She Returned With The CEO's Hidden Heir

The sky over South Hampton broke open, unleashing a furious storm that washed the streets away behind a thick curtain of rain. The city seemed to shrink beneath the weight of the clouds, as if the deluge meant to crush every last stone.

Inside Lawrence Manor, the glittering chandeliers and polished wood panels did little to warm the cold darkness that had taken root.

A strangled moan tore through the strained silence.

In the center of the drawing room, Jeanne Lawrence crawled, gasping for breath. Her bloody hands smeared crimson streaks across the floorboards. Her strength was failing, but the fire in her spirit refused to be extinguished.

Every person standing around her should have been a rescuer, yet no one moved. Abandonment was a physical presence in the room, as cold and solid as the manor's walls.

The venomous words of the man who should have protected her still echoed in her mind.

"Jeanne... You are a disgrace to this family. If you weren't so attached to Eden, I would have thrown you out the day your mother brought you into this world. My children are Jasmine and Joshua. You... You are nothing."

Those memories cut deeper than any physical wound. A bitter smile twisted her split lips. Her half-sister had stolen the man she loved and destroyed her future, yet she was the one being cast out.

A figure knelt before her.

Jasmine.

The girl's innocent mask had fallen away, replaced by a cruel, triumphant gleam.

"Well, Jeanne..." she cooed. "How does it feel, getting punished by Daddy?"

Jeanne turned her head away, refusing to let that face be the last thing she saw.

"You thought you were so untouchable. You thought Eden loved you? How naive. He's mine now."

If every bone in her body didn't scream with agony, Jeanne would have found the strength to drag Jasmine down into the dirt with her.

"You're nothing but an embarrassment," Jasmine murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper. "So just die-and spare us the sight of you."

But Jeanne refused to obey. To live. To strike back. That was the only thought keeping her alive.

A cruel smile touched Jasmine's lips. She filled a glass with water, tossed in a handful of salt, and poured the stinging mixture over Jeanne's open wounds.

Her scream ripped through the air, but not a single member of her family so much as flinched.

A knife appeared in Jasmine's hand. The blade glinted, poised to carve a permanent scar across Jeanne's face, when the door was thrown open with a violent crack.

"JEANNIE!"

Monica burst in, breathless, and dropped to her knees, gathering Jeanne into her arms.

"I'm getting you to a hospital."

"Don't even think about it," Jasmine spat.

Monica's gaze didn't waver.

"Your father can threaten me all he wants. I don't care."

Alexander Lawrence appeared at the top of the grand staircase, looming over them like a king on his throne.

"Put her down."

"Are you just going to let her die?" Monica shot back, her voice trembling with rage. "You're her father, for God's sake!"

"It doesn't concern you."

"It does now."

Monica took a single step, but the household servants moved to block her path, closing in around them. Jeanne was torn from her arms.

"Take her to her room," Alexander ordered.

Monica was shaking, but her voice cut through the tension.

"If she dies, I'm staying right here and dying with her."

Alexander's judgment was swift and ice-cold.

"As of tonight, Jeanne Lawrence no longer exists."

But in the chaos, Monica saw an opening. She lunged forward, scooped Jeanne up again, and staggered through the open doorway. This time, no one stopped them.

Outside, the rain lashed down, but Monica kept moving, her shoes falling apart on the slick pavement.

"Hold on..." she pleaded.

"Thank you..." Jeanne whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Don't thank me," Monica choked out. "If you're gone, I'm gone with you."

They made it to the hospital, but the reprieve was short-lived.

On Alexander's orders, Jeanne was discharged and handed a one-way ticket out of the city.

She was eighteen years old, banished from South Hampton, and torn away from Eden.

Seven years passed. The city glittered on, its lavish parties and gilded conversations hiding a deep well of resentment.

Then, one day, she came back.

At the airport terminal, Jeanne strode forward, pulling an old leather suitcase behind her. At her side walked a small, six-year-old boy with dark curls, thin glasses, and a book clutched tightly to his chest.

She wore a simple coat that draped over her like the robes of a fallen queen, her face set with the calm of someone who had weathered impossible storms.

Her dark hair fell in soft waves, and her red lips were drawn in a line sharp enough to sever old promises. Heads turned.

Gazes followed her as if pulled by an invisible force. And she just kept walking-upright, implacable, and home.

As she passed an elegant man, he froze, stopped in his tracks by a sudden flash of memory.

The butler at his side stepped closer discreetly. "Sir... I believe that was Jeanne Lawrence."

"She's back?"

"From what I've heard, Mr. Lawrence is gravely ill. Word is she's here to say her final goodbyes."

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the man's lips. He studied the boy at her side. "Could that be... her son?"

The butler nodded wordlessly, then flinched under the man's cutting gaze.

Meanwhile, Jeanne spotted a familiar figure.

"Monica!"

Hearing her name, Monica spun around, her face breaking into a wide, surprised grin.

"Jeanne! You're finally back! I was starting to think you'd decided to hide from the world forever!"

Seven years had passed, but Monica's playful jabs hadn't changed a bit. A small smile touched Jeanne's lips before she steered the conversation elsewhere.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Edward. Edward Swan. He just came through here."

"I don't know him," Jeanne replied flatly.

"What? Are you kidding me? You used to follow him around like having a lovesick!"

Jeanne rolled her eyes. It was just a silly high school crush, nothing more.

Monica raised an eyebrow. "If you'd managed to land him, maybe your father wouldn't have thrown you out like yesterday's trash..."

Jeanne smoothly changed the subject. "Is your car outside?"

"Obviously. Let's go."

As Monica reached for the luggage, she stopped short, her eyes landing on the child.

"Your son? He's adorable."

"Yes. His name is George," Jeanne answered with a nod.

"Hello, George. Nice to meet you, I'm Peppa Pig. Oink, oink..." Monica said, scrunching up her nose.

George watched her with a blank expression, then slowly took off his glasses. His eyelashes were so long they looked almost unreal.

Monica froze, suddenly feeling that she was a fool.

Then, in a soft voice, George replied, "Hello, Peppa Pig."

Monica burst out laughing, completely delighted. "You can call me Godmother!"

George glanced at his mother, who nodded.

"Godmother."

"Perfect! My darling godson, you're going to live like a prince! You'll have good food, a beautiful room, and plenty of maids to dote on you!"

Without another word, she took George's hand, leaving Jeanne to deal with the luggage.

George shot his mother a perplexed look, his brows furrowed, as if to ask whether this lady was an idiot.

Jeanne sighed.

With an IQ of 200, George considered anyone of average intelligence a lost cause.

The car pulled away from the airport. Monica drove, Jeanne sat in the passenger seat, and George was quiet in the back.

The drive toward the city center stretched on.

"Was it your grandfather who called you back?" Monica asked.

"He's very ill. He wants to see us before his time is up."

"They say your stepmother, Jennifer, is running the house now. You need to prepare for hardship."

Jeanne nodded slowly, a cold light entering her eyes.

"Jasmine is marrying Eden this month. They're hoping the wedding will lift the old man's spirits."

"I heard about that."

Monica bit her lip. "Do you... do you still think about him?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"Dramatic? Me? Come on, you two were in love! If that viper Jasmine hadn't gotten her claws in, you'd be the one marrying him!"

Jeanne just shrugged. "If our bond was that easy to break, it was never worth keeping."

Monica sighed. "What about George's father?"

Jeanne dodged the question. "He was just some guy."

"Some guy? Please tell me he wasn't a pig."

Jeanne laughed. "He was. That's why I named my son George."

George's eyes widened in dismay from the backseat. Monica howled with laughter.

They talked for the entire forty-minute drive.

When they arrived at the Lawrence estate, the car slowed to a stop before the grand gates.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Monica offered.

Jeanne shook her head. She had left in humiliation; she would return a conqueror.

She stared at the plaque on the gate "Lawrence."

Her lips stretched into a cold smile.

She would have her revenge. A hundred, even a thousand times over.

She took George's hand.

"Let's go."

The Lawrence family mansion was one of the oldest private estates in South Hampton City. Located in the heart of the city, every inch of the property was priceless.

Legend said the foundations were built on an ancient sanctuary, once guarded by monks who had vanished without a trace. Draped in forgotten history, the estate had witnessed generations of Lawrences-power marriages, betrayals disguised as unions, and secrets buried deep beneath the oak floors.

The mansion's façade, framed by rolling green hills and a striking, man-made river, opened onto a meticulously kept tropical garden-a surreal oasis against the urban chill of South Hampton. The architecture, a bold mix of old-world majesty and understated elegance, projected an air of calm... or of well-hidden schemes.

The paved path leading to the main entrance wound through the silence. Before them, the mansion loomed, a stone giant burdened with unspeakable stories.

Jeanne didn't pause for a second before the ornate front door. Her gaze was fixed and icy. George, her young son, followed in her shadow. Their footsteps echoed in the grand hall, a prelude to the past she was about to confront.

In the drawing room, several well-dressed ladies were exchanging idle chatter. At the sight of Jeanne, their voices died abruptly.

One woman snickered. "Well, look who's back! If it isn't our dear heirness Miss Lawrence. Sorry... ex-heirness."

Ex-heirness?

Jeanne offered an enigmatic smile, not saying a word. She looked at them the way one might observe flies buzzing over rotting fruit.

"And she has a child with her! I'd heard the rumors... To come back with a boy and no wedding ring. What a disgrace to the family!" another woman chimed in with a giggle.

The giggles dissolved into venomous whispers, until an imposing figure rose to her feet. A woman of noble bearing, dressed in a formal, old-fashioned gown, crossed the room with calculated slowness.

"Jeanne, there you are. Your father has been waiting for you," she said, her voice dripping with a warmth that rang utterly false.

This was Jennifer Lawrence, her stepmother. The woman who had shattered her family by seducing Alexandre Lawrence. She played the part of a compassionate matriarch perfectly, but beneath the surface, she was a viper with razor-sharp fangs.

Jeanne stared at her without blinking. "You can drop the act, Jennifer. You were one of the ones who showed me the door, remember?"

Jennifer faltered for a moment, caught off guard.

She had expected that years in exile would have left Jeanne subdued, even broken. But the fire in Jeanne's eyes proved she hadn't lost an ounce of her fight.

"That was your father's decision," she answered, her voice strained with forced calm. "But blood is always connected."

"If you say so," Jeanne replied, her tone weary and mocking.

Not lingering on the defeat, Jennifer ordered a maid, "Maria, take her luggage upstairs. His grandfather is waiting for her in his room."

Maria obeyed at once. As they climbed the stairs, the whispers resumed behind them.

"That girl is trouble. Rude, shameless... She doesn't belong here."

"She has a vicious temper, you know. And don't forget! She swore she was going to marry Edward Swan, the fourth son of the Swan family, just to get back at Jasmine."

"Said she'd make Eden call her 'Aunt Jeanne'... What a fool."

Jenifer silenced her friends with a look of feigned indulgence. "Come now. She just need some time to grow more mature..."

Just then, a bright voice echoed from the hall. "Mom, Eden and I are back!"

Eden.

Jeanne's heart gave a painful lurch. Her steps faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before she caught herself. George, too young to understand the tension, squeezed her hand.

A moment later, the couple appeared in the living room. Eden, looking as elegant as ever, had his arm wrapped around Jasmine's waist. They were the picture of a fairy-tale couple. Yet a fairy tale with a rotten core.

From the bottom of the stairs, Eden's eyes met Jeanne's. He froze, a flicker of something troubled in his expression. Jasmine followed his gaze, and when she saw Jeanne, her smile stiffened.

"Oh, is that my sister? You're back," she called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Jenifer, ever the instigator, murmured to Jasmine, "You can go say hello in a bit."

Jasmine nodded, but her eyes burned with jealousy. A cruel little smile played on her lips. Jeanne had no idea why she'd been summoned back after all these years. But she would figure out soon enough.

...

After settling George in his room, Jeanne went to see the family patriarch, Jonathan Lawrence. A stroke had left him confined to a wheelchair. He looked frailer than she remembered, but his eyes were still as sharp as hawk's.

"So, you're back," he said, his voice a low rumble.

"Yes," she replied curtly.

"To the study. We need to talk."

She followed him to the study. There was no emotion in his voice, only a heavy coldness-the tone of a king addressing a pawn.

"It's time for you to get married," he announced.

"So you didn't call me back to witness your final days. You called me back to get married?"

"Exactly. You'll meet Thedus Locke tomorrow. He's thirty. Solid. A suitable marriage."

Jeanne let out a joyless laugh. "Thedus Locke? The murderer who just got out of prison?"

"He is willing to accept your child. You should be grateful."

She narrowed her eyes. "And how much did the Locke family pay you to buy me?"

Jonathan's jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

"I just wanted to know my worth," she said with a venomous smile.

"You're lucky to be offered any future at all," he bit out, his brow furrowed.

"Of course, Grandfather," she replied, dipping her head in a gesture of mock respect. Her smile was pure ice.

Jeanne left Jonathan's study and headed back to her room.

An icy silence had fallen over the mansion, the very walls seeming to hold their breath, waiting for the next act of the drama to unfold. She had barely stepped into the hallway when her breath caught. A figure loomed in the hallway before her, a ghost from a nightmare she thought she had long since buried.

It was Eden. The man she had once loved with a consuming, all-devouring passion. He stood there, proud and self-assured, as if nothing between them had ever been broken.

They had known each other since adolescence, bound by memories and promises whispered in the shadows of high school lockers. Their relationship had survived since then, at least on the surface. The constant fighting was just a symptom of their fiery passion-or so their friends said. Monica, a friend to them both, used to joke that only a man with Eden's patience could handle Jeanne's temper.

But Eden's devotion wasn't as pure as she'd been led to believe. Then the news broke, spreading through town like a disease: he had slept with Jasmine, her own half-sister. It wasn't just a betrayal; it was a knife to the heart.

The scandal spread like wildfire. But somehow, Jeanne was the one who took the blame. Jasmine, shielded by her mother, Jenifer-a master manipulator who could twist any truth to her advantage-emerged unscathed.

Impulsive and untamable, Jeanne had refused to be slandered without a fight. She'd caused a scene, a spectacular one, that dragged the family's name through the mud. That was her downfall. She lost everything: her love, her status, her dignity. But she hadn't gone down quietly. In a final, defiant outburst, she had declared her intention to seduce Edward Swan-the feared fourth son of the Swan family-and force Eden and Jasmine to one day call her "Aunt Jeanne."

It was all part of a bloody, painful past, a memory that still left a bitter taste in her mouth. But the years abroad had changed her. She had learned to bank her anger, to tame the inferno that once raged inside her.

"Jeannie," Eden murmured, his voice caressing the air.

She met his gaze with a calm, almost vacant smile.

"It's been years since we've seen each other. How are you?" he asked, as if they were old friends catching up over coffee.

Jeanne answered coldly, "That's none of your business."

"We loved each other once. I genuinely want you to be happy."

She arched a brow. "I assume you know why I've been summoned back to South Hampton."

Eden nodded. "I know Thedus is not a good man."

She remained silent.

"If things hadn't fallen apart between us, you wouldn't be in this position."

"Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Swan. I'm quite delighted to have cut ties with you."

"Still as stubborn as ever," he gave a cold laugh, yet the sound bitter. "That temper of yours is what drove me to Jasmine."

He dared. He actually dared to flip the blame onto her.

Jeanne shot him a murderous look. "Honestly, I'd rather marry Thedus than a man who can't keep it in his pants."

Eden didn't flinch. "You want to play tough? Want to get out of this marriage? Swallow your pride. Beg me, and I'll make it not happen."

She burst out laughing-a dry, cruel laugh-then turned on her heel, leaving him frozen and humiliated.

His eyes followed her, a confused expression on his face. She seemed untouchable.

He thought that she was playing tough, putting on an act and she still loved him.

His voice turned to ice as he called after her. "If you had just let me make love with you, I never would have slept with Jasmine!"

Jeanne stopped short.

"Where's your dignity now?" Eden pressed on, his voice dripping with scorn. "You come back with some bastard son and think you're better than everyone?"

She pivoted, slowly turning back to face him. And behind him, Jasmine had just appeared, her face ashen.

A sharp, dangerous smile touched Jeanne's lips. "So, let me get this straight. You fucked my sister because I wouldn't let you fuck me? Is that it?"

Eden tensed. Jasmine frowned.

Before he could reply, Jasmine spoke up in her honeyed voice, "Eden, what are you talking about?"

Playing the part of the demure, confused girlfriend, she clung to his arm and simpered.

"It's nothing, darling," Eden replied, his voice softening as he caressed her hand. "Just catching up."

Jeanne watched their putting on an act, a wave of nausea rolling through her. But her smile remained unchanged.

After a moment of this cloying display, Jasmine turned to Jeanne. "Jeanne, welcome back. I've missed you so much. If I hadn't... well, what I did back then... But we should put that all behind us, shouldn't we?"

Tears welled in her eyes.

Jeanne just looked at her, her own smile never wavering.

That cold, unwavering smile sent a chill down Jasmine's spine. She felt a surge of anger.

To her, Jeanne was just looking down on her!

An unnerving silence settled over the hallway.