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From Heartbreak to Heiress: A Philanthropist's Rise

Chapter 1 

Word Count: 527    |    Released on: 13/06/2025

d, the seventh time Ethan Bishop had dangled a

both their names on it, and seven times Olivia Hayes had wafted back into San Francisco, a gh

stopped asking about Ethan after the fourth implosion,

perpetually waiting for a man who treated h

s at their favorite Italian place, "Once this funding round with Olivia's fi

he cheap napkin he'd scribble

e that got away," was considering a major strategic partn

st carrot Olivia

al pre-meeting dinner" with Olivia, Sarah didn't

all closet and pulled ou

ft, every letter, every stupid, hopef

ed it at

ile faltering, genuinely surprised

o a fight, to

d, her voice flat, devo

one, E

, almost condescending laugh,

this Olivia deal

be like

d for attention, another storm he could wea

iefcase, "Gotta run

en look at t

third breakup, the te

seed investment, not from Olivi

so proud

wn up, unannounced,

k to her, woman to wom

l, pitying smile on her face, and said, "

ding Sarah, he'd pulled Olivia away, murmuring apologies about

lmost "ruined everything" by

ublic stripping of her dignity while Ethan

ers like it, were why th

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From Heartbreak to Heiress: A Philanthropist's Rise
From Heartbreak to Heiress: A Philanthropist's Rise
“Ethan Bishop promised me a future seven times. Seven times I pictured Napa weddings, picket fences, or at least a lease with both our names on it. And seven times, his college "one that got away," Olivia Hayes, would drift back into San Francisco, and Ethan would suddenly need "space" or declare it "bad timing." This time, he swore it would be different – a house in Mill Valley, a real future – once the funding round with Olivia's firm closed. Then he breezed in, buzzing about a "critical pre-meeting dinner" with her. I didn't scream, I didn't cry. I just pulled out the dusty cardboard box, already packed with every hopeful trinket, every broken promise. "It's yours," I said, my voice flat, placing it at his feet. He just scoffed. "Don't be dramatic." "We'll talk after this Olivia deal." "Gotta run, she's waiting." He didn't even look back. Seven times I'd been "a little overwhelmed" or "not used to this world," while he prioritized Olivia's comfort. The burning humiliation from a past public betrayal finally extinguished the last flicker of hope. This wasn't just another storm he could weather; it was the unequivocal end. That night, no more tears. The next morning, as he met with Olivia, convinced I was just "pouting," I called a moving company. I emptied my half of our apartment, leaving his favorite takeout menu-now useless to me. No note. Nothing left to say. Then, I dialed a number I hadn't called in over a decade: my Grandma Eleanor.”
1 Introduction2 Chapter 13 Chapter 24 Chapter 35 Chapter 46 Chapter 57 Chapter 68 Chapter 79 Chapter 810 Chapter 911 Chapter 10