Room 402. "And demanding t

"If she leaks that recording about the tax evasion

e open door. Through the

, and she was wearing a silk robe, not a hospital gown. Boston sat by her side, holding her hand. He had changed i

ng. Arlin was ru

r open. It hit the sto

one j

der a delivery?

the bed. She upended the

. Clink

nto the rolling table at the foot of the bed. The emerald

ting in the corner, gasped. "You bro

"Here. You like my leftovers so much? Take them. Wear the r

his face red. "Have some res

r. The heart rate was steady. The oxygen levels were 99%. "

ted, standing up. "You

," Florr

cket. She pulled out th

m went

eirdre asked, her

rie said. "For t

d the ligh

fe. She touched it to

SSS

The smell of sulfur and burning magnesium filled the air instantly. The fire alarm on the ceiling began

hielding his eyes. "There are oxyge

alarm. She waved the sparkling wand like a conductor's ba

dangerously near the silk sheets. Nurses and a securit

haos. "I wish you a long and happy marriage." She paused, her ey

crumpled piece of paper-a pharmacy receipt she'd fished

have a severe interaction warning. 'Avoid all contact with

e enormous bouquet of white lilies on th

or hours," Florrie said sweetly. "And yet... not a single

... Boston looked from the lilies, to the receipt, to Asia's terrified

g about?" Boston as

t her protest was drowned out by the arrival

sparkler onto the linoleum floor, where it

r shoulder at Boston. "Ask her doctor," Florrie call

behind a family frozen in a tableau of susp

Chapter End

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Jilted Heiress: Rising From The Ashes

Su Liao Modern

“I stood in the center of my Manhattan penthouse, staring at the empty satin hanger where my custom Vera Wang gown should have been. It was a masterpiece of silk and pearls that had taken six months to perfect for my wedding to the billionaire heir, Boston Travis. Then my phone buzzed. Boston's voice was a flat line, devoid of the love he'd promised me for four years. "The wedding is off, Florrie. I'm marrying your sister, Asia." He told me Asia was dying of Stage 4 cancer and her "final wish" was to be a bride-wearing my dress. He had sent his security team to my home with a spare key to steal the gown, claiming it was Travis property since his family accounts paid the bill. My stepmother texted me minutes later, demanding I vacate my own beach house so the "dying" girl could have a honeymoon. When I tried to protest, Boston snapped at me. "How could you be so heartless? She's your sister. Have some compassion." They expected me to play the part of the discarded woman while they paraded my life around as a PR stunt. I realized then that Asia hadn't just taken my dress; she had spent her entire life stealing my father's love and my peace, always playing the fragile angel while I was cast as the villain. I didn't cry. I sat at my desk, opened my contacts, and relabeled Boston Travis as "TARGET." If they wanted a tragic story, I would give them a massacre. I reclaimed my mother's multi-million dollar trust, seized the deed to the beach house, and walked into Asia's hospital room with a lit sparkler to expose the truth behind her "terminal" illness. As I slapped Boston in the hospital lobby in front of a dozen recording iPhones, I realized I didn't need a husband. I needed a clean slate-and I was going to burn their empire to get it.”