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He Return of the Discarded Heiress

Chapter 6 Did you regret it and come back begging for money

Word Count: 821    |    Released on: 16/03/2026

pils shrank

ody rigid as a cat cornered by a wolf

e call replayed rapidly in her mind-yet not a singl

ey scoffed. "I can get back to

take offense

in his chest. The physical vibration car

lly re-establishing physical distance while maintaini

ather and my family," Hill stated, his tone fla

steering wheel i

chimed in. "He rea

jaw clenched tight, refusing to a

smoothly into the very

from ordinary city blocks to imposi

a quiet, steady stop at the end of th

culate white gloves r

eeply and pulled open

t, his long legs sett

roof of the car to shield the door frame from the

ook a dee

her bag clicked sharply against the pavement. The hem of her bl

eys to a valet, then circled

side by side toward the

lobby, Preston Thomas's suit

ont desk, arguing aggressive

tom pink Chanel dress. She clung tightly to Ka

t sofa, complaining loudly that the club's res

is hand down on t

amily! I demand you find us a priva

fectly behind his back. His smil

every private booth is booked

f the other guests. Her fac

tly at Preston's sleeve. "Dad, ple

, the massive revolv

wind swept into

vely toward the entrance, eager to

past the toweri

onto the girl in t

blew wide. Her ja

egance was Ainsley. The same Ainsley they had thoro

wed Kathar

e shoulders and the flawless cut of her silk dress. A raw

r saw

ked over a crystal lemon water glass on

un around

iately assumed she'd tracked them down to be

atching her former adop

f half a step behind A

ifying, lethal darkness bega

ets and let out a loud, mocking whist

d two feet awa

come back begging for m

e hid behind his shoulder, using him as a sh

ine pity. "If you're that desperate for a meal and cash, we could b

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He Return of the Discarded Heiress
He Return of the Discarded Heiress
“For three years, I wasn't a foster child. I was a living, breathing cure. Hidden away in the attic of the Thomas mansion, my sole purpose was to keep their precious daughter alive. Every week, they drained my blood to treat her rare disease, leaving me anemic, scarred, and invisible. I was the "walking blood bag" from the wrong side of the tracks-a stray they'd reluctantly taken in. The day Katharina was finally cured, I overheard the truth. "That walking blood bag has served her purpose," the grandmother hissed. "We are done with her." They threw me out into a freezing rainstorm, tossing a crumpled check at my feet like a tip for a beggar. Payment, they said, for the years I'd "leeched" off their family. Payment for the six thousand milliliters of blood they'd stolen, for the chronic anemia, for the scars. I shredded their charity in front of their faces and walked into the storm. They laughed, screaming that I'd be back, that I'd be begging on the streets by morning. But as I stood alone on that dark road, my world shifted. A sleek, black Rolls-Royce pulled up in silence. The door opened, and my real family stepped out. I wasn't a stray from the slums. I was their lost heiress. And the Thomases are about to learn that the girl they bled dry is now the one holding all the power.”