The Real Heiress Is Coming Back (Hannah Carter) novel Chapter 1

At the end of August, deep in the mountains along the Zirenth-Velmora border, a girl in a dress stood beside a blank gravestone with an elderly woman at her side.

The girl was Hannah Carter, the real heiress of the Scott family in Brynlock had been mistakenly swapped at birth seventeen years ago.

They had found her just a week earlier, and today they were taking her back to the city.

“Let’s head down. Members of the Scott family will be here soon. Once you return to the city, you’ll be the Scott heiress. Leave everything from before behind,” Evelyn Carter said, her gaze shifting from the tombstone to the girl.

“Okay, Grandma. You go first. I just want a moment alone.” Hannah’s lips moved slightly as she spoke.

Evelyn glanced at the stone again and let out a quiet sigh. “Don’t lose track of time.”

Then she turned and walked away, leaving Hannah alone to stare silently at the unmarked grave.

Suddenly, Hannah lifted her eyes. From the woods behind her came a faint rustling.

Something was moving through the trees, fast, and heading straight toward her.

She spun around, alert. Her long, curled lashes caught the sunlight, casting thin shadows that veiled her eyes and lent her expression a somber chill.

A tall figure in dark camouflage burst out of the trees. A strong metallic scent clung to him, blood.

His face was smeared with water-based paint, making his features unrecognizable. But Hannah immediately noticed the national flag patch on his right arm. Behind him, the rustling grew louder.

“Danger. Run.” The man sounded startled to find anyone in such a remote place.

His voice was low and strained, as if it cost him all he had left. Mid-stride, his legs buckled. He collapsed right in front of Hannah.

He didn’t move again. The crushed grass beneath him was already stained red.

Hannah’s brows drew together. From the strength of the blood scent, she judged that he had passed out from severe blood loss.

If she didn’t stop the bleeding soon, he wouldn’t survive.

Just then, two men in light camouflage rushed out of the trees.

“There’s actually a woman here,” the curly-haired one said in Thalvarin.

“Then we take her too,” the buzz-cut man with thick lips replied, eyeing Hannah.

Maybe it had been too long since he’d seen a woman. The moment he spotted someone that pretty, his gaze turned filthy.

Hannah’s heart pounded. She had lived on this border for eleven years; she knew the region was unstable, but she had never encountered anything like this.

Even in her fear, she silently thanked the heavens that she had asked her grandmother to go down the mountain first.

Her eyes flicked to the weapons in their hands. She spoke in flawless Thalvarin, deliberately sounding meek. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m just an ordinary villager.”

The buzz-cut man, Gideon, stepped closer. He hooked the barrel of his gun under her chin. Her small face was lovely and soft, and he could already imagine how she would feel under his hands.

He licked his thick lips and grinned. “Sweetheart, your Thalvarin is impressive. Stick with us, and I’ll take you everywhere to live the good life.”

When she stared at the dark muzzle so close to her skin, Hannah’s long lashes trembled.

She swallowed and whispered timidly, “Okay, as long as you don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want. I can pack right now and go with you.”

He’d been shot in the right scapula, and blood was still seeping steadily.

Hannah unfastened the complicated camouflage gear on his torso. Then she lifted the slit of her dress, revealing a hidden row of needles sewn into the lining.

She selected a few, found the correct acupoints, and inserted them swiftly. The bleeding stopped.

With a quick rip, she tore a strip from the already-damaged dress and wrapped it around his shoulder to bandage the wound.

The environment was too dangerous; she had no way to remove the bullet here.

Barnaby Thole woke with a faint groan. His right shoulder felt numb, the pain nearly gone.

In a haze, he sensed hands moving across his chest. Instinctive danger awareness snapped through him, and he jolted awake.

Hannah had just secured the bandage when a large hand suddenly clamped around her wrist.

“Don’t panic. I was only treating your wound,” she explained calmly.

Barnaby finally saw her face and froze. “Calista?”

The moment Hannah heard that name, her cold expression broke into genuine shock.

In her clear pupils, his painted face reflected back at her. She immediately pulled free from his grip and stepped away.

‘Only the Thole family would know that name,’ Hannah thought, her heart pounding. ‘Is he from the Thole family?’