The Real Heiress Unmasked, She's the World's No. 1 Queen

"This $3,800 is the tuition I owe you for putting me through school."

"Wendy Scott, we're done."

Midsummer. Graduation season.

Outside the university gates, Torrhen Lewis threw a wad of cash at Wendy's feet. The worn bills and loose change clattered against the ground, drawing stares from nearby students and parents.

Wendy looked down at the coins for a long moment, then slowly raised her head. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

Torrhen's expression was full of contempt. "You're just a nobody doctor from the slums, doomed to rot there for the rest of your life."

"I, on the other hand, just graduated from Stanford with a bright future ahead. My new girlfriend comes from serious money. The day we made it official, she handed me a Ferrari."

"Everything you could never have in a lifetime, she gives me without thinking twice. Why would I let a burden like you keep dragging me down?"

Every word was soaked in disdain.

And yet just two weeks ago, Torrhen had grabbed her hands with stars in his eyes and sworn, "Wendy, once I graduate we're getting married. I'm going to give you a good life, I promise."

The words hadn't even faded. The person already had.

Torrhen watched her stay silent and pressed on. "I ran the numbers. Over four years, you only spent $3,760 on me. The extra forty is interest."

"From now on, don't come crawling back using what you did for me as an excuse."

Interest.

Wendy almost laughed.

That money was the smallest fraction of what she had actually given him over four years.

Four years of quietly pouring in resources, clearing obstacles, and smoothing over every problem that could have derailed him. She was the reason he sailed through college and landed the best opportunities a top school had to offer. She had lifted him out of the mud with her own hands.

And now she was a burden.

Wendy looked at his ungrateful face, a cold smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Three thousand eight hundred dollars to pay off everything I ever did for you?"

She let out a short laugh, picked up a rock from the ground, and hurled it at the Ferrari parked nearby.

A sharp crack. The window shattered.

"Wendy, have you lost your mind?"

Torrhen shrieked and rushed over, his face ashen with horror.

Wendy smiled, stepped around him, and drove her foot into the car door. The metal caved in with a deep, ugly dent.

She didn't stop. She grabbed the cash bag and slammed it against the car again and again.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

By the time she was done, almost every window and door panel was wrecked.

"Stop it, stop it now!" Torrhen was losing it.

His eyes went red. He pulled back his fist and swung at her.

This woman was going to pay for this today.

But before he could touch her, she caught his arm and cracked a slap clean across his face. "That $3,800? Consider it the repair bill."

The force snapped his head to the side.

He stared at her, completely thrown. She looked like a stranger.

In front of him, Wendy had always been gentle and easy-going. Like a glass of plain water — useful, but forgettable.

So the moment Torrhen got back on his feet, he tossed the water aside and went looking for something that actually tasted like something.

"You just slapped me?"

"If killing you wouldn't dirty my hands, you'd already be dead," Wendy said flatly, pulling out a tissue to wipe her palm. "We're finished. I want to see how far that bright future of yours gets you without me holding you up."

She dropped the tissue and walked away.

Parked at the curb was a matte black Bugatti Ghost, its lines clean and sculpted, drawing glances from everyone around it. Wendy opened the door and dropped into the seat.

A second later, the engine roared.

The car disappeared.

The crowd erupted. "Oh my god, Torrhen — was that a Bugatti Ghost? The limited edition black one?"

"That's a top-spec supercar, full price only. Are you insane? You just dumped a woman like that and called her a slum girl?"

"No way." Torrhen's voice came out tight. "She rented it. She just wanted to look good. There's no other explanation."

There wasn't any way. Wendy came from the same place he did. She didn't even finish high school. How would she ever afford something like that?

It had to be rented.

The classmates standing nearby exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Torrhen had clearly lost it.

That was a Bugatti Ghost. Setting aside whether someone from the slums could even get close to an owner, the real question was simpler: who in their right mind loans out a car like that?

Whatever happened next outside the school gates, Wendy never found out.

She drove down an empty road, and once the initial shock wore off, all she felt was a quiet, hollow amusement.

She had never even been that interested in dating. It was Torrhen who had spent three relentless years wearing her down — showing up, taking care of her, being consistent — until he finally got through to her.

So she gave it a shot.

In the beginning, he was good. He worked part-time jobs between classes and spent that money on her. He came back often to help her at the clinic because he knew how tiring it was.

If none of this had happened, she had actually planned to give him the car today as a graduation gift.

Well. At least she was saving money.

She was drifting through that thought when a figure soaked in blood lurched out from the roadside and threw himself in front of the car.

The brakes screamed.

The supercar stopped with inches to spare.

Wendy narrowed her eyes and studied him through the windshield.

The man's black clothes were completely soaked through with blood. His sharp, striking face had gone completely pale, but his dark eyes were alert and locked on her like something waiting to strike.

They stayed like that for a moment. Then the man seemed to reach the end of whatever was holding him together. He staggered, caught himself against the car, and said, "Help me. I'll give you anything."

"Sorry." Wendy rested her head on one hand, voice lazy. "My grandmother always said not to pick up strange men off the side of the road."

"Thirty million," the man said. "Get me out of here."

Wendy paused. "Eighty million," she said evenly.

Before he could respond, she added, "I'll get you out, and I'll clear the poison from your system. Unless I'm wrong, it's already reached your lungs. You need treatment now or you won't make it."

The man's eyes went cold.

How did she know that?

But he was in no position to hesitate. "Fine. Deal."

The words barely left his mouth before several black cars came tearing down the road.

Men in black poured out carrying iron rods. Wendy stepped out of the car, kicked the first one hard enough to send him sprawling, grabbed his rod on the way down, and started working through the rest.

Fast, clean, no wasted movement. In a few seconds, it was over.

She dropped the rod, brushed off her hands, and turned around. "Transfer the money. Thanks."

Behind her, the man who had been running on sheer willpower had already collapsed.