His Loss, The Tycoon's Gain: The Lost Heiress Returns

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming her face.

Kinsly woke up on a mattress so soft it felt like floating.

Declan stood by the bed, reading a medical chart. "Malnutrition and physical trauma," he said softly. "You are staying in bed for a month."

The door opened. Sean walked in carrying a porcelain bowl of bird's nest soup. Her eyes were still swollen from crying. She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the silver spoon to Kinsley's mouth.

She felt a rush of awkwardness. "I can feed myself," she murmured, reaching for the bowl.

Sean gently pushed her hand down. "Let your mother do this," she whispered.

Arthur walked into the room next, followed by a man in a sharp grey suit holding a leather briefcase.

"This is the family's chief trust lawyer," Arthur said.

The lawyer handed her a thick stack of documents. "Miss Wilder, this transfers full control of the highest-tier Wilder family trust fund into your name."

She looked at the bottom line. The number of zeros on the page was enough to buy half of Wall Street. Her breath caught in her throat.

Arthur pulled a heavy, metal Centurion Black Card from his pocket and placed it on her palm. "Pocket money. Buy whatever you want."

Ethan, her fourth brother, slid into the room holding a laptop. "I already hacked the Stafford family's security system as a welcome home gift. I can turn off their power right now."

She could not help it. She laughed. "Stop. I want to ruin them myself."

Sean pulled her out of bed. "Come. I have something to show you."

She led her down the hall to the third floor. Charles opened a set of double doors.

It was a walk-in closet the size of a department store. Racks of haute couture from every major luxury brand lined the walls, sorted by color and season.

"The brands sent their entire seasonal lines overnight," Charles explained, bowing slightly.

She stared at the diamond accessories and silk gowns. Her eyes instinctively evaluated the cut and clarity of the stones, a habit born from years of studying high-end gemology and craftsmanship in secret. She had seen luxury, but this was pure excess.

Amiyah walked into the closet carrying two cups of coffee. She wore a sweet, flawless smile.

"Sister!" Amiyah chirped. She handed her a cup. "I hope you like the clothes. Mom had them arranged based on my personal style preferences, since you did not have any."

She stopped reaching for the coffee. She caught the subtle, venomous claim of territory in her words.

She looked at the racks of clothes, then back at her. She rubbed the bandage on her wrist.

"If they are your style, I do not want them," she said, her voice flat and cold. She turned to the butler. "Charles, pack every single piece in this room. Have them sent to the Manhattan Women's Domestic Violence Shelter as an anonymous donation. There are women who actually need the warmth. Once the room is clear, contact the brand houses directly. Tell them my measurements and have them send a completely new, understated wardrobe."

Amiyah's smile froze. The coffee cup in her hand trembled, spilling hot liquid onto her thumb. Pure hatred flashed in her eyes.

Sean clapped her hands together, completely oblivious to the tension. "Wonderful idea! Charles, get it done."

Amiyah muttered an excuse and practically ran out of the room.

At lunch, the family sat around a massive mahogany table.

Hubert cut his steak and looked up. "The heir to the Brady family, Daxton, is coming this afternoon. He wants to officially cancel the arranged marriage."

Carter slammed his fork down. "Let him cancel it! No man is good enough for Kinsley anyway."

Kinsley froze. The name Daxton Brady echoed in her head. She thought of the man in the Rolls-Royce, the smell of cedar, the black business card.

"Who was the marriage originally for?" she asked casually, taking a sip of water.

"It was supposed to be Amiyah," Sean sighed. "But Daxton made it clear he despises her."

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. This was going to be very interesting.

Charles walked into the dining room. "Mr. Brady's motorcade has arrived at the front gates."

Arthur stood up, his face hardening into a scowl. "Let us go reject this arrogant bastard. No one disrespects my daughter."