Pursued By The Billionaire: Mystic Heiress

Lana gasped for air.

Her lungs burned violently. The heavy, chlorinated water of the Beaumont estate pool flooded her nose and throat. She thrashed against the surface. Her physical weakness fought against a sudden, overwhelming surge of spiritual energy.

A flood of alien memories crashed into her brain. The sheer force of the data transfer caused a sharp, splitting migraine. The soul of the mystic leader of the Order of Xuan was overwriting the remnants of this fragile host. A surge of childish resentment, the ghost of the former soul's pain, rose in her mind. She crushed it instantly with the cold indifference of a thousand-year-old mystic.

She realized her new identity instantly. She was the marginalized biological heiress of the Beaumont family. The girl everyone despised.

Lana grabbed the concrete edge of the pool. Her knuckles turned stark white as she pulled her heavy, soaked body out of the water. She collapsed onto the wet tiles, coughing up pool water.

Dahlia Sharp stood over her. The older woman sneered loudly.

"Look at you. The Rust Belt trash cannot even swim properly. You are an embarrassment to this family."

Dahlia kicked Lana's wet hand. She tried to force the girl back into the deep end of the pool.

Lana's eyes snapped open.

The gaze radiating from her pupils was freezing. It carried a pure, murderous intent that instantly halted Dahlia's movement. The air around them seemed to drop ten degrees.

Dahlia scoffs to hide her sudden, physiological fear. She leaned down, aggressively grabbing a handful of Lana's wet hair.

Lana shifted her weight instantly. She dodged the incoming grab with an unnatural, fluid speed.

Dahlia stumbled forward. Her expensive heels lost their balance completely on the slippery wet tiles.

Lana reached out. Her slender fingers locked onto Dahlia's wrist with an unnervingly precise grip that targeted the nerves. Her physical strength was lacking, but her technique was inescapable.

She applied a precise mystic pressure point technique. A paralyzing shockwave of pain shot straight up Dahlia's arm, locking her joints.

Dahlia shrieked in sheer agony. She dropped hard to her knees on the concrete, her face twisting in pain.

Lana twisted the wrist a fraction of an inch.

"Do not breathe another word," Lana warned coldly.

Rapid footsteps echoed across the patio. Serena Beaumont rushed out from the glass terrace doors, her designer dress fluttering.

Serena saw the scene and immediately screamed.

"Lana! Release your aunt this instant! Are you insane?"

Lana slowly released the wrist. Her expression was completely devoid of any daughterly affection. She looked at her biological mother like a scientist observing a loud insect.

Dahlia scrambled back in terror. She cried hysterically to Serena, clutching her bruised wrist.

"She attacked me! She has psychotic violence in her!"

Serena glared at Lana. Her chest heaved with suppressed rage.

"You are ruining our PR image right before the charity gala! Apologize to Dahlia immediately. If a scandal tanks the company stock, I will throw you back to the slums!"

Lana stared at Serena. She analytically processed the absolute lack of maternal concern. Serena did not care that her daughter had just nearly drowned.

Lana wrung the excess water from her ruined dress. She completely ignored the screaming demand.

Serena stepped forward. She raised her hand high, aiming to slap Lana across the face for her insolence.

Lana caught Serena's descending hand mid-air. Her grip was unyielding and freezing cold.

Lana dropped Serena's hand dismissively.

"I will not apologize for self-defense," Lana stated in a deadpan voice.

Serena gasped. She was completely taken aback. The normally submissive girl suddenly possessed an overwhelming, dominant aura.

Lana turned her back on the two women. Her posture remained perfectly straight despite her dripping, ruined clothes.

She walked steadily toward the estate's back entrance. She left her mother and aunt stunned in absolute silence.

Her wet shoes squeaked on the imported marble floor as she entered the grand hallway. She calculated her next move. Her body was failing, and she needed to fix it.

Lana climbed the sweeping mahogany staircase.

Her breathing grew slightly labored. The host body suffered from severe malnutrition. Her chest ached with every step.

She pushed open the door to her bedroom. She noted the stark, minimal furnishings. It was a pathetic closet compared to Quinn's lavish suite down the hall.

She walked straight into the attached bathroom. She locked the door with a sharp click.

Lana stripped off the soaking wet, ruined dress. She tossed it unceremoniously into the trash can.

She stepped into the shower. She turned the dial to maximum heat. The scalding hot water washed away the chlorine and the lingering chill of death from her skin.

While washing, she pressed specific acupressure points on her own neck and shoulders. She dug her thumbs in hard. She needed to forcefully stimulate her sluggish blood flow.

She stepped out. She wrapped a towel around her shivering frame and wiped the steam from the vanity mirror.

Lana stared at her reflection. She frowned deeply. Quinn had manipulated her into wearing clownish, heavy makeup. It looked ridiculous.

She grabbed a bottle of high-end makeup remover. She aggressively scrubbed the thick foundation and neon eyeshadow off her face.

The removal revealed a stunningly pure, cold beauty. Her sharp, piercing eyes had been completely hidden by the cheap cosmetics.

She walked into her small walk-in closet. She bypassed the tacky, brightly colored dresses Quinn had gifted her as a joke.

She reached the very back of the closet. She pulled out a simple, vintage black silk slip dress. The host had bought it at a thrift store.

Lana slipped the dress on. It draped perfectly over her slender frame. It radiated an effortless, dangerous elegance.

She brushed her damp hair straight back. She left it sleek and modern. She refused to apply any new makeup.

She searched her desk drawer. She found her wallet and pulled out her cracked smartphone.

She opened her bank app. The screen displayed an overdrawn balance of negative thirty-four dollars.

Lana narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

She needed immediate capital. Her heart meridian was blocked and her life force was dangerously weak. She had to buy medicinal herbs tonight to heal this body.

Downstairs in the grand ballroom, the charity gala was in full swing. The room buzzed with hedge fund managers and socialites.

Quinn Beaumont stood by the champagne tower. She wore a custom couture gown. She played the perfect, gracious hostess.

The Carlisle Trio approached Quinn. They giggled maliciously.

"Did you see her face when we pushed the trailer park princess into the pool?" Chloe Carlisle whispered.

Quinn feigned a gasp of fake concern. She softly reprimanded them, but a cruel smirk played on her lips.

One of the Carlisle girls checked her phone.

"I bet fifty bucks Lana is upstairs crying. She won't dare show her face again tonight."

Back upstairs, Lana slipped on a pair of simple black stilettos. Her expression locked into a mask of pure ice.

She walked out of her room and down the hall. She paused near a slightly ajar door leading to a temporary catering storage room. Her mystic senses picked up the layout instantly. She slipped inside the shadows and grabbed a pair of heavy-duty, black plastic zip-ties from an opened supply crate.

She slid the zip-ties smoothly onto her wrist like a bizarre, modern bracelet. She hid them under her posture.

Lana walked to the top of the grand staircase. She looked down at the glittering, hypocritical crowd below.

The string quartet playing in the corner hit a discordant note. The cellist caught sight of her.

A sudden, chilling silence began to ripple through the ballroom. Guests turned their heads upward.

Quinn turned around. Her fake smile froze instantly. She saw the breathtaking, unrecognizable girl at the top of the stairs.

Lana took her first step down the velvet-lined stairs. Her aura pressed down on the room like a physical weight.

Lana's stiletto clicked sharply against the marble floor. She reached the bottom of the staircase.

The crowd parted automatically. They instinctively yielded to the overwhelming, predatory pressure she exuded.

Quinn stepped forward. She forced a sweet, sisterly smile onto her face. Her eyes darted nervously over Lana's flawless appearance.

Quinn reached out to touch Lana's arm.

"Lana, are you feeling better after your clumsy little accident?" Quinn asked loudly.

Lana did not even blink. She smoothly side-stepped Quinn's touch. She moved as if avoiding a piece of garbage on the street.

Quinn's hand grasped empty air. Her face flushed with genuine embarrassment. A few socialites nearby began to whisper.

Serena Beaumont pushed through the crowd. Her face was tight with suppressed rage and panic at Lana's reappearance.

Serena grabbed Lana's elbow hard.

"Go back upstairs right now. Stop seeking attention," Serena hissed through clenched teeth.

Lana looked down at Serena's hand on her elbow. Her gaze was so terrifyingly cold that Serena instinctively let go.

Lana adjusted her silk strap.

"I have unfinished business with the Carlisle family," Lana stated loudly and clearly.

The Carlisle Trio stood near the indoor fountain. They exchanged nervous, mocking glances. They tried to maintain their bravado.

The lead girl, Chloe Carlisle, scoffs loudly.

"Go back to the trailer park before I call security, freak," Chloe said.

Lana began walking toward them. Her pace was slow, rhythmic, and entirely unbothered by the murmuring crowd.

Two estate security guards stepped into Lana's path. Serena frantically gestured for them to intercept her.

Lana did not break stride. She targeted the lead guard's radial nerve. She delivered a lightning-fast, two-finger strike to his forearm.

The guard's arm went entirely numb. He stumbled sideways, dropping his radio to the floor in shock.

The second guard hesitated. He was intimidated by the casual, surgical violence. He stepped back, allowing Lana to pass freely.

Lana stopped two feet away from Chloe Carlisle. She towered over her with a dead-eyed, sociopathic calm.

Chloe panicked. She tried to throw her champagne in Lana's face to create a distraction.

Lana's left hand shot up. She caught Chloe's wrist mid-air. She forced the glass backward, spilling the champagne all over Chloe's own designer dress.

Chloe shrieked. Before she could pull away, Lana swept her leg.

Chloe dropped hard onto her knees, hitting the marble floor with a loud thud.

The other two girls lunged forward to help their friend. They screamed about assault.

Lana pivoted on her heel. She grabbed the second girl by the collar and shoved her violently into the third.

Both girls crashed into the decorative floral arrangement. They tangled themselves in vines and shattered glass vases.

Lana dropped her knee onto Chloe's back. She pinned her to the marble floor with precise, inescapable leverage.

She slid the heavy-duty plastic zip-tie off her own wrist with a sharp snap.

Lana grabbed Chloe's flailing wrists. She crossed them behind her back with brutal efficiency.

She threaded the zip-tie. She pulled it tight. The loud, ratcheting sound echoed clearly in the silent ballroom.

Chloe began to sob hysterically. She screamed for her parents as her hands were completely immobilized.

Lana stood up slowly. She dusted off her hands. She turned her cold gaze to the other two terrified girls scrambling on the floor.