Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 536: The ladies of high society seethed behind their painted smiles. Whispers sharp as broken glass floated through the air, each one laced with envy and disbelief. How dare Maia reject Claudius like that - right there, in front of everyone? The man they all secretly longed for had been brushed aside as though he were nothing but an inconvenience. And to make it worse? Maia was a married woman. "She clearly does not know a good thing when it stares her in the face! Claudius offered her a dance - that is not a gesture one turns down lightly." "Exactly.

The man put real thought into those gifts. Who says no to that and walks away as if it meant nothing?" Their voices rippled through the garden like the chill before a storm. Frustration simmered beneath every syllable, every forced chuckle. The glittering fireworks that had lit up the Morgan estate, the glowing words on the building facade, the infamous Crimson Heart - all of it, they claimed, was proof. Not of Claudius' affection, but of Maia's gall. "I have seen women pretend," one said with a scoff, clutching her wine glass tighter.

"But none have worn the mask so convincingly as Maia." "Truly. Who else has ever received that kind of birthday tribute from Claudius? No one." "And she thinks she can find that kind of devotion elsewhere? From that pathetic husband of hers?" A scoff echoed like a slap. "Her husband? Though we don't know his background, I can say for sure that man would never match even a fraction of Claudius' influence or wealth. She is blind, or worse, ungrateful." "A fraction?" another woman said, lips curling into a smirk. "You are being far too kind.

If he had even half of Claudius' stature, would Maia be so ashamed to be seen with him?" "She is probably just playing coy. Keep Claudius chasing, squeeze more out of him. A classic move." Ⓜⓞⓡⓔ ⓤⓟⓓⓐⓣⓔⓢ ⓘⓝ ⓖⓐⓛⓝⓞⓥⓔⓛⓢ.ⓒⓞⓜ "She is clever, I will give her that. A woman does not catch Claudius' eye without some well-calculated charm." Each accusation landed like a stone tossed into a pond, rippling outwards. The gossip encircled Maia like a noose tightening around her name.

Where she had once stood admired and envied, now she seemed to be recast as nothing more than a manipulative schemer, a woman who wore grace like a disguise. Then the air shifted. From the main gate of the courtyard, a figure emerged - followed by a small, well-dressed entourage that moved with quiet precision. At the front walked a man cloaked in mystery. He wore a tailored coat, a mask concealing half his face, and white gloves that gleamed under the lantern light. His presence did not ask for attention - it commanded it. Everyone turned at once, drawn by the sudden spectacle.

The sight was too surreal to ignore. Behind the masked man strode several towering figures dressed in black suits, dark sunglasses concealing their eyes. Their movements were synchronized, like a well-rehearsed drill. Muscles bulged beneath taut fabric, the sheer size of them making the cut of their jackets irrelevant. They looked less like guests and more like enforcers straight out of a mob thriller. A dense wave of tension rippled through the banquet hall. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. The clink of champagne flutes ceased.

Even the upbeat rhythm of the dance floor music stuttered into silence. The man stationed at the music console was trembling so badly that his fingers had frozen above the controls. One of the suited strangers appeared beside him - silent, sudden - and simply reached over to kill the music himself. Richard's brow furrowed. The pressure in the room was suffocating, but as the host, he had no choice but to confront it. He stepped forward with forced composure. "May I ask who you are...?" . . .