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The Pregnant Heiress: Rising From The Grave

The Pregnant Heiress: Rising From The Grave

Author: Sofia Wade
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Chapter 1 

Word Count: 962    |    Released on: 16/04/2026

compared to the cold, spreading void in her chest. The phone in her hand vibrated-not from an incoming call, but from the tremor of her own fingers. On th

call button fo

n the sharp, indifferent

leave a

aspy, like dry leaves crunching underf

interrupted her. Not the measured, confident strides of a g

that stoppe

ic

ding into place

, Victoria Morton stared at the Bloomberg termi

not look at her son. "Morton Media stock has dropped thirty percent in t

usly gelled hair. "That bastard Elliott. He's ruined everythin

an. "Divorce is messy. It implies bad judgment. But a widower..." She let the word hang in th

r a full three seconds. Ambition won. He walked to the bar, poured a glass of whiskey, his hand shaking just enoug

" he mu

intercom button. "Dan

e lock. She scrambled to her feet, the heavy sil

ned. It wasn

ind her stood Olga, a broad-shouldered maid usually assigned to heavy laundry. Olga wa

ing forward, her hands outstretched.

allie's touch, then brushed her sleeve as if Calli

he door and l

t the vanity. A silver hairbrush clattered to t

it lay a syringe filled with a clear liquid. She picked

ped. The air lef

for the t

of fifty thousand dollars of lace ripping was a scream in the silent room. Callie was yanked backward

anvers said,

cking a tower of champagne flutes from the side table. Glass sh

the wet stain spread on the carpet. "Cha

like a mountain. Her face was crushed into a

sting of an alcoho

r voice muffled by the fabr

woman

skin of her neck. A s

in. Cold. Icy cold

g potassium chloride to mimic hyperkalemia, masked with a

y turned to water. The beta-blockers she'd taken that morning-a quiet, paranoid habit in this house-were fighting bac

tle of antidepressants from her pocket and scatter

llie's limp limbs, crossing her hands ov

e her. It was blurry, a kaleidoscope of light. Her own he

thump..

swallowed

lear thought formed. Not a heavenly li

lassy, suddenly focused. Pupils contracted to pinpricks. The

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The Pregnant Heiress: Rising From The Grave
The Pregnant Heiress: Rising From The Grave
“I was kneeling on a Persian rug in my custom Vera Wang, staring at the headline that ended my life: my father had been arrested for a massive Ponzi scheme. I reached for my phone to call my groom, Claudius, but he disconnected the line. Then I heard the sound that stopped my heart-the deadbolt sliding home from the outside. Two floors down, my mother-in-law was already calculating the cost of my survival. To save the family's stock prices, they decided a "grieving widower" was better than a disgraced bride. Claudius didn't even flinch. He downed a whiskey and gave the order to the staff. "Do it." The door swung open, but it wasn't my husband. It was the housekeeper and a maid wearing medical gloves. They pinned me down, ignoring my screams, and plunged a syringe of potassium chloride into my neck. They scattered pills across the floor, staging a perfect suicide while I felt my heart rhythm fail. "I'm pregnant. Please." I sobbed into the silk cushions, but they didn't pause. As the darkness swallowed the room, I realized my entire marriage had been a transaction, and I was now a liability to be liquidated. How could the man I loved sign my death warrant? Why was my best friend already wearing my engagement ring before my body was even cold? But they forgot one thing: I was an Elliott, and we always have a contingency plan. The poison didn't kill me; it only woke me up. When I stood up from that chaise lounge, the bride was gone. I was holding the secret ledger that would burn their empire to the ground. "Have a lovely audit."”