Jilted Heiress: Rising From The Ashes

Chapter 7 No.7

Word Count: 656 | Released on: 22/01/2026

ty guard with a key. The smell of burnt magnesi

ls, Deirdre was hysterically recounting the "attack" to a bewildered hos

ted, merely detained. Setting off a fire alarm was a misdemeanor, especially when

who were carefully avoiding ey

Her performance of a frail victim was shattered. Boston stood by the window, his back to th

s thi

ing a shaking finger at the doorway where Fl

, his eyes full of cold fury. "I want her charged. Tresp

"your daughter appears unharmed. Miss Jefferson claim

th a pyrotechnic?"

ther. His eyes were dark, calculating. He walked over to the bedside table and picke

l gave you migraines. The day of the foundation gala, you made me send ba

"I... I didn't want to be rude

looked at Genevieve, who suddenly looked very unc

his voice dangerously quiet. "The

sick woman!" Deirdre interject

is gaze was locked on

ing its frail, breathy quality and becoming sharp with panic. "F

r clear skin, the terror in her eyes that had nothing to do with illness-and he saw

m the hallway, deciding she had se

rom the wreckage she had caused.

t satisfying thing

thering to turn around. "You might want to sanitize that ring.

mly against th

ng on her chest for four years-the need to be perfect,

burned

vator bank. She pre

ors. Her hair was messy. Her makeup was s

grin

d like a

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.”