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Rising From Ashes: The Swapped Heiress

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 929    |    Released on: Today at 14:11

wice before the

ing instantly, hot and furious. "You

urn pulled the phone away from her ear. The shrill sound of her daugh

es and pinched the

ce a smooth, practiced monotone that c

me in front of everyone! And she knows about Europe, Mom. She told me I was going to b

n. The headache flared i

uire international exposure," Dione star

peaker. "I'm staying here! I'm taking a gap year and rete

xhale. The muscles in her nec

l discuss a gap year when you

her massive glass desk. It slid and hit a s

olled in, adjusting the cuffs of his custom Italian suit

time?" Warren asked, wa

vibrating with suppressed anger. "Because of th

up. "She's a teenager from a trailer park, Dione.

Dione hissed, her fingernails diggi

ted shocks of the county bus gr

husks of abandoned steel mills roll past. The oppressive

pulled out a plastic bottle of generic

whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the

e. She turned to look at Brenda. Her

f we don't need them,

stop at the dirt cro

riveway to the farmhouse. The roof sagged in t

the front door. Th

amped kitchen, pulling a bag of

ing. She dropped to her knees and pulled a hea

button. The internal fan roared to life, soun

She opened the browser. Her fingers flew across the sticky keyboard, pulling up the cu

ty dollars a pound. Chantere

began sketching the wireframe for a Shopify storefr

nda called fr

itchen and sat at the wobbly wooden table. A b

oon, staring at the

ment about an old, reclusive hunter who had stumbled upon a massive patch of wild fungi in a specific, hidden ravine of the South Ridge woods. Bac

her bowl. "No. Absolutely not. The bears are active

She grabbed Brenda's rough, call

n said, her voice flat, le

le steel in Haven's eyes that hadn't been there this morni

I'm comin

under cold water. She looked out the window at the pitch-black tree line o

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Rising From Ashes: The Swapped Heiress
Rising From Ashes: The Swapped Heiress
“My son Leo had just died, and the silence in our cramped apartment felt like a physical weight crushing my chest. Before I could even process the grief, my husband, Preston, kicked the door open and threw divorce papers onto the table. Behind him stood Gloria, wearing a pristine cashmere coat and the diamond pendant Preston swore he had pawned to pay for Leo's hospital bills. "Sign it," Preston said coldly. "You get nothing." Gloria smirked, mocking me for failing to keep my sick child alive. When I tore up the papers in a blinding rage, Preston slapped me to the floor. Then, my biological mother, Jerilyn, walked in. Instead of helping me, she pulled a serrated kitchen knife from her bag and plunged it deep into my stomach. As I lay dying in a pool of my own blood, Jerilyn leaned in and whispered the devastating truth. "I swapped you in the nursery. Gloria is my blood, and you belong in a Manhattan mansion. I can't let you ruin her life." Until my lungs stopped working, I was consumed by a roaring, violent hatred. My own mother had traded my life of privilege for poverty, let my son die, and then murdered me to protect the fake. Opening my eyes again, the dingy ceiling and the agonizing pain were gone. I was sitting at a wooden desk, surrounded by the chatter of teenagers. I was back in high school. And this time, I was going to make them pay.”