Chapter 256

Chapter 256
Stella's POV

Three months. That's how long it took for the legal system to grind through the evidence, for forensic experts to authenticate River's recording, for prosecutors to build an ironclad case against Vivian. During that time, I stayed in Seattle, living in a hotel room paid for with what remained of my savings, watching from a distance as the Mellon empire crumbled. With Victor dead and Vivian incarcerated, the company's board of directors scrambled to maintain control, but without leadership, Mellon Aerospace & Defense hemorrhaged contracts and investors. The stock price plummeted. Within weeks, the once-mighty defense contractor was little more than a shell, its assets frozen pending legal proceedings.

On a cold morning in early December, I received a call from the Mellon family's attorney—a nervous man named Gerald who'd been tasked with sorting through the legal wreckage Victor had left behind. He asked me to come to the estate. I drove out to Bainbridge Island, crossing the dark water on the ferry. When I arrived, Gerald was waiting in the grand foyer, surrounded by stacks of documents.

"Miss... Taylor?" He hesitated over my name. "Or should I say Miss Mellon?"

"Mellon," I said firmly. "Isabella Mellon."

He nodded, then gestured to the mountain of legal documents spread across Victor's old desk. "Your legal team has successfully challenged Victor Mellon's most recent will—the one that named Chloe Miller as primary beneficiary. Given the criminal conspiracy involving Vivian Miller and the documented evidence of your kidnapping and identity theft, the court has invalidated that will and reverted to an earlier version, one written before Chloe entered the family. As Victor's biological daughter and only legitimate heir under that earlier document, everything reverts to you by law. The company, the properties, the assets."

I stared at him. "Everything?"

"Everything. The estate is valued at approximately 1.2 billion dollars, though much of that is tied up in real estate and company stock. There are also significant debts, legal liabilities, and ongoing lawsuits. But yes, Miss Mellon, it's all yours."

I walked through the estate that day, room by room. This was the house where I should have grown up, where I should have had birthday parties and family dinners. Instead, Chloe had lived here, had worn the dresses and attended the schools and enjoyed the privileges that should have been mine. But now, finally, the scales were balanced.

A week later, I held a press conference in the estate's grand ballroom. I wore a simple black dress, my red hair pulled back in a sleek bun, the emerald pendant my mother had left me glinting at my throat.

"My name is Isabella Mellon," I began. "Twenty-three years ago, I was kidnapped from my mother, Sophia Hayes, and replaced with another child—Chloe Miller, the daughter of Victor Mellon's mistress. For more than two decades, I was denied my identity, my family, and my inheritance. But today, I'm reclaiming what's mine. The Mellon estate, the company, all of it—it belongs to me. And I intend to rebuild what my father destroyed, to honor the memory of my grandmother and my mother by using this wealth and power for good."

The questions came fast and furious after that—reporters shouting over each other, cameras flashing, microphones thrust in my face. But I answered them all with the poise and confidence I'd learned from months of playing roles. And when it was over, when the last reporter had filed out, I stood alone in the ballroom and felt, for the first time in my life, like I could finally breathe.

---

Chloe's fall from grace was swift and brutal. With no family to protect her, no money to cushion her landing, she found herself cast out into a world that had no use for a disgraced heiress with no marketable skills. I could have been merciful. I could have given her a severance package, helped her start over somewhere far from Seattle. But Chloe had shown me none when she'd tried to have me killed in prison, when she'd stolen my life and worn it like a costume for twenty-three years.

So instead, I made sure she ended up exactly where she deserved—working as a cocktail waitress at The Velvet Room, a high-end strip club in the industrial district. I didn't force her to take the job; I simply made sure that every other door was closed to her, that every application she submitted was rejected, that every potential employer received an anonymous tip about her history. And when The Velvet Room offered her a position—not as a dancer, but as a waitress, serving drinks in a skimpy uniform—she took it because she had no other choice.

I visited her there once, a month after she'd started. I sat in a dark corner booth, nursing a glass of whiskey, and watched her work. She moved through the crowd with her head down, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, her face carefully blank. When she finally noticed me, her eyes widened in shock and fear.

"Enjoying your new life, Chloe?" I asked when she approached my table, her hands trembling as she set down a fresh drink.

"You did this," she whispered. "You destroyed me."

"No," I corrected her. "You destroyed yourself. I just made sure you faced the consequences." I stood, leaving cash on the table—a generous tip, because I wasn't cruel, just ruthless. "Consider this your penance. For every lie you told, every privilege you stole, every moment you lived in my place."

I walked out of The Velvet Room and didn't look back. Chloe was no longer my concern. She was a ghost from a past I'd finally laid to rest.