Return Of The Lethal Unwanted Heiress

A beat-up yellow taxi cab rattled to a stop in front of the massive wrought-iron gates of the Conner Estate. It looked like a piece of trash sitting in front of a palace.

Allison kicked the door open and stepped out, wearing faded jeans and an oversized black hoodie. She grabbed a worn-out canvas duffel bag from the back seat and tossed it over her shoulder.

She stared up at the sprawling mansion. Her eyes were dead.

The head butler opened the side gate. He looked at her clothes, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He didn’t offer to take her bag. He just pointed toward the side entrance.

Allison ignored him and stepped past his outstretched hand.

The butler quickly stepped into her path, blocking the way with his body. “Miss, the main entrance is for the family,” he said, his tone dripping with icy formality.

Allison didn’t even break her stride. She shoved her shoulder past him with enough force to make him stumble back. She walked straight up the main driveway, her boots crunching loudly on the pristine gravel. Behind her, the butler grabbed the radio clipped to his belt and frantically alerted the house staff. The maids trimming the rose bushes took one look at the cold, murderous aura radiating from her and quickly looked away.

She pushed open the heavy mahogany front doors and stepped into the grand foyer.

Lydia, her stepmother, was sitting on a velvet sofa, sipping tea from a porcelain cup. Her blonde hair was swept into an elegant updo, a string of pearls sitting against her collarbone. When she saw Allison, a fake, sickeningly sweet smile stretched across her face.

“Allison, darling,” Lydia cooed, her eyes raking over the cheap canvas bag. “Couldn’t you have bought something decent to wear? You look like a vagrant.”

Allison didn’t even look at her. She dropped the heavy duffel bag onto the Persian rug. It hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Where is Sterling?” she demanded.

Cade, her half-brother, was lounging in a chair, playing a video game. He had the same pale blonde hair as his mother, his designer shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He snorted loudly. “You don’t get to call him by his name, you piece of trash.”

Allison slowly turned her head and locked eyes with Cade.

The air in the room instantly froze. The sheer, suffocating violence in her stare hit Cade like a physical blow. His breath caught in his throat. His hands went numb, and the expensive controller slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the marble floor.

Footsteps echoed from the grand staircase. Sterling Conner walked down, his face flushed with irritation. He adjusted his silk tie, projecting his authority.

“Stop causing trouble the second you walk in,” he barked.

He walked over to the glass coffee table, picked up a manila folder, and tossed it onto the table. It slid to a stop in front of Allison.

“That is an enrollment form for the Aethelgard Vocational School for Girls,” Sterling said, his tone dripping with condescension. “With your pathetic grades, it’s the only place that will take you. Learn to cook or sew. We’ll find someone desperate enough to marry you off to.”

Lydia chimed in, her voice thick with fake pity. “We pulled a lot of strings to get you in, Allison. You should be grateful.”

Allison stared at the form. A slow, dark smirk curled the corner of her lips.

She leaned forward and pinched the edge of the thick paper between her thumb and index finger.

With one sharp, violent motion, she ripped the document in half.

The sound of tearing paper echoed loudly in the silent room.

Sterling’s face turned purple. He slammed his hand on the table. “How dare you!”

Allison let the torn pieces flutter from her fingers, raining down onto the glass table like trash. She stood up straight, her posture dominating the room.

“I’m not going to a trade school,” she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I am going to Crestwood Academy.”

Cade burst out laughing, pointing at her. “Crestwood? The most elite prep school in the country? They wouldn’t let you clean their toilets!”

Allison looked at Sterling, ignoring the boy. “Section four, paragraph two of my mother’s trust fund.”

Sterling froze. The blood instantly drained from his face.

“If the primary beneficiary does not attend an academic institution fitting the family’s social standing,” Allison recited perfectly, her voice cold and hollow, “the entire fund is liquidated and donated to charity.”

Lydia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. That money—the trust fund’s annual disbursements—was the only thing keeping the Conner corporation from bankruptcy. The company had been hemorrhaging cash for years, propped up entirely by those quarterly payouts.

Sterling’s hands curled into tight fists. His knuckles turned white. He glared at his daughter, realizing he was completely trapped.

“Even if I force the board to accept you,” he hissed, his voice trembling with rage, “you are too stupid to survive there. You’ll be expelled in a week.”

Allison bent down and picked up her duffel bag. She looked at him like he was a bug on the bottom of her shoe.

“Watch me,” she whispered.

She turned and walked up the stairs, heading straight for the dusty, forgotten bedroom at the end of the hall, leaving her family suffocating in their own panic.