The Heiress Crown of Deception

the steel handle of the black umbrella above her. Rain dripped steadily, mingling with the tears on her cheeks, though she made n

memory, a lifeless body buried beneath layers of earth and ash. The service had been suffocating, filled with people whose names she bar

ask of grief. Dressed in a sleek black gown, Isabelle radiated an ethereal beauty that had always made her seem untouchable. Yet there was som

les

ood, stepped forward, his own umbrella tilted precariously to shield them both. His

whispered, his voice low enough

ll waiting for a sign of weakness. Her every move was being dissected, her every breath weighed against the legacy of he

er voice steady despite the sto

with concern. "You should. They'll

it abundantly clear that he believed Celeste was unfit to lead. And while Isabelle hadn't said it outright, her cool indifference spoke volumes.

for her

n late, just a week before his death, and they'd been sitting in his study. The room had be

m yet tinged with something that felt alarmingly like d

son had dismissed her protests with a wave of his hand. "You'll understa

had come f

ent. Oliver was watching her, his expression sof

grass squelching beneath their feet. The crowd parted as they walked, and Celeste could feel the weight of th

her, and she slid inside, the leather seats cold against her skin. The car smelled

d her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat. Her chest ached, not from grief, bu

t up. Oliver climbed in beside her, shaking rain f

want to be, but we need to talk,"

her brows knitting to

ting tomorrow. Gregory's going to ma

d warned her about-ambitious, cunning, and utterly devoid of loyalty. He'd spent years waiting for an

e asked, her voice shar

"He'll argue that you're inexperienced, that the com

te admitted, bitterness

er believed in you, and so do I. But you need to show them y

chair, barking orders like he owned the place. Harrison had spent his life building Ashcroft

ake it," she said,

f flashing across his face. "G

ion that loomed like a fortress against the stormy sky. The wrought iro

sive stillness, as though the building itself was mourning its fallen king. Celeste stepped

as waiting

ol, like polished glass. "I'm glad you're ba

te replied, shrugg

ered near the doorway like a silent sentine

master of subtle manipulation, a woman who could bend people to her will with nothing more than a point

she said

each her eyes. "Then I trust you'll handle it appropriate

ey expect," Celeste s

he regained her composure. "I'm sure you'll rise to th

up the grand staircase. The sound of her heels echoed through

pression grim. "She's not

ste replied, h

Grego

e's not my uncle anym

er, his grip firm. "Then let's sho

let them take what was hers. The Ashcroft legacy was

worse, the hei