Don't Underestimate The Heiress

Don't Underestimate The Heiress

Finley Steele

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My life in Austin was comfortable, idyllic even.   My parents owned a successful chain of organic cafes, and I was five months pregnant, planning a future with Kevin, the man I thought was different.   Then, sitting in our apartment, his mom Karen watched like a hawk as Kevin slid a  "Domestic Partnership Agreement"  across the coffee table.   Its terms were chilling: I'd waive all rights to his property, any large financial gifts from my wealthy parents would become "joint assets" solely managed by him, and marriage was indefinitely deferred.   My stomach twisted.   What I thought was a loving partnership revealed itself as a calculated heist.   Karen, who cooed about baby names last week, now had eyes small and calculating, her voice flatly stating it was "to protect Kevin."   They conveniently forgot my parents paid for our entire lives.   They saw me as a naive rich girl, easily separated from her family's money.   It wasn't smart; it was a brazen attempt at extortion.   How could he, and his mother, be so utterly devoid of decency, treating me like a walking ATM?   But under the shock, a cold clarity formed.   The devastation transformed into a fierce resolve.   I wouldn't just walk away; I would make them pay.   Feigning agreement, I proposed signing their predatory document after my parents' generous baby shower gift.   Then, I called my lawyer best friend, Chloe.   "You are not going to believe what these parasites just tried to pull," I told her, knowing exactly what came next: it was time for a plan, and for them to burn.

Introduction

My life in Austin was comfortable, idyllic even.

My parents owned a successful chain of organic cafes, and I was five months pregnant, planning a future with Kevin, the man I thought was different.

Then, sitting in our apartment, his mom Karen watched like a hawk as Kevin slid a "Domestic Partnership Agreement" across the coffee table.

Its terms were chilling: I'd waive all rights to his property, any large financial gifts from my wealthy parents would become "joint assets" solely managed by him, and marriage was indefinitely deferred.

My stomach twisted.

What I thought was a loving partnership revealed itself as a calculated heist.

Karen, who cooed about baby names last week, now had eyes small and calculating, her voice flatly stating it was "to protect Kevin."

They conveniently forgot my parents paid for our entire lives.

They saw me as a naive rich girl, easily separated from her family's money.

It wasn't smart; it was a brazen attempt at extortion.

How could he, and his mother, be so utterly devoid of decency, treating me like a walking ATM?

But under the shock, a cold clarity formed.

The devastation transformed into a fierce resolve.

I wouldn't just walk away; I would make them pay.

Feigning agreement, I proposed signing their predatory document after my parents' generous baby shower gift.

Then, I called my lawyer best friend, Chloe.

"You are not going to believe what these parasites just tried to pull," I told her, knowing exactly what came next: it was time for a plan, and for them to burn.

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I sat on the cold tile floor of our Upper East Side penthouse, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred. After ten years of loving Julian Sterling and three years of a hollow marriage, I finally had the one thing that could bridge the distance between us. I was pregnant. But Julian didn't come home with flowers for our anniversary. He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the marble coffee table with a heavy thud. Fiona, the woman he'd truly loved for years, was back in New York, and he told me our "business deal" was officially over. "Sign it," He said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He looked at me with the cold detachment of a man selling a piece of unwanted furniture. When I hesitated, he told me to add a zero to the alimony if the money wasn't enough. I realized in that moment that if he knew about the baby, he wouldn't love me; he would simply take my child and give it to Fiona to raise. I shoved the pregnancy test into my pocket, signed the papers with a shaking hand, and lied through my teeth. When my morning sickness hit, I slumped to the floor to hide the truth. "It's just cramps," I gasped, watching him recoil as if I were contagious. To make him stay away, I invented a man named Jack-a fake boyfriend who supposedly gave me the kindness Julian never could. Suddenly, the man who wanted me gone became a monster of possessiveness. He threatened to "bury" a man who didn't exist while leaving me humiliated at his family's dinner to rush to Fiona's side. I was so broken that I even ate a cake I was deathly allergic to, then had to refuse life-saving steroids at the hospital because they would harm the fetus. Julian thinks he's stalling the divorce for two months to protect the family's reputation for his father's Jubilee. He thinks he's keeping his "property" on a short leash until the press dies down. He has no idea I'm using those sixty days to build a fortress for my child. By the time he realizes the truth, I'll be gone, and the Sterling heir will be far beyond his reach.

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