YOU Shadows of Sorrow

The Convict Heiress: Marrying The Billionaire

Rollins Laman

The heavy thud of the release stamp was the only goodbye I got from the warden after five years in federal prison. I stepped out into the blinding sun, expecting the same flash of paparazzi bulbs that had seen me dragged away in handcuffs, but there was only a single black limousine idling on the shoulder of the road. Inside sat my mother and sister, clutching champagne and looking at my frayed coat with pure disgust. They didn't offer a welcome home; instead, they tossed a thick legal document onto the table and told me I was dead to the city. "Gavin and I are getting engaged," my sister Mia sneered, flicking a credit card at me like I was a stray dog. "He doesn't need a convict ex-fiancée hanging around." Even after I saved their lives from an armed kidnapping attempt by ramming the attackers off the road, they rewarded me by leaving me stranded in the dirt. When I finally ran into Gavin, the man who had framed me, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to send me back to a cell if I ever dared to show my face at their wedding. They had stolen my biotech research, ruined my name, and let me rot for half a decade while they lived off my brilliance. They thought they had broken me, leaving me with nothing but an expired chapstick and a few old photos in a plastic bag. What they didn't know was that I had spent those five years becoming "Dr. X," a shadow consultant with five hundred million dollars in crypto and a secret that would bring the city to its knees. I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a weapon, and I was pregnant with the heir they thought they had erased. I walked into the Melton estate and made an offer to the most powerful man in New York. "I'll save your grandfather's life," I told Horatio Melton, staring him down. "But the price is your last name. I'm taking back what's mine, and I'm starting with the man who thinks he's marrying my sister."

Modern Revenge Rebirth/Reborn

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Annabelle’s POV

“Please, Mr. D’Angélo, I just need more time!”

Father's voice was hoarse, raw with desperation.

On hearing his desperate tone, I paused.

I stood outside my study, my grip on the doorknob, tightening. My heart was slowly beginning to race too.

I had never seen my father so vulnerable like that before.

I kept wondering to myself, trying to figure out the scene I was witnessing at the moment.

“I have seen father feel pain, that was when mum died…

I have experienced him being scared and uncertain, but that is always just for a few moments, in times of difficult decisions or situations…

But I haven't seen him act this desperate before!” I thought to myself.

Before Mama’s death (as we fondly called her), making the toughest decisions at home was so easy and simple for my father.

Mama acquired so much power because she hailed from one of the wealthiest families in their local clan. This gave Father an edge in most situations when protection was needed.

But then, she decided to keep a flower and paint shop because of me. She knew how much I had grown to love flowers and painting.

"I have seen this face before," I quickly remembered, on seeing our visitor.

Two other men stood almost motionless at his back as if keeping guard.

I couldn't fathom what was happening. Even though I have always known since my childhood that Father had some strange faces visiting us from time to time, because of his gambling and dirty involvement with gang leaders.

But that particular atmosphere was different from all others of the past.

I rushed to my study table to confirm the face of the man sitting, from the regular magazine always placed by the bookshelf.

Searching around for a few minutes...

"Finally got it!” I whispered nearly out loud but quickly caught myself.

This magazine, for years, has been seen tolling around the house.

“Antonioni D’Angélo? The Shadow King? The man who makes empires tremble?”

So many questions were pumping into my head. Including…

“Father is pleading with him!? Why?”

The huge man sitting on the threshold, his presence was suffocating.

His voice was smooth but deceptively calm. And for some strange and unknown reason, it sent a cold shiver down my spine.

Antonioni D’Angélo!

Everything about this man screamed danger—his broad shoulders, his tailored shady-black suit, the way his dark eyes assessed the whole room with chilling detachment.

He is one who effortlessly exudes power, the kind that doesn’t need to be announced.

Antonioni leaned back in his chair, exuding effortless power and masculinity. His fingers tapped against the armrest in slow, deliberate beats. His silence is worse than words.

After an agonizing pause, a deep, icy-warm, and cold voice cut through the air. “Time is a luxury you no longer possess…”

I strained my ears further to hear what he was saying.

It seemed like Father was muttering something, but he flicked his hand, cutting him off.

“You gambled with what wasn’t yours. You lost! Now, it’s time to pay your debt, Edward!” I had heard him say.

I couldn't bear the sound of where their discussion was heading. Out of my hidden corner, I voiced out.

“What debt?” My voice barely sounded like mine.

My pulse pounded as dread coils around my ribs, like a snake.

Antonioni’s gaze flickered over me, resting a little on my hips, then back to my father.

“Is this her? Not very bad looking.”

Father nodded like a child pleading guilty to a clumsy crime.

My stomach twisted.

“What’s going on?”