She Crashed Her Own Funeral

After three years and seven months fighting traitors in the Black Sea, I finally returned to New York—only to walk straight into my own funeral.

My husband Matthew had declared me dead and branded me a traitor. Beside my portrait stood his pregnant mistress Leah, wearing my mother's necklace, sitting in my place, while he prepared to inherit everything left under my name.

They thought I was only Evelyn Grey, the adopted daughter of a fallen minor family. What Matthew never knew was that my real name was Evelyn Moreau—the secret heir to the family controlling New York's underground ports.

When Matthew tried to seize South Gate, I quietly blocked every Lorenzo ship scheduled to dock that night. Then I walked out of the shadows beside my own portrait and asked the grieving widower one simple question: I'm not even dead yet. What's the rush to inherit?

He still mocked me as a useless orphan and demanded I hand over the port. Then six Moreau members entered with the Black Sea mission report, fifty-seven percent of the family's maritime authority, and one final identity file. In front of the entire room, they opened it: Evelyn Moreau. Sole heir. Next head of the Moreau family.