Don't Cross the Heiress

It was New Year's Eve afternoon when the floral order popped up at my best friend's shop. I swiped through the customer's profile on the store tablet. Once. Twice. Three times.

The screen glared back at me with Donovan's face—my husband, who was supposedly halfway across the country on a business trip. My thumb hovered over the shipping details.

The recipient wasn't me. I hit FaceTime. The ringtone dragged on endlessly until the screen finally flickered to life.

I pulled a breath to demand answers, but my best friend nudged my shoulder, leaning into the camera frame with a teasing grin. "Skipping New Year's Eve, Donovan?

What kind of crazy gift are you buying Sloane to grovel for forgiveness?" The room on his end was pitch black.

Donovan had the thick hotel comforter yanked over his head, squinting against the phone's glow. A jagged twitch hitched the corner of his mouth. "Babe, I'm so sorry.

I'll definitely make it up to you when I get back." He shifted under the blankets. "We pulled a massive allnighter for the project. I'm dead on my feet.

Let me get some sleep." Her interruption swallowed the accusation right out of my throat.

My teeth clamped down on the inside of my cheek until the metallic taste of copper flooded my tongue.

I forced a stiff nod, muttered a quick goodbye, and tapped the red button to end the call.

I scooped the freshly wrapped bouquet off the counter and pushed toward the exit. "I'm taking this delivery." Chapter 1 The delivery address wasn't far from the shop.

It was a newly built highrise from last year.

The security guard stepped in front of the lobby doors. "No delivery drivers allowed inside." I pulled out the shop's tablet, dialed the recipient's number, and pinched my throat to disguise my voice as I explained the holdup.

Donovan's voice crackled through the speaker. "I'm the owner of unit 1603, Building 5. Donovan.

Let her up." The guard grunted, logging my details on a clipboard before waving me through. The elevator doors chimed and slid open.

I dragged a sharp breath into my lungs. "I'll go in alone." My best friend gave a tight nod and backed toward the stairwell. "Yell if you need me." I tapped the record button on my phone, shoved it into my front pocket with the lens peeking out, and hit the doorbell.

Donovan's muffled shout drifted through the heavy door. "Babe, get the door." Footsteps padded across the floor.

The door swung open, and the woman froze. "Ivy's mom?" I locked my knees to keep from swaying. It was Riley, the art teacher from my daughter's afterschool program.

She had quit six months ago due to her pregnancy. Was she carrying Donovan's kid? Her eyes dropped to the bouquet in my hands. A slow, sweeping glance took in my casual clothes.

She ducked her head, her smile a sickly sweet blend of fauxshyness and raw provocation. "Ivy's mom, you're doing delivery now?" She wore a loose silk nightgown.

Her pregnant belly jutted out, round and massive. My fingers clamped down, crushing the crisp wrapping paper.

She reached for the flowers with an exaggerated look of sympathy. "Thank you. It's freezing out there. You must be exhausted. Want to come in and rest for a minute?" "Sure.

Thanks." A muscle jumped in her jaw. She clearly hadn't expected me to call her bluff.

Her gaze darted toward the kitchen before she recovered her smile, pulling open the shoe cabinet to toss a pair of guest slippers on the floor.

The cabinet was lined with men's footwear. Right in the center sat a pair of leather loafers—the exact ones I had bought for Donovan last month.

The ones he wore out the door when he left for his trip. On the entryway console sat a framed, cartoonish portrait of the two of them.

Riley buried her nose in the roses. "My husband is always so romantic.

He never misses a chance to surprise me on a holiday." I stared at her. "Does he send wreaths for funerals, too?" Her mouth hung open for a second.

She snapped it shut. "Life after divorce must be rough, huh? The rich wife reduced to running errands." I swept my gaze over the apartment.

Floortoceiling windows framed a panoramic view of the lake. The setting sun spilled golden light across the expensive hardwood.

A jagged block of ice settled in my chest, shooting a thousand invisible, stinging needles through my veins. "Yeah," I said. "Not like you, Riley.

Hitching a ride with Donovan really upgraded your tax bracket." Chapter 2 The mask dropped.

A triumphant smirk stretched across her face. "If it wasn't for Ivy, Donovan would've divorced you ages ago. But obviously, my baby takes priority.

The second he found out I was pregnant, he filed the papers." "Divorce?" She rolled her eyes. "Drop the act. Donovan told me everything.

He only goes back once a month to play house for Ivy. Now that you've seen the truth, take a hint.

Stop using these pathetic tricks to cling to my husband." She tilted her chin up, radiating smugness. "We're both women.

I see right through you." Footsteps sounded from the kitchen. Donovan emerged carrying a steaming porcelain pot.

He set it on the dining table with practiced care and picked up a ladle. He hadn't noticed me yet.

Riley drifted over and looped her arms around his bicep. "Babe," she cooed, her voice practically dripping syrup. "We have a guest." Donovan turned. The ladle slipped from his grip.

The ceramic bowl shattered against the hardwood floor, sending shards and hot broth splashing across the tiles. "What are you doing here!" Riley let out a theatrical sigh. "Ivy's mom hit a rough patch.

She's running deliveries now." Donovan's eyes darted to the flowers on the console. The realization hit his features—the familiar voice on the intercom, the casual clothes.

He lunged forward and clamped his hand around my wrist. "Let me explain, this—" Riley yanked his other arm, wedging herself against his side. "You're already divorced.

What's there to explain?" She shot me a warning glare. "Donovan will pay child support for Ivy.

Stop being shameless and let him go." I kept my eyes deadlocked on Donovan. "It is time for a divorce." Donovan ripped his arm out of Riley's grasp and dragged me toward the door. "We're taking this outside.

She's in her third trimester, don't upset her." Behind us, a wet slip echoed. Riley had stepped backward into the puddle of broth.

She crashed onto the floor, her manicured fingers clawing frantically at Donovan's pant leg. "Babe! My stomach!" All the blood drained from Donovan's face.

He dropped my wrist and scooped her off the floor. "I've got you, Riley. We're going to the hospital." In his panic, his elbow slammed hard into my ribs, shoving me out of the way.

My lower back crashed into the edge of the heavy oak shoe cabinet. A violent, whitehot pain ripped down my spine. I gasped, doubling over.

Donovan threw a panicked glance over his shoulder. "Sloane…" A sharp whimper broke from Riley's lips. Donovan's attention snapped back to the woman trembling in his arms.

He bolted down the hall without looking back. I dragged myself out to the corridor.

My best friend rushed from the stairwell and grabbed my arm. "Are you okay?" I forced myself upright. "I'm fine." She shoved her phone screen in front of me, showing a text thread. "I suspected he was hiding assets.

I already had my brother look into it." Her brother was a corporate attorney. I gave a stiff nod.

I pulled out my phone, stopped the hidden recording, and forwarded the video file to her. "Her name is Riley. Ivy's old art teacher.

Tell your brother to start drafting the divorce papers." "Done. I'm driving you." She took one look at my pale face, snatched my keys, and insisted on taking me home.

She promised to pick Ivy up from school and keep her at her place for the weekend. Her brother worked fast. The encrypted dossier hit my inbox right as I unlocked my front door.

Donovan had bought Riley the luxury condo, a brandnew SUV, and funneled cash into her private accounts. The total damages hit around ten million dollars.

A year ago, Donovan claimed the branch office was in crisis, demanding constant travel. The "crisis" was a pregnant mistress. Every business trip was a lie.

He had been playing house an hour away.

I dialed the head of finance at our company. "I need the general ledgers for the main office and the branch from the last three years." "Ma'am, that's classified company data.

You don't have authorization." "I am a major shareholder," I fired back. Dead air hummed through the speaker. "I'll submit a formal request to Donovan.

Once he signs off on it, I'll forward you the files." I hung up. Fine. Perfect. Chapter 3 Ever since I got pregnant with Ivy, I had stepped back from the company.

My days dissolved into shopping, spa appointments, and school dropoffs. Everyone thought I had married well.

Donovan himself seemed to have forgotten one crucial detail: I was still the majority shareholder. I had the power to strip him of his title whenever I pleased.

I started taking out the trash. I ripped open the walkin closet and yanked Donovan's suits off their velvet hangers.

I threw them onto the hardwood, grinding my heel into the expensive wool blends, ripping the silk linings with my bare hands.

My chest heaved as I dismantled his wardrobe piece by piece. At the back of the closet, a dusty plastic storage bin sat wedged in the corner. I popped the lid.

Inside lay everything Donovan had given me during our four years of college. A cheap LED tulip nightlight. A handstitched canvas tote.

A plastic jar crammed with folded paper stars, each holding a written memory. He had grown up broke. He couldn't afford diamonds back then, so he made things with his hands.

My throat locked.

I sank to the floor, pulling the cheap plastic jar to my chest, and let the ragged, choking sobs tear out of my throat until the morning light bled through the blinds.

The front door banged open early the next morning.

My motherinlaw and sisterinlaw marched in, freezing when they saw the shredded clothes littering the floor. "Sloane, have you lost your damn mind?" my motherinlaw yelled, pointing at the wreckage. "You think Donovan prints money?

He works his ass off, and you're destroying his things!" "I always knew you were useless.

You couldn't even give him a son, and now you're throwing a tantrum like a spoiled brat." She closed the distance. A sharp crack echoed in the room.

The left side of my face exploded in heat. "Bitch," she spat. "You almost killed my grandson." She stepped closer, pointing a thick finger at my nose. "You had a girl.

Don't you dare parade around Riley acting like you own the place.

Take the hint, sign the divorce papers, and get the hell out of our family." In the kitchen, my sisterinlaw was already raiding the pantry.

She shoved the imported saffron, jars of raw Manuka honey, and expensive postpartum supplements into a designer tote. "It's a waste to leave this stuff for her," she called out. "Mom, let's take it all to Riley.

She needs the nutrients." My motherinlaw hurried over, practically shoving jars into the bag herself. "Exactly. Riley actually did her job. She gave us a boy.

She deserves the best." When I gave birth to Ivy, my motherinlaw had taken one look at the pink blanket in the bassinet and walked right out of the hospital.

She hadn't visited once. I didn't care about her attitude anymore. My mind was stuck on one glaring detail. Riley already had the baby? "Where is Donovan?" I asked.

My motherinlaw scoffed. "With my grandson, obviously. And let me tell you something—if anything happens to that boy because of you, I'll end you." Riley had given birth to a boy.

The entire family knew about them. They had all covered for him. Donovan walked through the front door late that afternoon.

Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes, but annoyance hardened his jaw. "My mom took some groceries, and you called the cops?" he snapped. "I bought all that stuff with my money.

What's the problem?" He threw his keys on the marble counter. "Get dressed.

We're going to the precinct to drop the charges." The second his mother and sister had walked out my door this morning, I dialed 911. I reported a grand larceny.

The security cameras in the kitchen caught them lifting over fifteen thousand dollars' worth of imported goods—more than enough for a felony charge.

The police pulled them straight out of the maternity ward. Donovan had been left alone to juggle a newborn and a recovering mistress.

He only managed to come back here to yell at me after he finally secured a night nurse. I stared at him. "Your money?" He let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Whose else would it be?

If I hadn't been carrying the company on my back all these years, we would've gone under. I've been paying for your lifestyle.

I gave you over a decade of luxury." He adjusted his cuffs, his tone dripping with condescension. "I built an empire, Sloane. I need a son to inherit it.

Just play your part, stay the official wife, and your status is perfectly safe." I raised a rigid finger, pointing at the family portrait hanging in the hallway. "Ivy is your child." "Girls just marry out of the family," he shot back, his voice flat. "The money just ends up in someone else's hands anyway." A violent shudder ripped through my chest.

The air thinned. Ends up in someone else's hands?

Wait… Chapter 4 "Donovan," I asked, keeping my voice dead flat. "Was this why you came after me in college?" Donovan reached out, wrapping his fingers around my wrist.

His voice softened into that practiced, gentle hum. "Sloane, I love you." I ripped my arm away and slammed the printed divorce papers flat against his chest.

They fluttered to the floor. "Sign them." He glanced at the scattered pages. A cold, dismissive laugh punched out of his throat. "Sloane, look around.

Every guy in my tax bracket is out there screwing around, funding three different mistresses.

I slipped up once in all these years, and you want to throw it all away?" "Stop throwing a tantrum. My mother wanted a son. You couldn't give me a second kid.

My hands were tied." "When the boy is older, I'll bring him here. You can raise him." He delivered the lines effortlessly, like he was discussing the weather forecast.

The blood drained from my face, leaving behind a glacial, razorsharp clarity. I didn't think. I just swung. Crack. Crack.

The backtoback slaps snapped his head to the side. "You piece of trash." He dragged his thumb across his bleeding lip. "Babe, I know you're pissed.

But how are you going to survive without me? You really want to deliver groceries?" "Don't forget whose company this is." He chuckled. "Don't be naive. It's been over a decade.

That board hasn't answered to you in years. Let's just live our lives. I promise you, no one will ever touch your status as my wife." "Ivy will get everything she deserves.

But if I don't sign, you're not getting custody. You really want to tear her home apart? Think about Ivy." It was sickening.

He hadn't given a damn about our daughter when he was sleeping with her art teacher, but now he was using her as a human shield.

Before we got married, I had kept my family's immense wealth a secret. We entered the corporate world together after graduation.

Right when we were vying for executive spots, I found out I was pregnant. My father expedited the wedding and ordered me onto bed rest.

Not long after, my father suffered a sudden, fatal illness. The grief triggered a miscarriage, plunging me into severe clinical depression. Donovan stepped up.

He spoonfed me, bathed me, and held the company together. He swore he would protect my father's empire for me. I believed him.

I rallied the remaining shareholders to vote him in as CEO. I simply didn't have the mental capacity to run a corporation back then.

From that day on, I became the pampered, invisible trophy wife. We had Ivy. Because of the baby I lost, Ivy became my entire world.

Donovan knew exactly where to twist the knife. "Donovan," I stared dead into his eyes. "The only naive one here is you." A few days later, I drafted the executive motion to strip Donovan of his CEO title and assume full control of the corporation.

I hit Send All. The email blasted into the inbox of every single employee on the payroll. I pulled my sharpest tailored suit out of the garment bag and drove downtown.

The receptionist stepped in front of the security gates. "Miss, who are you here to see?" I hadn't set foot in this skyscraper in five years.

The groundlevel staff didn't know my face. "I'm Sloane. I'm here to work." "Sloane?" She muttered the name, her brow furrowing before her eyes blew wide.

She remembered the morning email. "You're the new CEO!" She scrambled backward, hastily swiping her master key to pop the glass turnstiles.

The private elevator shot up to the 26th floor. The polished steel doors slid open. Donovan stood in the center of the executive lobby, flanked by the entire board of directors.

They were waiting for me. A smug, condescending smile played at the corners of Donovan's mouth. He looked at me like I was a toddler playing dressup.

The first to break the silence was one of my father's oldest partners.

He had watched me grow up, and now he puffed out his chest, fully prepared to put the little girl back in her place. Chapter 5 "Sloane, Donovan told us everything.

This is ridiculous." An older board member stepped forward, scowling. "You don't bring a lover's spat into the corporate office.

The CEO position isn't a toy for your little tantrums!" Whispers rippled through the gathered crowd of employees. "Bet the CEO's wife can't even read a balance sheet." "Shouldn't she be at home with her kid?" "I know her type.

Terrified her husband is cheating, so she shows up to mark her territory." The other board members chuckled, offering patronizing smiles. "Sloane, the board isn't a joke.

Go home to your daughter." "Sloane, the company has only grown under Donovan's leadership. Stop making a mess." "You don't own the whole company.

You have no right to make this call." Donovan flashed a confident, easy smile, playing the magnanimous husband. "This is on me. I upset Sloane, and it spilled over.

I apologize for the disruption." "You're too kind, Donovan.

If it's a domestic issue, we'll stay out of it." "Sloane, no more of these little pranks, alright?" The suits laughed it off, turning in groups of twos and threes to head back to the elevators.

Donovan leaned in. His breath brushed my ear. "See that? No one is standing with you." Most of these men had been my father's trusted allies.

Now, they were eating out of Donovan's hand. The ice in my chest hardened into solid rock.

I squared my shoulders. "A prank?" My voice cut through the lobby chatter. "I am the majority shareholder.

I demand Donovan be stripped of all titles, effective immediately." The board members froze. Their heads snapped toward Donovan.

Donovan didn't flinch. "Since everyone is here, let's call an emergency board meeting.

We can vote on the CEO position right now." He snapped his fingers. "Assistant Sun, escort everyone to the conference room. Call Conrad.

Tell him we're convening." Inside the boardroom, Donovan dropped into the head chair. He slid a thick stack of equity transfer documents across the mahogany table.

He held twenty percent. "I've been quietly buying out the minority shares," Donovan stated, lacing his fingers together. "I hold twenty percent. Sloane holds thirtyfive.

Who are you backing?" One by one, the older board members raised their hands for Donovan. Donovan crossed his legs, leaning back in the leather chair.

He looked down his nose at me. "That's forty percent of the voting power on my side. You only have thirtyfive. Give it up." I kept my eyes on the double glass doors, waiting.

Donovan tracked my gaze. A mocking smirk stretched across his face. Thirty minutes later, the doors swung open. Conrad walked in. He didn't look at Donovan.

He looked straight at me. "Sloane, you shouldn't be doing this." A sharp burn flared behind my eyes. "Uncle Conrad, Donovan betrayed me." Conrad grabbed my elbow and dragged me toward the corner of the room. "Even if he messed up, you don't air dirty laundry in the boardroom.

Men need their pride.

Go home and work it out behind closed doors." He dropped my arm and turned back to the table. "I vote for Donovan." The other board members were bought, but this was my blood.

My father's brother. My throat tightened, swallowing down a mouthful of ash. Donovan stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket. "Sloane. I have fortysix percent.

Are we done here?" I dug my fingernails into my palms. "Donovan, you're forgetting the silent nineteen percent." The room erupted into fresh laughter. "Sloane, everyone knows that shareholder lives overseas.

They don't touch company operations." "They haven't shown up in over a decade. Nobody even knows who the hell they are." Chapter 6 "Sloane, stop dreaming.

That person isn't showing up." Conrad's voice was dismissive. "It's been years. They might even be dead. No one knows where those shares ended up.

Listen to me, just go home." I stared hard at him. My vision blurred, a hot, pathetic tear slipping over my lashes before I could blink it back. "Uncle Conrad, I'm your blood niece.

How could you…" Conrad's brow furrowed. A flicker of pity crossed his face, burying his irritation. "This company is your father's life's work.

I can't let you destroy it." "You don't believe in me?" "What can a little girl do? Donovan has managed the company perfectly all these years.

Why can't you just be a good CEO's wife?" He rolled his eyes, looking at me like I was a lost cause. "You're my niece. Would I hurt you?

With all your shares, even if you divorce, you and the kid will live in luxury." Maybe he actually believed that.

But I wasn't about to let Donovan's bastard son sink his claws into Ivy's inheritance. I glanced at my watch. The lawyer would be here any second.

Taking my silence as surrender, Donovan clapped his hands. "We'll wrap up here.

Thank you all." "We'll head out, Donovan." I stepped sideways, blocking the double doors. "Nobody is leaving.

Unless you want to drag yourselves back up here in five minutes." The board members exchanged confused glances, shifting their weight.

Three minutes later, the glass doors pushed open. The corporate attorney strode into the boardroom.

He dropped a thick stack of notarized equity transfer documents flat onto the mahogany table. "Ms.

Sloane now officially holds fiftyfour percent of the company's shares." The declaration rang out in the dead silence