The Heiress’s Revenge Chapter 01
After I was brought back to the Wentworth Group, my father told me to dance the opening waltz at the charity gala.
I looked at the three men I’d grown up with. The ones who’d already promised.
They walked right past me. All three reached for Skylar.
Dax spoke first. “DNA says you’re a Wentworth. But Skylar’s in an awkward spot right now. No one picks her, she’ll be humiliated.”
Jasper laughed. “Thea, you’re tough as nails. I’m sitting this one out.”
Kieran, who’d grown up beside me, glanced my way. “Not picking you this time. Don’t make a scene.”
I stood there, lost. Greyson cut through the crowd toward me.
I thought he was finally going to announce our engagement.
He walked straight past me. Took Skylar’s hand.
“You’re the Wentworth blood daughter. You’re calculating. You’ve got claws. You don’t need me to protect you. Skylar’s not like you.”
They all piled on, one after another. I smiled. Nodded.
Fine. I’d pick someone else.
***
That opening waltz was my standing. My face.
I’d spent eighteen years outside the family. Only been back three. This was the first charity gala the Wentworth Group let me lead—and that meant something. It meant Wentworth was claiming me publicly. Greyson knew how much it mattered. He walked to Skylar anyway. Didn’t look back.
The air in the room went strange. I stood there, throat tight, watching him lead Skylar into the center of the dance floor.
The mockery closed in around me. “So the Rockwell-Wentworth marriage rumors are confirmed. And here we thought she was the real heiress…”
“Looks like Greyson’s making a statement tonight. Backing his future fiancée.”
The music started. Greyson tilted his head. He was listening to whatever Skylar was saying. His eyes had gone warm. That look—I’d never seen it aimed at me.
So this was what he looked like when he actually cared. Even his jaw softened.
I’d only ever gotten the other face. The one the press called “the ice blade.” Because in his eyes, I was the half-baked Wentworth daughter who’d shown up out of nowhere. Calculating. Ruthless. Even my grief looked like a performance.
My stepmother floated over, cocktail glass in hand, half the room watching.
“My, my. The Wentworth heiress. Why are you standing here all alone?”
“Some people just aren’t born for it, I suppose. The moment you came back, your grandfather threw everything at you. And Skylar—she’s got that natural phoenix aura. You’ve squeezed her out of everything, and still she pulls it all toward her. Sucks it right in.”
Her words scraped my eardrums like a blade. She was Skylar’s birth mother. My father married her after my mother died. Her hatred of me was instinctive. I’d come back. Her daughter now had a lethal rival in the inheritance fight.
My grip tightened on the champagne flute.
Greyson had told me before the gala. He calculated everything. The Wentworth succession was still unsettled. He wasn’t betting on anyone until the board was clear. Not even me.
I was desperate. But I understood his dilemma.
Boston was a delicate balance between Rockwell and Wentworth. Him publicly choosing me meant declaring a side. So I’d made plans. Spoken to all three of them. Arranged everything. They’d all agreed.
Then the lights came up. All three walked to Skylar.
I’d guessed the start. Not the ending.
Greyson hadn’t picked me, the Wentworth daughter.
But he’d walked straight to another Wentworth.
All that calculation. All that waiting. That was just for me.
He never hesitated for anyone else.