The Heiress’s Double Life

The moment I found out I was the real heiress, I ran to the Ashwood estate to claim my birthright.

But after eighteen years, there was already another girl living my lifea fake heiress, coddled and adored.

My mothers expression was a mask of indifference. Rosalind has been with us since she was a baby, she said, her voice cool. "She's as good as our own. To avoid gossip, we'll tell everyone you're our adopted daughter."

My father added, "You should learn from your sister. Don't embarrass the family."

And my younger brother, Tristan, shielded the fake heiress with his own body. "I only have one sister," he snarled, "and it's not some stray they dragged in off the street."

Blood is thicker than water, they say. And they were right.

Rosalind may not have been my mothers biological daughter, but she was my fathers. The man who had married into this family and its fortune.

The Ashwoods were less than thrilled about my return.

On the day I came home, my father didn't even show his face. He was "away on business."

My so-called brother Tristan glared at me with pure hatred, physically blocking my view of Rosalind as if I were some kind of predator. "Not every piece of trash that shows up at our door gets to call themselves family," he spat. "She's my only sister."

My mother's gaze flickered between me and Rosalind, her lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, she pulled the teary-eyed Rosalind into her arms, murmuring soft comforts. "Don't you worry, darling. You will always be my daughter. We would never send you back to a place like that."

Then she turned to me. Her eyes scanned my sun-bleached, straw-like hair and my rough, calloused hands. She tried to hide her disgust, but failed. "From now on, you two are sisters. Sparrow, you will learn from Rosalind. And try not to wander off."

She added, as an afterthought, "As for that woman who raised you, I'll give her a sum of money to ensure she disappears."

That's right.

My own mother planned to pass me off as an adopted charity case.

Because she was ashamed of me. I was an embarrassment, a blemish on their perfect family portrait. I couldn't bring her the prestige that Rosalind didthe girl who was accepted into a top university at eighteen, who was cultured, poised, played the violin, and was engaged to a man from a family as powerful as the Ashwoods.

And me? I was a high school dropout, sallow-skinned and scrawny, with no talents to speak of and no knowledge of their glittering world.

By any measure, Rosalind was the daughter she deserved. And after raising her for over a decade, of course, there was a bond.

I understood it, intellectually. But it didn't stop the knot of pain from tightening in my chest.

That pain sharpened into anger when Rosalind deliberately knocked my phone out of my hand, sending it shattering across the marble floor.

Id had that phone for almost eight years. It held everything. Messages from the few kind souls who had shown me compassion, their words a lifeline in a world that had offered me nothing but cold indifference. On so many nights when I thought I couldn't go on, I would reread those messages, drawing strength from them, piece by broken piece.

Now, all of that was gone.

My fists clenched, my knuckles white. I stared at Rosalind, a fire blazing in my eyes.

"Oh, sorry, sister," she said with a lazy smile, her apology dripping with insincerity. "My hand slipped."

I knelt in silence, gathering the glittering shards of the screen, trying to piece them back together as if I could somehow restore what was lost. It was hopeless.

"That's enough," my mother's voice cut through the air. "Don't be so dramatic. Your sister didn't do it on purpose."

I saw Rosalind's triumphant smirk, Tristans mocking sneer, and the undisguised annoyance on my mother's face.

In that instant, I knew exactly what I had to do.

I looked up. "I'm not angry," I said, my voice clear and steady. "Does that mean she's going to buy me a better one?"

My mother was taken aback, her face hardening. "Don't make a scene over something so trivial. I have an old one you can use."

I said nothing, just held her gaze.

"Fine," she snapped, pulling a card from her wallet. "Take this and go buy yourself a new one. Are you happy now?"

I snatched the card from her hand before she could change her mind.

Seeing me fall further from our mother's favor, Rosalinds smile widened. She feigned concern. "I noticed you didn't bring many clothes, Sparrow. Why don't I pick out a few things I've never worn and send them over?"

"Or," she added magnanimously, "you can just choose something from my closet yourself. Tomorrow, we'll take you shopping for new things."

My mother's gaze softened as she looked at Rosalind, patting her hand approvingly. "You're so thoughtful, darling. Just give her a few of your old things. She wouldn't know what to choose anyway. We wouldn't want her to ruin your good clothes."

They stood there, a perfect picture of motherly love and filial piety.

It was sickening.

I stood up. "Where's your room, sister? I'll go pick something out now."

Seeing the displeased looks on all their faces, my mood finally began to lift.

Rosalind watched with a pained expression as I selected several brand-new dresses, the price tags still attached. I could practically feel her resentment radiating across the room.

"That's enough," my mother cut in. "Two is plenty. Besides, your sister's clothes won't even fit you properly."

Rosalind forced a smile. "It's alright, Mother. Whatever makes my sister happy. She's suffered so much all these years. She can have all of it, for all I care."

My eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Sparrow, is that any way for a younger sister to behave?" my mother chided. "You just take and take! Have you no sense of humility?"

I remained silent.

If I'd spent my life being humble, I would have starved to death years ago.

When I was little, I'd scavenged for leftovers outside of restaurants just to have a full stomach. When I started school, the woman who raised me refused to buy me so much as a pencil or a notebook. When the teacher asked her about it, she swore shed given me the money. I tried to argue, but she just called me a liar and beat me for it.

My teacher often took pity on me, buying me supplies with her own money. But the moment I got home, my foster mother would snatch them away and give them to someone else. After a while, I think the teacher just assumed I was making excuses to avoid doing my work. Id be punished for incomplete assignments, forced to stand in the corner. So, I learned to survive. I'd rummage through the school trash cans, collecting discarded pages from other students' notebooks and binding them together. Pencils were even easier; I could always find stubs the length of a thumb or ballpoint pens with a little ink left. A handful of those would last me a while.

Even my clothes were hand-me-downs from the neighbors.

I grew up terrified of poverty. Even when I started earning my own money, I could never bring myself to spend it on myself.

So when she practically offered her entire wardrobe on a silver platter, you bet I was going to take a few things.

Besides, she owed me.

My mother couldn't stand to see her precious daughter upset for a second. "Don't worry, darling," she cooed. "Tomorrow, I'll have the designer come to the house with his lookbooks. We'll have some gowns custom-made just for you. It's been a month since we had anything new made, anyway."

A genuine smile finally returned to Rosalind's face.

I poked my head between them. "Wow, really? That's great! I don't have anything to wear."

"Didn't you just take a pile of clothes from your sister?" my mother asked, her voice laced with irritation.

"But you're the one who said her clothes wouldn't fit me right," I replied innocently. "And I've never, ever had a custom-made dress before..."

My mother fell silent, a flicker of guilt crossing her features. "Fine," she sighed. "The designer can make something for you as well."

Rosalind shot me a look that could kill.

But this was just the beginning.

Did she really think I was fighting over clothes?

I was fighting for what the Ashwoods owed me. I could live without their affection, but I wouldn't be short-changed on what was rightfully mine. Every luxury I had missed out on for eighteen yearsthey were going to pay it all back.

I carried the dresses to the room they had assigned me.

It was on the ground floor, a converted storage closet next to the turn of the staircase. The space was completely empty, clearly cleared out in a hurry.

"You'll have to make do with this for now, sister," Rosalind said with a saccharine smile. "We haven't had time to prepare your real room yet."

I stared at the cramped space, making no move to enter.

Her lips curved into a smirk. "What's wrong? Do you have a problem with Father's arrangements?" she asked, knowing the answer. Before I could respond, she continued, her voice a low, mocking drawl. "He was being thoughtful, you know. He said you grew up in a hovel, so a big room would probably just make you anxious. He picked this one out for you himself before he left on his trip."

"So," she purred, "are you going to reject his 'thoughtful' gesture?"

I ignored her completely, my gaze fixed on my mother standing just behind her. I asked, with genuine sincerity, "Are we really that poor? We can't even spare a decent guest room?"

"Back at my foster mother's house, I had to sleep in the bathroom," I continued, "but at least when they had guests, they got to stay in a proper bedroom."

"You know what? Maybe I should just find a hotel. I wouldn't want to put you all out."

With that, I turned and headed for the front door, luggage in hand.

I knew they wouldn't let me leave. The Ashwood family couldn't afford that kind of scandal.

Just as I predicted, my mother's face turned ashen with rage. Forgetting all about her afternoon nap, she snapped at me and pointed vaguely towards the second floor, assigning me a guest room. It wasn't as large as Rosalind's suite, but it was fully furnished and comfortable.

I moved in, completely satisfied.

At dinner, Rosalind pulled the same trick. Standing by the lavishly set dining table, she gasped dramatically. "Oh, dear! We forgot to set a place for my sister!"

The fake heiress couldn't hide her glee. "So sorry, Sparrow. You arrived in such a hurry, we didn't have time to prepare a seat for you. Why don't you... eat in the kitchen with the staff?"

My mother acted as if she hadn't heard a thing, letting Rosalind's cruel suggestion hang in the air.

My eyes darted to the head of the table, where my father's chair sat empty. Without a word, I walked over, sat down, and started eating.

My mother picked at her food for a few minutes before rising. As she left, she tossed a parting shot over her shoulder. "I'll be gone for a few days. You two try to get along."

"Of course, Mother!" Rosalind chirped happily. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to entertain my sister."

She lingered on the word "entertain," her eyes gleaming with malice.

My mother either didn't notice or didn't care. She just gave a noncommittal hum and left.

I didn't care either.

What followed was all-out war. They put cockroaches in my bedroom; I answered with mice. They poured water on my bed; I got the garden hose and started a water fight. They locked me in the house; I shattered a window and screamed at the top of my lungs about a break-in.

My mother, forced to cut her vacation short, returned to a scene of utter chaos. For the first time, she directed her anger at her precious darlings. "There's a limit to your games!" she seethed. "She may have been raised like a savage, but you two were raised by me!"

Rosalind and Tristan bowed their heads in mock apology.

My mother didn't even spare me a glance. "Now that you're in the Ashwood house, you will follow its rules," she said coldly. "Leave your gutter habits behind."

I rolled my eyes and pretended I hadn't heard.

After they realized I wasn't an easy target, Rosalind backed off for a few days. Of course, that meant my mother and brother simply ignored my existence, treating me like a ghost in their own home.

My father returned for Rosalind's birthday.

He gave me a brief, formal greeting, telling me to see the butler if I needed anything.

Without missing a beat, I pulled a long, folded list from my pocket.

"I don't really know what to ask for," I said sweetly, "but you've given my sister such a wonderful life. So, I just made a copy of everything in her room. This should be enough to start. I'll let you know if I think of anything else."

My father's eye twitched as he scanned the impossibly long list. "There's no need to get everything at once. Your sister's things were accumulated over many years."

I immediately dropped my gaze, my voice filled with a carefully crafted disappointment. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't been away from you all these years, I wouldn't have to put you in such a difficult position."

The party guests nearby overheard, their interest piqued.

"You know," one of them whispered, "this adopted girl has the exact same eyes as Mrs. Ashwood."

"I heard she's a dropout, didn't even finish middle school. Amazing that the Ashwoods would take in an orphan like her."

"Well, she's landed on her feet. The Ashwood's real daughter has that wonderful fianc from the Harrington family. With the Ashwood name behind her, even this orphan will be able to marry well and live a comfortable life."

My mother shot me a warning glance before clearing her throat. "We saw the poor child and our hearts went out to her," she announced to the listening ears. "And it turned out her birthday is the same day as our Rosalind's. It felt like fate. We treat her just like our own."

The crowd murmured in approval, praising my mother for her benevolence.

Listening to them call me an "orphan" who "got lucky," I could see my mother's smile tightening at the edges. Despite their praise, the words clearly bothered her.

After all, I was her flesh and blood. Their whispers stirred a faint ember of guilt within her.

Her tone softened slightly when she spoke to me again. "Alright, then. We'll furnish your room to the same standard as Rosalind's." She then looked at me, a hint of regret in her eyes. "You arrived so suddenly. If we'd had more time, I would have prepared all this for you already."

"You are both my daughters," she declared, her voice ringing with performative sincerity. "I would never favor one over the other. Whatever Rosalind has, you shall have as well."

This declaration, of course, earned her another round of applause. She beamed, gliding through the party with renewed elegance, exchanging pleasantries with her guests.

Rosalind remained by her side, the picture of grace. But in a moment when no one was watching, she shot me a look of pure, unadulterated triumph.

You may be the biological daughter, her eyes screamed, but I'm the one who stands by her side.

I couldn't have cared less.

This was the first real birthday I'd ever had, and I was determined to enjoy it. I piled my plate high with cake, as if trying to make up for every birthday I'd ever missed.

As I was taking a massive bite, Rosalind's voice dripped with condescension from behind me. "You really have never seen anything nice, have you? I'm so tired of this cake. Here, you can have my piece too."

I took it without hesitation. "Thanks, sister. If you don't want your presents either, I'll take them. After all, they should have been mine to begin with."

"Hmph. Mother was right. You have no class," she sneered, turning on her high heels and storming away.

She never did say whether I could have the presents.

Oh well. I'd just have to go ask my parents for more things.

The moment the new jewelry, handbags, and accessories arrived, I sold more than half of them.

Watching the millions deposit into my bank account, my spirits soared with the balance. With money in my pocket, I laid low for a while. I paid off old debts and hired someone to do a little digging for me.

It wasn't top-secret information, but it was just what I needed to secure another windfall.

I could barely contain my grin. The universe really did have a sense of justice. After all the bitterness, the sweetness was overwhelming.

My grandfather had left me a hundred-million-dollar inheritance.

According to his will, his company would go to my brother, but his three hundred million in cash was to be divided equally among his three blood relatives: my mother, my brother, and me.

Could there be any better news?

Though the Ashwoods had taken me in, they kept me on a tight leash financially, claiming they were afraid I'd "spend it recklessly." I had to justify buying a new pair of socks. Meanwhile, Rosalind's allowance over the years had run into the millions.

Now, I was twenty. With this kind of money, I could finally move out. I could buy whatever I wanted without having to answer to anyone.

A lifetime of scraping by had taught me one thing: the only thing that truly matters is the money in your own hands.

That's why I didn't care about Rosalind's taunts or Tristan's hostility. I could even tolerate my parents' blatant favoritism. As long as the money kept coming, everything was fine.

And now, with a golden opportunity like this right in front of me, how could I not seize it? For the first time in my life, I thought birthdays were wonderful. There was cake, presents, and a massive inheritance.

I immediately went to my parents to discuss it.

My mother looked troubled. "Before we knew the truth, I promised Rosalind that money would be her dowry when she marries into the Harrington family."

"The Harringtons are a very important family," she continued, her tone final. "A good marriage for your sister will benefit you in the long run. I've already made the decision. The money is hers."

"Don't worry," she added, as if offering a grand concession. "You are my real daughter, and I won't neglect you. When you get married, I'll give you a dowry of five million dollars. How does that sound?"

She looked at me as if she were the most generous mother in the world.

From the sidelines, Rosalind added with the air of a victor, "And I'll add another three million, sister. As a little something from me."

"You're too kind, Rosie," my dear brother Tristan sneered, looking down his nose at me. "She's just a country bumpkin. Give her a few thousand and she'll be thrilled. What would she even do with that much money?"

My father adopted a paternal, concerned expression. "A girl like Sparrow will just marry some nobody. That much money would only attract predators. It would be safer if we held onto it for her. We can give it to her when she truly needs it."

He looked at me. "Sparrow, what do you think?"