Sorry, Ex: I Am The Real Billionaire Heiress!

n Brid

y against the thin mattress, its harsh rattlin

ernational number flashed across the cracked glass-no c

a strange pull in my gut made me press the

is Jil

ckground on his end was dead silent, carrying a heavy, aris

aintly familiar, like an echo from a ch

llian. Who'

ather, Fiden

ied tone, yet his words crashed

edge of the bed, my brea

is this? I grew up in an orphanage

nineteen ye

a trace of quiet approva

neteen-year grassroots tempering period set b

d my fingers trembled around the

lking about? What temper

cial dynasties in the world, holding thirty percen

stating facts that sounded entirely insane

y direct daughter, and the first-in-l

y boyfriend had dumped me in a gym locker room because I smelled like

ve the bottom of society before taking the throne. Only those who have

brief second b

ur private trust account and wired one hundred million do

ic

, the line went dead, leaving a stea

ammered wildly against my ribs. It had to be a pr

th a sharp chime. An encrypted priority message f

ification open. My pupils shrank the i

er of $100,000,000.00 USD has been credited to your account en

unted them once, twice, three times-eight zeros be

had left in the world after buying that crushed morning sand

buried my face in both hands as a vio

t was a suffocating wave of raw grievance

beggar. I had bowed my head for minimum-wage tips, scrubbed toilets, and

and humiliation had ju

and looked up at the cracked mirror hang

ce and messy hair, but inside her dark e

elina threw a hundred-dollar bill at

, icy curve. Starting today, the broke, su

his room was the sole he