Don't Underestimate The Heiress

Don't Underestimate The Heiress

Gavin

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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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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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