

Cordelia is the adopted daughter of a Mafia don. To protect her boyfriend's pride, she concealed her true identity—only to be publicly humiliated and betrayed by him. Three years later, she returns as the long-lost heiress of the Carrington family. At the reunion banquet held in her honor, her biological parents acknowledge only the fake heiress, Windsor, while Laurence does everything in his power to slander her. Cordelia reveals her position as the heir to the Gambino family, stunning the entire room. From there, she meticulously orchestrates her revenge—bankrupting the Morgan family, dismantling the Carringtons, and reducing every one of her former tormentors to the lowest rungs of society. With her vengeance complete, she converts the estate into an orphanage, breaking free from the grip of hatred and learning to rebuild order and forge her own future—on her own terms.
![[ENG DUB] Don't Mess With the Heiress](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
The wealthiest tycoon's daughter, Eva Stone, conceals her identity to be with the financially struggling Wills Zuck. However, Wills, driven by ambitions to align himself with the influential, betrays her by having an affair with the impostor, Lina Clark, who poses as Eva Stone. In the ultimate revelation, Eva unveils her true identity, delivering a resounding blow to the unfaithful man and deceitful woman in a compelling tale of intrigue and personal triumph.

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.

Raised in the countryside, Stella Levin is sent by her grandfather to stay with Orville’s richest man, Theo Mile, after her school collapses. She then faces the schemes of the spoiled heiress Tara Rowe but outsmarts them all, earning Theo’s admiration. As feelings spark between them, Stella discovers he once saved her life, and the mysteries of her past begin to unravel.

On my first day of work, a new colleague keeps hinting that she's the chairman's daughter. Everyone sucks up to her and flatters her when they hear. That's not the worst part—they make me out to be some old man's sugar baby! I angrily call the chairman. "They called you an old man with a sugar baby, Dad!"

Orphan Sierra Lowell is suddenly found by her divorced parents who were "dead for over a decade." To investigate the truth behind her childhood abduction, she goes undercover and follows her mother into the wealthy Reid family mansion. As her disguises fall away, the Reid family members who once looked down on her gradually become her loyal followers. Meanwhile, she finds true love with Philip Harper, one of the city's most powerful elites.

In need of 500,000 dollars for medical treatment, Francis Locke tears down a high-reward fertility ad. Through a series of mishaps, he ends up flash-marrying Lianne Devaney, a wealthy heiress being pressured into arranged dates. Using his decisive methods, Francis helps Lianne resolve her troubles while getting pulled into even greater crises. As they cooperate to survive, their feelings gradually heat up.

For Christmas, Harvey Bailey, a humble construction worker, agreed to a flash marriage with his boss, Ember, to ditch her arrogant, wealthy fiancé. But when her family mocked his poverty, his own parents' shocking secret erupted: their "farmhouse" was a vault of priceless artifacts, and Harvey was the hidden heir to a billion-dollar empire. Beginning this Christmas, the humble construction worker will transform into the sole heir of a commercial empire.

I was born with a built-in fortune system. Whenever I'm happy, everyone around me makes money. To keep me in a good mood, my billionaire father takes me out on adventures every single day, showering me with limited-edition sneakers, private yacht charters, and one-of-a-kind luxury items. It all comes down to one thing: the Connolly Group's luck is tied directly to my emotional state. As long as I'm laughing hard enough to snort, the stock price climbs and the money pours in. The moment my mood tanks, the losses start. At worst, the whole thing goes bankrupt. Take last month. One of the cleaning staff accidentally tossed out half a macaron I'd left sitting on the counter, and I was mildly annoyed for about a second. The next day, the Connolly Group's West Coast division posted a hundred-million-dollar loss. Dad spent the entire night buying up ten gourmet bakeries and terminating the cleaning company's contract just to smooth things over. After that, nobody in Manhattan's upper-crust social scene dared so much as look at me sideways. That was, until Dad flew out to Los Angeles on business, and Isabella, the long-lost biological daughter who'd just been found, walked into my room. "You've been leeching off this family for years," she said, looking down at me with pure contempt. "Did you actually think draining the Connolly name dry made you the real heiress? I'm the one with Connolly blood. Now that I'm back, it's time for you to crawl out of my house." I didn't react. She picked up the black coffee sitting nearby and poured it straight onto my keyboard. I watched the screen go dark, and something hollow opened up in my chest. "Get on your knees and clean it up." I wiped the coffee off my face. The air had gone cold. The Connolly Group was about to implode, and I found myself wondering whether Dad, thousands of miles away in LA, was already reaching for his heart medication as he watched billions evaporate off the ticker.