All Chapters of THE HIDDEN HEIRESS: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The jet touched down smoothly on the private runway, the city stretching out in a golden haze beyond the glass. Even at midnight, Los Angeles pulsed with life—neon lights flickering in the distance, sleek black cars gliding through the streets, and the faint hum of sirens in the far-off background. The air was thick with warmth, a lingering heat from the day, carrying the scent of asphalt and luxury. It had been two weeks since the whole kissing incident and cafe incident. She still hadn’t gotten any feedback from Trisha. Damian had informed her of a business trip they had to take for a business meeting in Los Angeles. Damian barely spoke as they descended the steps of the aircraft, his phone in hand, thumb gliding over messages. His presence remained commanding even in silence, his tailored black shirt unbuttoned at the top, the fabric clinging to his broad frame effortlessly. A private car awaited them. Lana slid into the leather seat beside him, her body still buzzing from exh

Lana’s world was spinning.She felt weightless and consumed, lost beneath Damian’s touch, his lips, the heat of him.Every inch of her skin was on fire, every nerve ending burning with a need she didn’t understand but desperately craved.And Damian—He was everywhere.His mouth, his hands, the way his body pressed her into the mattress, molding against her like he belonged there.Lana gasped as he rolled his hips again, a slow, agonizing friction that made her body tremble.It was too much.And not enough.She could feel the sharp edge of desperation in his touch, the tension in his body, the restraint hanging by a thread.His name escaped her lips in a breathless whimper, her head tilting back, surrendering to the pleasure rushing through her.Damian growled, his teeth grazing her throat, his fingers dragging up her inner thigh—But then—Something snapped.A flicker of panic pierced through the haze, slicing through the heat, tearing through the pleasure.This was a lie.She wasn’t

Far in the streets of Chongqing, China, where the city pulsed with neon lights and distant chatter, the underbelly of society remained hidden in plain sight. Below an abandoned bridge, where rusting metal groaned under the weight of time, an alley stretched into darkness.A stray dog barked, its sharp yelps bouncing off damp brick walls. It stood alert, ears perked, staring into the shadows beyond—a place where the streetlights dared not reach. The pavement was cracked, littered with forgotten things: a tattered shoe, a broken bottle, remnants of stories no one cared to remember.And beneath it all, tucked away in the filth and silence, was a basement.The entrance was barely noticeable—a rusted metal door, half-hidden behind stacks of wooden crates. A single bulb flickered above it, buzzing weakly like an insect on the brink of death. The air here was thick with the smell of decay, damp wood, and something faintly metallic—iron, maybe.Inside, it was darker than the night itself.A v

Steam curled around Lana as she sank into the warmth of the water, her head resting against the cool marble edge of the bathtub. The dim glow of the bathroom light flickered against the mirror, casting soft golden hues over her damp skin. The city beyond the window was a blur of muted lights and distant sirens, it was still dark out but early in the morning, she was alone—trapped with her thoughts, her body, and the suffocating awareness of Damian Wolfe. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to think of anything else. But the moment she did, he was there—etched into her mind like a ghost she couldn’t banish. The way his dark eyes had traced her body the night before, the tension thick enough to steal her breath. Her fingers trailed lower, over the delicate curve of her stomach, her thighs. A soft sigh escaped her lips as her pulse quickened, her body betraying her. It was his voice she imagined—deep, husky, whispering against her skin. His hands, rough and demanding, replac

“You don’t usually show up unannounced, darling,” Lilith mused, swirling her wine. The city skyline stretched beyond the expansive windows of Lilith Wolfe’s penthouse suite, the golden morning light filtering through sheer curtains and casting soft reflections over the sleek, minimalist decor. The air carried the faint scent of aged wine, mingling with Lilith’s sharp, deliberate perfume—cool, refined, and undeniably calculated. Though the suite was temporary, everything about it screamed wealth and power, just like the woman who occupied it.She sat on the edge of her velvet chaise, crossing her legs, eyes hooded with amusement as she regarded her nephew. Damian stood near the window, his back half-turned to her, the muscles of his shoulders tensed beneath the tailored black dress shirt he wore.“To what do I owe this little visit?”Damian didn’t turn immediately. His fingers drummed against the windowsill, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere before he finally faced her.“Isla Sinclair,