The Billionaire Heiress's Revenge: Ashes of Betraya

My town car screeched to a halt in front of the grand iron gates of our family estate within twenty minutes. The snow on the manicured lawns had completely melted, replaced by vibrant spring green, but the atmosphere hanging over the sprawling mansion felt like the dead of winter.

I sprinted up the front steps, pushed open the massive double doors, and hurried straight toward my father’s private study.

The heavy oak door was ajar.

"Dad?" I called out, pushing the door open fully.

The study was empty. The French doors leading out to the rear garden were wide open, letting in a cold gust of spring wind. Pacing across the Persian rug was a scattering of loose papers pulled hastily from the wall safe behind my father’s desk.

The safe door stood wide open, its heavy steel mechanism dismantled.

My breath caught in my throat. I rushed over to the desk. My father’s phone lay abandoned on the blotter, screen cracked, with an incoming call from our private security chief blinking silently.

Before I could pick it up, the sound of crunching gravel echoed from the garden outside.

I grabbed the heavy brass paperweight from the desk, crept cautiously toward the open French doors, and stepped out onto the stone patio.

Standing near the edge of the old stone fountain was my father, Richard. But he wasn't alone.

A tall man with silver-streaked hair, wearing an expensive charcoal trench coat that matched my father’s, stood facing him. Even from a distance, the family resemblance was striking—the same sharp jawline, the same piercing eyes, but twisted with a cruel, mocking smile.

Victor Harlow.

"You should have stayed dead, Victor," my father rasped, gripping his cane so tightly his knuckles were stark white. "What do you want? Money? Power? You already took half my youth before I stopped you.

Victor chuckled softly, a smooth, chilling sound that carried across the quiet garden. "Money? Power? Richard, you still think like a petty regional manufacturer. I don't want your money. I want your legacy. I want Harlow Industries, brick by brick, share by share."

"You'll never get it," Richard snarled. "The board knows you're a criminal. The SEC has your old indictments on file.

"The SEC?" Victor laughed, taking a slow step closer to my father. "Dear brother, do you really think I’ve spent twenty-seven years hiding in the shadows without building a new foundation? Who do you think financed Arthur Vance’s shell companies? Who do you think bought the voting proxies behind your back while you were busy playing doting grandfather?"

My father staggered backward, his face turning ashen. "It was you... Arthur was working for you all along?"

"Arthur was merely an ambitious lapdog," Victor smiled, his eyes flashing with malice. "Just like Daniel Vance was a convenient tool to distract your brilliant little daughter. But Claire... ah, Claire is a fighter. I must admit, she impressed me by dismantling Arthur in record time. Which is why I'm here to offer a simple choice."