The Heir in Disguise

Chapter Four Chase Micah OUT!

 

Isla hearing that the anonymous donor had stopped his monthly donation to her business was like being told the sky had fallen. Unbelievable. Impossible. Shattering.

This donation had been consistent for two years. In fact, she had grown so comfortable with it that she knew the exact date and time the money would land in her bank account.

She never bothered to find out who the anonymous donor was. She never acknowledged it publicly, not even in private circles. But deep down, she knew she couldn't afford to lose the anonymous donor. Especially not now. Not when she was in the middle of another ambitious project, one that was rapidly draining her resources. The donation had been the main reason she could continue the work, improve it, and ensure it turned out perfectly for her customers.

“What is it, babe?” asked Micah, narrowing his eyes as he noticed Isla's abrupt, almost frantic reaction. Her hand was frozen in mid-air, her lips parted, and confusion creased her forehead. From the words she struggled to utter and the disoriented look in her eyes, he knew something had gone terribly wrong. But surely, whatever it was, he could fix it, right?

Micah was a Santiago. The Santiagos were one of the wealthiest families in Velmoria City. His father owned a multinational company, and Micah was the heir to that empire.

Every month, his father, Mr Augutus Santiago wired him $30,000 for doing absolutely nothing. 

Micah could afford anything he wanted, fast cars, designer suits, last-minute trips to the Maldives. Most importantly, he didn’t have to pay tax on the money. It was his and his alone. And in his world, money solved everything. 

“The anonymous donor... he terminated the donation,” Isla said quietly. Her voice trembled as if her entire foundation had been shaken.

Micah blinked. Isla and Micah had been dating for six months now. The Santiago family was far more powerful than the Quinns, so Isla viewed Micah as a golden opportunity. A step up. A prize. Meanwhile, she had never taken Lucas seriously, at least, not the way she took Micah.

She had never hidden the fact that the anonymous donor was the one funding her business to Micah. She had even joked about it with him, calling the mystery benefactor a fool countless times. She couldn’t understand why anyone would donate so much money, so consistently, without asking for anything in return.

Still, she had no problem milking the generosity for all it was worth. Her goal was clear: become the wealthiest, most powerful woman in Velmoria—and this donor had been her secret weapon.

But now, out of nowhere, he had vanished?

“What are you laughing at?” Isla snapped at Micah, who had started grinning like a fool. He slid off the bed and stretched, unconcerned.

“Is that why you’re panicking?” he said, voice smug.

“Relax. Leave the donations to me from now on. I’ll take over. I’ll sponsor your business. To hell with the anonymous whoever-he-is,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest like he’d just saved the world.

Isla smirked, but it wasn’t out of gratitude. It was the kind of smirk that held bitterness and disbelief. She knew Micah too well, knew exactly how much his father gave him each month.

“You think your monthly 30k is enough to cater to my project?” Isla scoffed instantly, her eyes narrowing. Micah’s nonchalant tone only fueled her anger.

Every week, she sent her team across countries to scout for ideas. They explored global markets, hunted down rare fabrics, met with creative legends, all in pursuit of building her next revolutionary blouse. It wasn’t just a garment; it was a symbol. Something that would change the face of fashion forever.

Each week, they spent no less than twelve thousand five hundred dollars, on flights, accommodations, knowledge purchases, and private sessions with international fashion icons. Twelve thousand five hundred multiplied by four weeks equaled fifty thousand dollars. Every month.

How dare Micah assume his thirty thousand, handed to him on a silver spoon, could support that?

And would he not cater to his own needs as well? His luxury habits? His ego trips?

“Get out!” Isla shouted suddenly, her voice slicing through the silence. The more she thought about his careless words, the angrier she became. He was being stupid. Dumb, even. Did he really think he could come up with fifty thousand a month on his own? Or, by begging his stingy father?

Everyone in Velmoria knew Micah’s father. The man was infamous for caring only about himself. He preferred to buy off even his own family with a fixed thirty thousand just so they wouldn’t come sniffing around his company or vying for a real position.

So no, Micah couldn't help her. And Isla knew she had just lost something far more valuable than her boyfriend’s empty offer, she’d lost her lifeline.

***

 Isla sat on the edge of the bed the moment Micah scooped his suit from the mattress, slipped into it without a word, and walked out of the hotel room. The soft click of the door echoed in the silence he left behind, making her feel even more alone than before.

She placed a hand to her forehead like a worried hardcore—a term Micah once used to describe her when she was at her most ruthless, never letting emotions get in the way. But now, those emotions were impossible to ignore. It had been a long time since she’d felt this unsettled. Since she’d truly sat in her thoughts and allowed worry to take root.

The last time she did this was two years ago, before the anonymous donor came into the picture. Back then, she was desperate, scraping together resources to keep her project alive. And then, out of nowhere, the donations started pouring in.

With the donor in the background, money was no longer a concern. She only had to lift a finger, or snap it, metaphorically, and whatever she needed would appear like magic. The power of that anonymous generosity made her feel untouchable, chosen. But that illusion shattered quickly.

Now, the donor had cut her off. Just like that. No explanation. No warning. And she was left to pick up the pieces, scrambling to find a means to sponsor her project alone.

“Fuck me,” she cursed under her breath, her voice cracking with frustration. Her regret was bitter. She had been so unbothered about the donor’s identity, brushing off every opportunity to find out who it was. If she had been smart, if she had taken the time to connect the dots, she might have discovered who they were and acknowledged them—openly, sincerely.

Even if the donor had preferred to remain anonymous, there were still ways she could have shown appreciation, sent thanks through intermediaries, maybe even built trust. But she hadn’t. And now that they were gone, she had no idea how to reach them. No name. No contact. No leverage.

She heaved a deep sigh, her mind racing for a solution. She couldn’t sit here wallowing. There had to be a next move.

And then it came to her, her father. Mr. David Quinn.

A CEO with more power than most people in the city, he had the means to help. And since he’d already seen what she was building: how ambitious, how successful it was, surely he’d want to support her, right? Maybe not out of affection, but at least out of pride or duty. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something.

Without hesitating, Isla stood up. She grabbed her gown, slipping it over her shoulders with practiced ease. Her hands moved swiftly to smooth her hair, though her thoughts were anything but calm. She scooped up her bag, pausing only for a second to steady her breathing, then released another sigh—this one deeper than the last.

Her only hope now rested on her father. She had to believe he wouldn’t disappoint her. Not after everything. She just hoped, strongly, that the man she was about to face still had room in his cold, calculating heart to help his daughter when it truly mattered.