The Heiress Who Rose From The Ashes

From the back cover

I loved Blake Vanderbilt with everything I had.

He was my world, and when he told me about his rare, career-ending nerve condition, my heart truly shattered.

The experimental treatment was $80,000, a fortune for a struggling songwriter like me, but I would do anything.

So, I sold my father's most treasured possession, a vintage 1959 Gibson Les Paul, the last piece I had of him.

Handing over that guitar felt like losing a piece of my soul, but it was for Blake, for us, for our music.

Days later, bringing him cookies at his upscale clinic, I overheard voices from a half-open door.

"Can you believe she actually sold it?" Chloe Astor's mocking laugh cut through me.

Then Blake's voice, clear and strong, "Eighty grand, straight into my account. Paid for this lovely clinic visit, and Chloe's new demo."

My blood ran cold.

They had laughed about my sacrifice, my tears, and planned to play a video of my heartbreak at a party – my birthday party.

The cookies clattered to the floor, my world crumbling around me.

He was healthy, radiant, and everything had been a lie.

The betrayal knocked the air from my lungs.

How could someone I loved so deeply be so monstrously cruel?

Weeks later, after being publicly humiliated and assaulted by Chloe's friends, waking up in a hospital bed with stitches in my head, I received a cryptic text.

It was from a lawyer, informing me that my long-lost grandfather, a legendary music mogul, had just passed away.

And he'd left his entire multi-million dollar estate to me.