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The Mute Heiress: Her Cold Silent Revenge

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 842 | Released on: 03/02/2026

ion felt like a courtroom where th

e porcelain exploding like shrapnel. "Fix it!" she shrieked at the huddle

rapped in a cashmere blanket. She was sobbing, a wet,

at from his forehead. "Deepfake technology. It's e

ooked older tonight. "Where is s

the opening. "You know she is. She's jealous. Sh

the heavy oa

r coat. She walked into the room, ste

He pointed a shaking finger

phone and typed, the screen brightness

stock price, you be

twisted. "You little bitch.

e fear behind the rage. She slipped her hand into he

Isla. "And you," he glared over his shoulder, "you will corroborate it. You w

ng her to call herself crazy to save

. _And if

s low. "No medical insurance. No allowance. And I'll have you commi

e lowered her head, feigning def

t was an ugly, t

said. "Get the

et went out from the official family account. _Malicio

was small, austere, more like a gue

cked t

aptop. The screen glowed blue in the

bedded in the video file. The timestamp that matched the hotel re

it herself. That

a drop box. Target: TechCrunch, Wir

overed over t

, but she heard it. "Crisis averted," Brande was

canceling headphones.

. _Ghost: Are you sure?

back. _Bu

hit

y in denial. Elena was buttering toast. Brande w

ee. His hand lingered on the saucer. "Mi

d, a small

lena announced loudly. "We'll make i

e against the mahogany table.

His face went g

d, pausing with he

t skidded across the tabl

ch blog in the country just confirmed the video is authenti

rk. It clattered loud

whispered. "The st

uth with her napk

her stepmother, frozen in horror; her sister, fina

ant not for them, but for the security camera she knew was hidden in

of the dining room, leavin

Chapter End

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The Mute Heiress: Her Cold Silent Revenge

Tu Tu Modern

“The Pierre Hotel smelled of old money and stale ambition, but all I could taste was the copper of my own rage. I stood in the back of the ballroom, a "mute" shadow in a silk dress, watching my sister Brande play the grieving saint on stage. She wiped away a fake tear, telling the crowd I was too "unstable" to attend my own engagement party. In reality, I was watching her share a secret, intimate squeeze with my fiancé, Chase Sterling, right under the blinding spotlight. When I finally hit "execute" and projected the video of them together in a hotel suite for the entire elite crowd to see, the room went cold. But the nightmare was just beginning. Instead of apologizing, my father crushed his scotch glass and told me to fix the mess. He demanded I issue a public statement claiming I had a mental breakdown and "hallucinated" the whole thing. "If you don't corroborate the Deepfake story, I'll have you committed to a facility with barred windows," he hissed. Brande just smirked from the corner, mocking me for being a "mute waste of space" who didn't even realize my own trust fund had paid for the diamonds around her neck. I realized then that in this family, silence wasn't a disability-it was a target. They thought because I didn't speak, I didn't have a voice. They thought they could use my silence to bury the truth and save their precious stock prices. They were wrong. I didn't just leak a video; I had the keys to every secret they ever tried to hide. I walked out of that hotel and straight into the black sedan of Julian Curtis, my father's most ruthless rival and the only man who knew what really happened the night of the blizzard in Aspen. I handed him the encrypted files that would trigger a hostile takeover of my family's empire. As the city blurred past, I looked at the man who held my future in his hands and typed one final message on my phone. "I'm not here to be saved. I'm here to be the knife."”