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Rising From The Deep: The Heiress's Wrath

Chapter 8 No.8

Word Count: 523    |    Released on: 22/01/2026

d, her patience fraying. "I

ste Randall. But she needed him to

ra's fingers off her hand

art. The girl looked up, her eyes pleading. She reached into the

furiously an

T

it he

s mask of indifference slipping

to me," Ivy

pocket and pulled out a checkb

ch?" he

ked. "Ex

to write. "For an hour. Until she falls asleep. My n

out and held it towa

looked at his face. He thought s

was a sharp, i

ale, Mr. Randa

ed his h

she said, her voice softening as she

sed. "You h

es

go of Ivy's hand and trudged toward the velvet sofa

door. She put her

ooked

dy turned back to his phone. The little girl

ion in the early days,

d under h

he sat down on the edge, avoid

pered to Ara. "But... do you

er head, he

e used to sing to Albion when the thunder scared him. Her

tar, the night

g slowed. Within minutes, her grip on

silence returned, but i

p, smoothin

He hadn't made a single ca

e," he said. It sound

logy," Ivy said qu

ked to

August

nto the hallway, her heart racing, lea

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Rising From The Deep: The Heiress's Wrath
Rising From The Deep: The Heiress's Wrath
“I walked into the master suite clutching a positive pregnancy test, convinced this tiny plastic stick would finally mend the cracks in my relationship with Braeden Randall. I was ready to tell him we were starting a family, that our future was finally secure. Instead of a celebration, a heavy manila envelope struck me in the chest, slicing my lip open. Photos scattered at my feet-grainy images of a woman who looked exactly like me entering a seedy motel with a stranger. Before I could speak, Braeden's face twisted with a hatred so pure it stole my breath. "I'm pregnant, Braeden! It's yours!" I sobbed, shielding my stomach. He didn't hesitate. He called my baby "evidence of my filth" and delivered a kick so brutal it sent me crashing through a glass coffee table. As I lay amidst the shards, watching the white carpet turn crimson with the blood of my lost child, he simply adjusted his cufflinks and told me to "clean up the mess" before walking out. Hours later, I was bound in ropes on a yacht during a violent storm. My stepmother, Brittny, leaned in and whispered the ultimate betrayal: she had murdered my mother, and now she was finishing me off. They threw me into the black, churning ocean like garbage, expecting the waves to swallow my secrets forever. I sank into the freezing depths, fueled by the memory of that final, desperate flutter in my womb and the cold realization that my life had been stolen by a calculated frame-up. How could the man I loved turn into a monster in a single afternoon, and what else were they hiding? Now, four years later, I've returned to Cloud City with a heart forged in ice and a genius son who looks exactly like the man who tried to kill me. I'm no longer the victim who begged for mercy; I'm a rising star auditioning for the lead in Braeden's new production. The games are just beginning, and I won't stop until I've dismantled the Randall empire piece by piece.”