The Heiress’s Vengeful Return

"You're finally back."

My brother, Xavier Sinclair, planted his expensive Italian loafers directly in my path the second the airport's automatic doors parted.

Five years. I had just touched down from London, and the universe decided to welcome me to New York with the three people I despised most.

Xavier formed a wall on my left.

My ex-fiancé, Damian Cross, flanked the right.

Tucked neatly under Damian’s arm stood Serena Vale. She wore a pristine white dress, her eyes already pooling with unshed tears, playing the part of a startled deer to perfection.

My fingers clamped around the handle of my suitcase. I leveled a flat stare at the welcoming committee.

"Move," I commanded. "I’m not here to catch up."

Xavier scoffed. He crossed his arms, his tailored suit pulling taut at the shoulders. "Five years of absolute silence, and you don't even care about your own blood? Dad is in the ICU, Avery. You vanish into thin air, and this is the attitude you bring home?"

"My attitude?" I tilted my head, studying his self-righteous expression. "Why did I vanish, Xavier? Do you need a refresher?"

His jaw hardened. "You ran away from your responsibilities."

"I ran?" I asked, my voice dropping to the temperature of the Hudson River in February. "Where were you during the embezzlement investigation?"

"Keep your voice down," Xavier warned, glancing around the busy terminal.

"Where were you when someone forged my signature on those offshore transfer documents?" I pressed, closing the distance between us. "Or when the board formally stripped me of my shares? You sat at the head of that table and voted against me."

"That was a complicated situation," Xavier deflected. "You made mistakes. You were reckless. The family had to protect the company from bankruptcy."

"The family protected you," I corrected him. "You funneled the funds, and I took the fall. I made the mistake of trusting my older brother."

"You're delusional," he spat, his composure fracturing.

Damian bridged the gap, his shadow falling over me. It was a familiar, suffocating presence.

"Avery, please," Damian intervened. His tone carried that old, patronizing patience I used to mistake for care. "There's no need to cause a scene. We came here to bring you home."

"I don't have a home here."

"I know you hate me," Damian continued, ignoring my response. "But leave Serena out of this. She’s innocent."

"Innocent?" I repeated the word as if tasting something foul.

"Yes," Damian insisted. "She’s been speaking up for you all these years. She convinced Xavier to keep your trust fund open."

I stared at his mouth. Then, I laughed.

The sound echoed sharply against the terminal glass. Damian flinched. His shoulders stiffened, clearly thrown off by my reaction. He expected anger. He expected tears.

"Speaking up for me?" I asked, letting the amusement bleed out of my face entirely. "Is that what you call it, Serena?"

Serena shrank against Damian’s side, burying her face slightly into his lapel.

"Did you speak up for me before or after you took over my frozen development projects?" I shifted my focus to her. "Did you defend my honor while moving your designer bags into the penthouse that was supposed to be mine?"

A tear slipped silently down her cheek, right on cue.

Damian’s jaw clenched. He took a half-step forward, instinctively shielding her from my gaze. "That's enough, Avery. You're crossing the line."

"I haven't even started," I replied, watching them with cold indifference.

Five years had passed, but nothing had changed.

One helpless tremble, one fragile glance, and Damian Cross was still entirely willing to burn down my world just to keep Serena warm.

Just like he did the night he destroyed my life.