The Heiress's Unseen Revenge

I was Ella Cash, a ballerina who gave up everything for Damien Wolfe, believing his philosophy that love should be free and untethered. I thought our love was superior, purer than any vow or ring could make it.

Then, I overheard him on the balcony of his penthouse, talking to a friend. "Of course I'm going to marry her. Kiersten is the only one for me." He called me a "placeholder," dismissing our two years together.

My world shattered. Every loving gesture, every whispered promise, every shared dream-it was all a lie. He left me standing there, rushing off to Kiersten, who was crying in Central Park.

There, I heard the ultimate betrayal: "I never loved Ella. I pursued her for you. I needed her to carry our child so you wouldn't have to put your career on hold." The baby I miscarried wasn't ours; it was Kiersten's, conceived with a donor's sperm.

I was just a vessel, an unwitting surrogate. To add insult to injury, I learned I was the real Bentley heiress, a truth Damien and Kiersten conspired to hide to protect her inheritance.

They even tried to kill me, pushing me into a pool, with Damien choosing to save her over me.

Chapter 1

Damien Wolfe didn't believe in marriage.

He said it was a contract, a piece of paper that stifled true connection. Love, he claimed, should be free and untethered.

I believed him.

I was Ella Cash, a ballerina on the cusp of a career at the American Ballet Theatre. I gave it all up for him. I internalized his philosophy, making it my own. Our love was superior, I thought, purer than any vow or ring could make it.

I had been in Boston for a week, visiting an old mentor from my foster care days. I finished my visit two days early and decided to fly back to New York to surprise him. I pictured the look on his face, the slow smile spreading across his lips when he saw me standing at the door.

The party was in full swing at his penthouse. Music spilled out into the hallway as I let myself in with my key. I navigated through the crowd, looking for him. I found him on the balcony, his back to me, talking to a friend. I smiled, ready to wrap my arms around his waist.

Then I heard his words, carried on the cool night air.

"Of course I'm going to marry her. Kiersten is the only one for me."

My feet froze to the marble floor. My surprise died in my throat.

The friend chuckled. "What about the little dancer, Ella? You've been with her for two years. Everyone thinks you're serious."

Damien's voice was dismissive, cold. "Ella? She's just a placeholder. Kiersten and I have had this understanding since we were kids. It was always going to be her."

"So what's the plan?" the friend asked. "You can't just dump Ella. It'll look bad."

"Don't worry," Damien said, and his voice was laced with a chilling arrogance. "She's served her purpose. She knows her place. She won't make a scene."

My heart felt like it had stopped. The blood drained from my face, and a buzzing started in my ears. The sounds of the party faded into a dull roar.

I couldn't breathe. Every loving gesture, every whispered promise, every shared dream-it was all a lie. A carefully constructed performance.

My whole body started to shake. The glass of champagne I'd picked up on my way in slipped from my numb fingers and shattered on the floor. The sound was loud in the sudden silence of my world.

I struggled to make sense of it. The man who held me at night, who told me I was his world, who convinced me to give up my future for our future-he was a stranger.

Just then, his phone rang, a sharp, intrusive sound.

He answered it, his tone instantly changing. It was soft, full of a desperate emotion I had never heard from him before.

"Kiersten? What's wrong? Where are you?"

There was a pause. I could hear the faint, frantic sound of a woman's voice on the other end.

"Don't do anything stupid," Damien said, his voice tight with panic. "Stay right there. I'm coming. I'm coming right now."

He hung up and turned, his face a mask of pure terror. He was going to run, to chase after her, the real object of his affection.

He didn't see me at first. He just started moving, pushing past his friend.

"Damien," I managed to whisper, my voice cracking.

He finally noticed me. He barely glanced at my face, his eyes already focused on the door. He bumped into me, shoving me aside without a second thought. My shoulder hit the doorframe, a sharp, physical pain that was nothing compared to the agony in my chest.

"Sorry," he muttered, a distracted, meaningless word. He didn't stop. He didn't look back.

His entire being was focused on one thing: getting to Kiersten.

His friend looked from Damien's retreating back to my shattered expression. He stepped toward me, a look of pity on his face. "Ella, are you okay?"

I tried to pull myself together, to build a wall around the gaping wound in my heart.

"I'm fine," I said, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. "I just remembered I left something at my friend's place. I need to go back."

I forced my legs to move, to walk away with some semblance of dignity. I walked out of the penthouse, out of the life I thought was mine.

The elevator doors closed, and the mask I was wearing crumbled.

I slid down the wall, burying my face in my hands as a wave of gut-wrenching sobs tore through me. The cold, sterile hallway became the witness to the complete and utter destruction of my world.