Filed to story: The Luna is Secret Heiress Book PDF Free by Sylvia
I froze in horror, the piece of cake I’d been holding slipping from my fingers onto my new shoes. My mind went completely blank with shock.
Why? Mama was supposed to be better. The doctors said she could go home. Why was she vomiting blood?
In panic, my father scooped up his wife, his voice choked with tears. “Sarah, don’t scare me. I’ll take you to the hospital right now.”
Martha, our housekeeper, frantically called for an ambulance while I stood like a statue, numb and terrified. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
The paramedics arrived within minutes, lifting my mother onto a stretcher. Before they carried her away, her tearful gaze fixed on me. Her lips moved soundlessly, but I could read the words:
“I’m sorry.”
Something broke inside me then. I burst into tears and chased after the ambulance as it sped away, stumbling through the blizzard, crying, “Mama, Mama, don’t leave…”
I ran until the white ambulance vanished from sight, then collapsed helplessly in the snow. My lungs burned from the cold air, and my tears froze on my cheeks.
That night, Sarah Winters passed away.
My father spent the night by his wife’s side, shattered by grief-a scene I never witnessed.
Unable to catch the ambulance, I had been found by Martha, burning with fever and delirious, calling out for my mother in my sleep, crying through the night.
When I awoke the next day, Martha sat beside my bed, her eyes red and swollen. She told me my mother was gone forever.
I refused to believe it. I refused to go to the hospital to see her body, terrified of seeing my warm, loving mother cold and still. I desperately convinced myself Mama had only gone on a long trip. In my heart, that warm, smiling woman with the gentle amber eyes lived on eternally.
The days after her death blurred together. I clung to the ceramic wolf figurine we had painted together, refusing food or water, crying silently as I drifted between sleep and wakefulness.
My father seemed to age ten years overnight. His hair turned completely white, and his gaze lost all light. Eventually, he was diagnosed with depression.
For a long time, I believed my father would never remarry-he had loved my mother so deeply.
But two years later, he brought Sarah’s once-best-friend home as his new wife.
That betrayal shattered me completely. I threw a ferrible tantrum, screaming that he had forgotten my mother, that he had betrayed her memory. I moved into the school dormitory that same day, refusing to come home or speak to either of them during holidays.
In university, just as our relationship was slowly mending, my father arranged my engagement to Connor Rivers, pushing our bond to a breaking point. Unlike his past indulgence, this time he was unyielding, even freezing my accounts to force my return.
In my eyes, the arranged engagement was merely the last straw. What truly drove me away was his remarriage. To me, he had betrayed my mother, and perhaps wanted to drive me out of the house altogether, treating me as a burden to be passed to another man.
So, in anger and despair, I left Riverdale, determined to make my own way in Harbor City, clutching that ceramic wolf figurine-the last relic of my mother’s love and warmth. For three years, I never let it leave my side.
Now, that precious figurine lay shattered on my bedroom floor, my heart breaking with it. After crying myself empty, I forced myself to act. Maybe a master craftsman could fix it.
With trembling hands, I gathered the fragments, carefully arranging them on a clean cloth. I snapped a photo, posted it on my social media, and wrote: “Looking for a top restoration artist.”
With my wide network back in Riverdale-relatives of great influence, wealthy friends-I knew someone might help. I had connections I’d never used during my time with Ethan, preferring to make my own way.
Mere minutes later, my phone rang. It was Connor Rivers.
I assumed he was offering a recommendation and quickly answered. “Connor? Do you know someone who can fix ceramics?”
But his voice was tight with concern: “Livvy, are you hurt?”
I was momentarily stunned, then realized the shards in the photo were stained with blood-
Cassandra’s blood that I hadn’t wiped away.
“No, it’s not my blood,” I replied softly.
Connor pressed again, his voice growing anxious, “What happened? How did the ceramic wolf Sarah gave you break?”
I fell silent, not knowing where to begin. I was also surprised he had instantly recognized the figurine from just a photo of broken pieces. Had I told him about it before? I couldn’t remember.
After a pause, Connor’s tone turned resolute and brooked no refusal: “I’m heading to the airport now. Wait for me. I’m coming to Harbor City to see you.”
(Olivia’s POV)
After hanging up with Connor, I placed my phone on the bed and took a deep breath. The events of tonight replayed in my mind like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.
Why had Cassandra sneaked into my room while I was showering? Her excuse of “just looking around” was flimsy at best. There had to be something more sinister behind her actions.
I began inspecting my room carefully, circling each corner with meticulous attention.
Everything appeared untouched except for my precious light blue ceramic wolf figurine-now lying in fragments on the floor, the last physical connection to my mother destroyed.
My gaze drifted to the nightstand where a cup of herbal tea sat, still warm. Martha Jenkins, our housekeeper, had brought it in before I showered, as was my nightly routine. The ceramic wolf had been placed on that same nightstand before being smashed.
A chilling thought crept into my mind. The tea cup sat exactly where Cassandra must have lingered to break my figurine.
Could she have tampered with my tea?
I approached the cup cautiously, lifting it to my nose. The familiar herbal scent seemed normal, but something felt off. I couldn’t risk it. With a decisive motion, I poured the liquid down the bathroom sink.
Better safe than sorry.
Three hours later, my phone vibrated with an incoming call. Connor had finally arrived in
Harbor City.
“I’m here,” his deep voice came through the speaker.
I was in the middle of hauling bags of discarded belongings out of Moonlight Manor, determined to erase every trace of my existence from this place. It was late, and Martha had already retired for the night, so I worked quietly alone.
“Con, I won’t be staying here tonight,” I whispered, mindful not to wake anyone.
There was a brief pause before his calm, steady reply: “Okay.”
“Have you already booked a hotel?” I asked, tying up another garbage bag.
“Yes, the Crescent Moon Hotel.”
I nodded to myself. “I’ll book a room there as well. Let’s meet at the hotel. No need for come over now.”
My plan was resolute: finish clearing out my belongings, take my luggage, and leave Moonlight Manor behind-along with Ethan Grey. you to
After loading my suitcase into my car, I reached for my phone to make a reservation. To my dismay, the hotel’s website showed no vacancies. I tried calling directly, only to have my fears confirmed.
“I’m sorry, Miss Winters, but we’re completely booked,” the receptionist explained apologetically. “There’s a major legal hearing tomorrow, and every hotel within several kilometers is full.”
Desperate, I searched for alternatives. The only available room was in a shabby motel whose reviews made me cringe. One particularly graphic comment caught my eye:
“The soundproofing is so bad, the couple next door at midnight sounded like they were doing a live padcast beside my bed. Couldn’t sleep all night.” t rushed to my cheeks, but practicality won out. I needed proper rest for tomorrow’s aring, which started at 3 p.m. I had to be up by 10 a.m. at the latest to prepare. It was already close to midnight, and I still had to meet Connor.
With a sigh, I texted him: “That hotel is fully booked. Can you help me get a room?”
Luxury hotels often held back suites for VIPs, and Connor’s status as the Rivers Family heir and Rivers Group president would surely grant him access to those hidden accommodations.
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