She Returned With The CEO's Hidden Heir

As she passed an elegant man, he froze, stopped in his tracks by a sudden flash of memory.

The butler at his side stepped closer discreetly. "Sir... I believe that was Jeanne Lawrence."

"She's back?"

"From what I've heard, Mr. Lawrence is gravely ill. Word is she's here to say her final goodbyes."

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the man's lips. He studied the boy at her side. "Could that be... her son?"

The butler nodded wordlessly, then flinched under the man's cutting gaze.

Meanwhile, Jeanne spotted a familiar figure.

"Monica!"

Hearing her name, Monica spun around, her face breaking into a wide, surprised grin.

"Jeanne! You're finally back! I was starting to think you'd decided to hide from the world forever!"

Seven years had passed, but Monica's playful jabs hadn't changed a bit. A small smile touched Jeanne's lips before she steered the conversation elsewhere.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Edward. Edward Swan. He just came through here."

"I don't know him," Jeanne replied flatly.

"What? Are you kidding me? You used to follow him around like having a lovesick!"

Jeanne rolled her eyes. It was just a silly high school crush, nothing more.

Monica raised an eyebrow. "If you'd managed to land him, maybe your father wouldn't have thrown you out like yesterday's trash..."

Jeanne smoothly changed the subject. "Is your car outside?"

"Obviously. Let's go."

As Monica reached for the luggage, she stopped short, her eyes landing on the child.

"Your son? He's adorable."

"Yes. His name is George," Jeanne answered with a nod.

"Hello, George. Nice to meet you, I'm Peppa Pig. Oink, oink..." Monica said, scrunching up her nose.

George watched her with a blank expression, then slowly took off his glasses. His eyelashes were so long they looked almost unreal.

Monica froze, suddenly feeling that she was a fool.

Then, in a soft voice, George replied, "Hello, Peppa Pig."

Monica burst out laughing, completely delighted. "You can call me Godmother!"

George glanced at his mother, who nodded.

"Godmother."

"Perfect! My darling godson, you're going to live like a prince! You'll have good food, a beautiful room, and plenty of maids to dote on you!"

Without another word, she took George's hand, leaving Jeanne to deal with the luggage.

George shot his mother a perplexed look, his brows furrowed, as if to ask whether this lady was an idiot.

Jeanne sighed.

With an IQ of 200, George considered anyone of average intelligence a lost cause.

The car pulled away from the airport. Monica drove, Jeanne sat in the passenger seat, and George was quiet in the back.

The drive toward the city center stretched on.

"Was it your grandfather who called you back?" Monica asked.

"He's very ill. He wants to see us before his time is up."

"They say your stepmother, Jennifer, is running the house now. You need to prepare for hardship."

Jeanne nodded slowly, a cold light entering her eyes.

"Jasmine is marrying Eden this month. They're hoping the wedding will lift the old man's spirits."

"I heard about that."

Monica bit her lip. "Do you... do you still think about him?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"Dramatic? Me? Come on, you two were in love! If that viper Jasmine hadn't gotten her claws in, you'd be the one marrying him!"

Jeanne just shrugged. "If our bond was that easy to break, it was never worth keeping."

Monica sighed. "What about George's father?"

Jeanne dodged the question. "He was just some guy."

"Some guy? Please tell me he wasn't a pig."

Jeanne laughed. "He was. That's why I named my son George."

George's eyes widened in dismay from the backseat. Monica howled with laughter.

They talked for the entire forty-minute drive.

When they arrived at the Lawrence estate, the car slowed to a stop before the grand gates.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Monica offered.

Jeanne shook her head. She had left in humiliation; she would return a conqueror.

She stared at the plaque on the gate "Lawrence."

Her lips stretched into a cold smile.

She would have her revenge. A hundred, even a thousand times over.

She took George's hand.

"Let's go."

The Lawrence family mansion was one of the oldest private estates in South Hampton City. Located in the heart of the city, every inch of the property was priceless.

Legend said the foundations were built on an ancient sanctuary, once guarded by monks who had vanished without a trace. Draped in forgotten history, the estate had witnessed generations of Lawrences—power marriages, betrayals disguised as unions, and secrets buried deep beneath the oak floors.

The mansion's façade, framed by rolling green hills and a striking, man-made river, opened onto a meticulously kept tropical garden—a surreal oasis against the urban chill of South Hampton. The architecture, a bold mix of old-world majesty and understated elegance, projected an air of calm... or of well-hidden schemes.

The paved path leading to the main entrance wound through the silence. Before them, the mansion loomed, a stone giant burdened with unspeakable stories.

Jeanne didn't pause for a second before the ornate front door. Her gaze was fixed and icy. George, her young son, followed in her shadow. Their footsteps echoed in the grand hall, a prelude to the past she was about to confront.

In the drawing room, several well-dressed ladies were exchanging idle chatter. At the sight of Jeanne, their voices died abruptly.

One woman snickered. "Well, look who's back! If it isn't our dear heirness Miss Lawrence. Sorry... ex-heirness."

Ex-heirness?

Jeanne offered an enigmatic smile, not saying a word. She looked at them the way one might observe flies buzzing over rotting fruit.

"And she has a child with her! I'd heard the rumors... To come back with a boy and no wedding ring. What a disgrace to the family!" another woman chimed in with a giggle.

The giggles dissolved into venomous whispers, until an imposing figure rose to her feet. A woman of noble bearing, dressed in a formal, old-fashioned gown, crossed the room with calculated slowness.

"Jeanne, there you are. Your father has been waiting for you," she said, her voice dripping with a warmth that rang utterly false.

This was Jennifer Lawrence, her stepmother. The woman who had shattered her family by seducing Alexandre Lawrence. She played the part of a compassionate matriarch perfectly, but beneath the surface, she was a viper with razor-sharp fangs.

Jeanne stared at her without blinking. "You can drop the act, Jennifer. You were one of the ones who showed me the door, remember?"

Jennifer faltered for a moment, caught off guard.

She had expected that years in exile would have left Jeanne subdued, even broken. But the fire in Jeanne's eyes proved she hadn't lost an ounce of her fight.

"That was your father's decision," she answered, her voice strained with forced calm. "But blood is always connected."

"If you say so," Jeanne replied, her tone weary and mocking.

Not lingering on the defeat, Jennifer ordered a maid, "Maria, take her luggage upstairs. His grandfather is waiting for her in his room."