My husband’s family forced me and my newborn out into a winter storm, convinced I was a nobody. They had no idea I was the hidden heiress to a $2.3B empire. Two months later, they walked into a meeting for a crucial loan—and when the CEO’s chair turned around, their faces went pale…

They dragged me across the polished Carrara marble of the foyer, the stone slick and unforgiving beneath my bare feet. My three-day-old daughter, Luna, was screaming against my chest, a high-pitched wail that tore through the cavernous hall of the Kingston estate.

“Get her out,” Helena Kingston commanded, her voice devoid of even a flicker of humanity. “She’s staining the floor.”

I tried to dig my heels in, but the security guards were too strong. My body, still stitched together and raw from an emergency C-section just seventy-two hours prior, screamed in protest. A jagged line of fire seared across my abdomen as they hauled me toward the massive oak doors.