Reclaiming the Billionaire Heiress Throne

“Who the hell are you calling?!”

Tristan’s roar deafened me as his hand shot out, slapping the black phone out of my grip.

Before I could even gasp, his fingers clamped around my bruised arm like iron claws. He yanked me up from the floor, ignoring my cry of pain, and dragged me out of the bathroom.

My bare feet scraped against the hardwood. My free hand desperately clutched my stomach, trying to shield the fragile life inside me from his violent jerks.

He threw me toward the living room sofa. I hit the cushions hard, the breath knocking out of my lungs.

“Sign the damn papers, Elena!” Tristan screamed, slamming a pen onto the glass coffee table. “Stop stalling and sign over the company, or I swear to God I will throw you out onto the street right now!”

I trembled, staring at the pen.

My vision blurred with tears. The cramping in my abdomen was growing sharper.

I reached out, my shaking fingers hovering over the cold metal of the pen.

Then, the water inside a glass on the table began to ripple.

The floorboards beneath my feet vibrated.

The heavy glass windows of the apartment suddenly rattled, a low, rhythmic thumping echoing through the walls. The sound grew louder, faster, until it became a deafening, mechanical roar.

A helicopter.

It was hovering directly outside our living room window, its massive searchlights cutting through the blinds and bathing the room in a blinding, chaotic white light.

Tristan froze, his face paling as he looked toward the window in sheer confusion.

Tires screeched on the asphalt down on the street below. The sound of a dozen heavy car doors slamming shut echoed all the way up to our floor.

“What the hell is going on?” Tristan muttered, taking a step back.

He didn't get an answer.

CRACK.

The heavy, steel-reinforced front door of the apartment didn't just open. It exploded inward, the deadbolt completely sheared off the frame.

The wood splintered, hitting the hallway walls as a towering figure stepped through the dust.

He was flanked by six men in immaculate black suits, heavily armed corporate security who instantly fanned out, securing the room in terrifying silence.

But my eyes were only on the man in the center.

Liam Holls.

The billionaire tech mogul. The ruthless king of the financial world.

And the man I had run away from five years ago.

He saw my torn, blood-stained wedding dress. He saw me cowering on the sofa, clutching my stomach.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?!” Tristan shouted, trying to mask his panic with false bravado. He took a step toward Liam. “You can’t just break into my—”

Liam didn't even look at him.

He just raised one hand and shoved Tristan.

Tristan flew backward, his back slamming brutally against the drywall. He slid to the floor, gasping for air, his eyes wide with shock.

Liam walked straight to me.

“I’m here,” Liam whispered, his deep voice thick with an emotion that made my heart ache. His large, warm hand cupped my pale cheek. “I’ve got you, Elena. Nobody will ever touch you again.”

I leaned into his palm, a fresh sob tearing from my throat. The sheer relief was intoxicating.

Across the room, Tristan finally caught his breath. He stared at Liam, his eyes widening as recognition finally set in.

“You... you’re Liam Holls,” Tristan stammered, scrambling to his feet. “The CEO of Holls Industries. What are you doing here?”

Tristan’s eyes darted to me, then back to Liam, his arrogant mind quickly coming to the only conclusion it could comprehend.

“Wait. Are you here about her software startup?” Tristan asked, dusting off his shirt, his greedy confidence returning. “Look, Mr. Holls, I’m her fiancé. I handle all her business. You don't need to deal with her. She’s just a hysterical woman. Honestly, she’s damaged goods. We can negotiate the buyout directly—”

Liam slowly stood up.

Liam’s security detail unholstered their weapons in unison, the metallic clicks echoing loudly in the silent room.

Tristan’s face drained of all color. He threw his hands up, taking a terrified step back.

“Liam,” I whispered.

“Please. My stomach hurts. Just take me away from here.”

Liam looked down at me. The rage in his eyes softened instantly.

Without a word of hesitation, he leaned down and scooped me up into his arms, lifting me bridal style. I pressed my face into his chest, inhaling the clean, expensive scent of cedar and rain.

As Liam turned to walk out the broken doorway, his lead assistant, a man with cold, calculating eyes, stepped forward.

He tossed a thick, gold-embossed folder onto the glass coffee table, right on top of Tristan’s cheap transfer papers.

“You wanted her assets, Mr. Evans,” the assistant said, his voice dripping with absolute mockery. “Here is her full portfolio.”

I didn't look back as Liam carried me down the hallway.

But as we stepped into the waiting elevator, I rested my chin on Liam’s shoulder and looked through the open doors of the apartment one last time.

I watched Tristan sneer, his greed overcoming his fear. He snatched the gold folder off the table, clearly expecting a multi-million dollar buyout contract for my startup.

He ripped it open.

I knew exactly what was inside.

It was the legal dossier I had buried five years ago. The truth I had hidden to live a normal life.

Elena Williams.

Sole Heiress to the Williams Global Empire.

Net Worth: $500 Billion.

And stapled right to the front of that dossier was a copy of the medical report the hospital had printed for me that morning.

Patient: Elena Sterling.

Status: Six weeks pregnant.