8 Crazy Dads for the Fake Heiress

The day the true heiress returned, my parents tossed my luggage out of the mansion.

Isla is our real daughter. The moment I saw her, I knew C blood runs thicker than water!

Isla flashed me a triumphant smile. Sister, whats mine, you should return.

I looked at the golden aura above her head C the [100% Guaranteed Elite Family Recognition] halo C and neither cried nor made a scene. Instead, I sent samples of her hair to seven other notoriously ruthless elite families in the city.

Half a month later, Isla called me, sobbing.

Please, take these fathers away. I cant take it anymore!

I calmly hung up the phone.

This is just the beginning.

Tonight, all eight family dinners clash. Good luck.

My name is Iris Fitzgerald, and for twenty years, I was the daughter of the Fitzgerald family. Today, that identity expired.

The mansions ornate iron gates slowly closed before me, like a guillotine drawing a line in the sand. My suitcase lay roughly discarded by the roadside, its contents spilling out, clothes soiled with mud. My perpetually bewildered mother was cradling her biological daughter, Isla, sobbing uncontrollably.

My Isla, youve suffered so much out there all these years.

My supposed father, Mr. Fitzgerald, eyed me with the cold, assessing gaze of someone appraising merchandise. Iris, weve raised you for twenty years. Weve been more than generous. From today, you have no further connection to this family.

Isla lifted her head from her mothers embrace, her face still streaked with tears, but her eyes held undisguised scorn for me. Sister, dont blame Mom and Dad. They just love me too much.

I calmly observed the halo above her head. That golden glow was dazzling, almost blinding.

I said nothing, merely bending to quietly gather my scattered belongings. Isla seemed to think this wasnt enough. She stepped closer, looking down at me. By the way, Sister, youre used to living in a mansion, but renting outside isnt cheap. Do you need me to advance you some wages? You could always work as a maid for us. At least youd have a place.

I finally met her gaze. No need.

My eyes swept past her, to the second-floor balcony of the mansion. There, a pile of her freshly discarded clothes lay, next to the vanity where she had just brushed her hair. Perfect. Thats where Id find what I needed.

I turned and walked away, dragging my suitcase, without a single glance back. They thought I was utterly defeated.

They had no idea the game had only just begun.

That evening, I used my savings to rent a small apartment downtown. After settling in, I contacted a maid who still worked at the Fitzgerald mansion, someone I had helped in the past. Half an hour later, a same-day delivery package was on my table. Inside was a comb, with a few strands of long hair tangled in it.

I took out the eight pre-prepared sealed bags and eight envelopes. The eight most influential elite families in the city. Each a hundred times more prominent than the Fitzgeralds. Coincidentally, each of these eight families had some long-standing mystery concerning their bloodline. Either a daughter lost years ago, or a patriarch with an almost insane obsession with pure lineage. They would stop at nothing, spare no expense.

I put on gloves and carefully divided the hair into the sealed bags. Then, I wrote an anonymous letter to each family. The content was largely similar:

Your lost bloodline. Ive found her.

Here is the evidence. Do with it what you will.

No sender, no superfluous explanations.

After all that, I leaned back in my chair, watching the city lights twinkling outside my window. Isla, you have that recognition aura, dont you? Ill give you all the recognition you can handle.

The days that followed were unusually peaceful. I found a part-time job at an art gallery, working nine to five. Isla probably assumed I was traumatized into silence, sending me messages every other day. They were always about her latest designer bag, or some lavish party the Fitzgerald couple had taken her to.

[Sister, Dad bought me a pink Porsche. Look, isnt it pretty? [image]]

[Mom says my skin is amazing, so shes taking me to Switzerland for the most exclusive treatment. Ugh, sometimes being too pampered is a hassle.]

I ignored them all. She was like a boxer punching air, talking to herself, perfectly content.

Until half a month later, the first big fish bit. Mr. Davies, chairman of Davies Group, a real estate mogul, publicly announced a search for his lost daughter. Twenty-two years ago, hed lost a child. Now, thanks to a mysterious DNA sample, hed found her!

At the press conference, Mr. Davies wept tears of joy, a bewildered young woman standing beside him. It was Isla. In the photos, she wore an expensive but ill-fitting gown, her smile stiff.

I turned off the news just as my phone rang. It was Mr. Fitzgerald. His voice was thick with barely suppressed rage.

Iris! Was this your doing? How can Isla be Mr. Daviess daughter?

I feigned surprise. Mr. Fitzgerald, what are you talking about? Isnt Isla your biological daughter? What happened? Does this bloodline come with a buy one, get one free deal?

You! He was too furious to speak.

Mr. Fitzgerald, instead of worrying about this, you should probably figure out how to explain it to Mr. Davies. After all, your true heiress seems to be his as well. I hear Mr. Davies is notoriously ruthless with those who deceive him. You wouldnt want to sacrifice yourself for a two-for-one daughter, would you?

I hung up and blocked his number. I could imagine the Fitzgerald household was in utter chaos. They thought they had welcomed a unique bloodline, only to find they had a bargain-bin version.

Islas social media paused for two days. On the third day, she reappeared. This time, it was a photo with Mr. Davies, captioned: Turns out, I have two loving fathers. Below, my mother was the first to like it, commenting: Both of you are Moms good daughters.

I nearly laughed out loud at the forced harmony. Isla had probably convinced herself, and the Fitzgerald family. Whats wrong with an extra dad, if it means extra pampering?

Unfortunately, she didnt understand. When a miracle happens repeatedly, it ceases to be a miracle. It becomes a joke.

Sure enough, less than three days later, a second missing persons announcement rocked the city. Mr. Allen, founder of Allen Tech, an internet giant with a multi-billion dollar valuation, announced he had found his long-lost daughter. The token of his successful search was another unheralded DNA sample. And the girl he excitedly embraced was, once again, Isla.

The city exploded.

[What kind of lucky charm is this Isla? Even lottery tickets dont hit this often!]

[I suggest an investigation. This might be a new type of scam.]

[^ The DNA results are all confirmed. All three families match. This is a scientific anomaly.]

Islas phone was practically vibrating itself to death. When she called me, her voice was tinged with tears. Iris, what is going on? Why does Mr. Allen also say Im his daughter?

I slowly sipped my tea. Congratulations, Isla. Your fatherly love quota has doubled again.

Dont be so sarcastic! Is this your doing? she shrieked.

Me? I chuckled. Im just a fake heiress kicked out of my home. How could I have such power? You should ask yourself why youre so generous?

Silence on her end, punctuated by heavy breathing. I knew she was starting to question her own infallible aura.

The Fitzgerald and Davies families had already fallen out. Mr. Davies believed Mr. Fitzgerald was a con artist, deliberately using his daughter to climb the social ladder. Mr. Fitzgerald believed Mr. Davies was a thief, trying to steal his precious daughter. The two families began sabotaging each others businesses.

And at the center of it all, Isla was experiencing a chilling dichotomy. The Davies family demanded she study from five in the morning until midnight. If she didnt get a perfect score in any subject, she was confined for three days. Mr. Davies even set up a dedicated punishment room for her.

The Allen family enrolled her in an entertainment company but forbade her from smiling at any male. Her phone and computer were monitored, her social media accounts rigorously scrutinized. One time, she simply greeted an elderly security guard, and all her luxury items were confiscated. She was even sent to a female etiquette electroshock school for a three-day intensive training.

The Fitzgerald family, in the most awkward position, wanted to intervene but dared not offend the other two families. They could only call daily, feigning concern, and emphasizing that they were her first father.

Islas schedule was packed to the brim. She no longer had time to flaunt on social media. Her messages to me changed from boasting to complaining.

[Today, I just looked at my riding instructor for too long during equestrian class and Mr. Davies made me stand still for two hours.]

[Dad Allen assigned me eight bodyguards. Two female bodyguards stand outside the restroom door when I use it! They even record the time and duration of each visit and report it. Is he a pervert?]

[My mom wants me to come home for dinner, but I have to attend a family dinner at the Davies' tonight. What do I do? Mr. Sullivan also said if I'm a minute late, he'll leak scandals about me to the media and ruin me.]

I looked at her pleas, my mood pleasant. This is just a few fathers. You cant handle it? Dont worry, there are five more waiting in line. Plus a bonus.

When the fourth and fifth elite families successively announced they had recognized Isla as their daughter, the entire society was speechless. News headlines shifted from the astonished Elite Family Miracle to the mocking Revolving Elite Families, Enduring Isla.

Isla became the biggest running joke in the city. A walking daddy collector. She was utterly broken.

That afternoon, I was organizing paintings in the gallery when Isla burst in, her face devoid of makeup. She grabbed my hand, her eyes bloodshot and raw.

Iris, I was wrong. I was so, so wrong! She was trembling all over, her Chanel suit wrinkled, her hair dishehevelled. Please, make them stop! I dont want so many fathers anymore! I just want the Fitzgeralds. My mom and dad are enough!

Other colleagues in the gallery cast curious glances our way. I gently pulled my hand free, calmly looking at her.

You shouldnt be telling me this. You should tell them. Tell them youre not their daughter.

I did! she wailed. But they dont believe me! They all did DNA tests, and the results all show Im their biological daughter! They think everyone else is lying, trying to deceive me!

That certainly fit the character of those obsessive patriarchs.

Iris, I know it was you! You sent my hair to them, didnt you? She had finally figured it out.

I neither admitted nor denied it.

What do you want from me? Will you only be satisfied when Im dead? she asked, looking at me with desperation.

I picked up the water glass on the table and took a sip. I dont want anything.

I just think that if its a windfall from heaven, its better to have a few more to ensure a balanced diet of nutrition.

You! She trembled with rage.

Just then, her phone rang furiously. She glanced at the caller ID, her face instantly turning ashen. Her hand shook, and the phone dropped to the floor. The screen displayed Mr. Sullivanthe media mogul, the sixth father to recognize her. He was known for his fiery temper and extreme possessiveness.

The phone rang incessantly, like a death knell. Isla stared at the phone on the floor as if it were a bomb. She dared not answer.

I bent down, picked up the phone, and pressed to hang up. Then, I saw her packed schedule of reminders.