The Rejected Jinx Is A Billionaire Heiress

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 616 | Released on: 20/09/2026

ing the suburban sprawl behind and crossi

ing to a halt before two colossal, reinforced titanium blast gates. A laser array scanned the wi

antly illuminated by surgical-grade white LED p

gleamed like polished black glass, and the solid platinum crest mounted above the grille radiated untouchable sovereignty. Bes

engine. "We are switchi

sh epoxy floor, looking at the con

dynasties on the continent. Corporate espionage rings and political vultures monitor their every step. We

the plush trunk of the Rolls-Royce, then p

closed with a vault-like, soundproof thud, i

ning forward slightly

e. "Your father is Charles Kensington. Your mother is Eleanor Kensington. They lead the Kensington

pletely lef

trial shipping lanes, and corporate towers across three continents. Robert Tucker had spent five despe

ered, my fingers sinking into the l

lost. You were taken. A calculated, deliberate cradle-swap orchestrated by Robert Tucker and his criminal associates erased your trail and placed y

mine in the glass, leaving uns

ntry upside down looking for you. Every archive, every private registry, every closed door-they fought through all of it. This afternoon, our biometric analytics

broke free and ro

arded burden. I was a daughter who had been mourned, loved

my chin, and let a cold, bri

to them

th a proud smile. "Right

Chapter End

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The Rejected Jinx Is A Billionaire Heiress

Lucy Cartwright Modern

“For eighteen years, I was the Tucker family's adopted punching bag, while their biological daughter, Jessica, was treated like royalty. The moment I graduated college, they kicked me out. Brenda Tucker sneered, calling me a jinx who was bankrupting their company. But I knew the truth. They were erasing me to ensure I wouldn't ruin Jessica's chances of seducing Beckett Sinclair, a billionaire hockey heir, at an upcoming high-society banquet. She threw a fifty-thousand-dollar check at my feet like I was a beggar, ordering me to never claim I knew them. My adoptive father, who had ruined his own company with terrible investments, actually grabbed my arm and demanded I beg the Sinclairs for a bailout on my way out. When I refused, they cursed me, screaming that I was destined to rot in some backwater town forever. I walked into the cold New York night with my two scuffed suitcases, feeling completely hollow. I thought I was just a discarded orphan, thrown away by the only family I had ever known. But then, an older man pulled up to the corner. He handed me a faded photograph of a woman who looked exactly like me. "Miss Chloe, I am here to take you home." That was how I found out I wasn't an abandoned orphan. I was maliciously switched at birth, and my real parents-the billionaire owners of the New York Monarchs-had been searching for me for twenty-two years.”