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Discarded Heiress: Reborn from Mafia Prison

Chapter 2 

Word Count: 482    |    Released on: 22/10/2025

sia

stigious art school on the East Coast. Dreams of galleries

devoured it all. My college fund was siphoned off for her "speciali

il had landed in my inbox a few hours after my acceptance. A car would pic

rmal dining room glowed with candlelight, a feast spra

ra's "re

vely in a silk dress. My mother fussed over her, my fathe

ghost at t

finally looked up, his eyes dark

rder, not a

ground b

ed weakly. "Dante, darling, could you peel a

before it was smoothed away. He picked up a grape, his large, capable hands-hands that had built a cri

me snapped. Qui

ed to

the Spanish word for ungrateful s

y father added, his tone dripping

oken. But prison hadn't broken me; it had been my university. I'd learned to survive. To listen. And to navigate

d every ven

storage room. I walked straight through the grand foyer, past t

ng, down the long, manicured driveway, until th

prison-issue shoes hit the pub

my bi

d forgotten. Another piec

leaving. I was

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Discarded Heiress: Reborn from Mafia Prison
Discarded Heiress: Reborn from Mafia Prison
“Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate. Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes." My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life. They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous. They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word. It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash. That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."”