The Heiress's Vindication: He Chose the Damsel in Distress, But Now He Regrets It

My childhood sweetheart, born into the same old-money elite circle as me, fell in love with a poor, innocent damsel in distress from the wrong side of the tracks.

To marry her, he withstood the pressure of his entire family and broke off his engagement with me.

Heartbroken, I went abroad to further my studies.

By the time I returned, he and Lily Evans had been married for almost two years.

And I had long since moved on.

But at my welcome-home party, Preston Harringtonthe man who once fought the entire world just to be with Lilylooked at the woman he had fought so hard to marry with icy disgust. With a chilling tone, he snapped:

"Didn't I tell you to stay at home? Why are you out here embarrassing me?"

When I returned to the States, my close friends threw a massive, luxurious welcome-home party for me.

To my surprise, Preston Harrington showed up.

Seven years ago, he was so blinded by his love for Lily Evans that he insisted on breaking our perfectly matched engagement. In front of all our elders, he had declared: If he couldn't marry Lily, he would rather marry a dog than marry me.

Those words were so humiliating that they completely shattered the decades-long friendship between our two families.

That day, I finally grew tired of it all. I cried in front of my parents for an hour, begging them to call off the engagement.

I told them I didn't want Preston anymore. I didn't want to marry him.

My parents looked at me with aching hearts and finally relented. They went to the Harringtons' estate and had a closed-door meeting for an hour.

The final verdict was spun not as Preston rejecting me, but as the Sterling family refusing to marry off their daughter.

With things escalating to that point, the engagement was voided. While our families didn't completely sever ties and become sworn enemies, the relationship undeniably froze over.

Shortly after, I left for Paris to study.

Until today, when I finally returned.

I looked at Preston. Compared to seven years ago, he had grown taller and much more composed. His handsome face carried an aristocratic, aloof coldness, and his dark eyes were fixed intently on me.

No one had told me Preston would be here. I turned to look at my best friend, Sophie, who was hosting the event.

Sophie hurriedly waved her hands to clear her name, explaining, "I didn't invite him, Claire! I have no idea where Preston heard you were coming back, but he volunteered to take over and host this welcome-home party for you."

She guiltily added a redundant disclaimer: "It really wasn't me, I swear."

I didn't say a word. Instead, Preston chuckled. His tone was gentle, exactly like it used to be back before our fallout, when he would pick me up for school every morning.

"Claire, it's been so many years. I was young and reckless back then, and I handled things terribly. I hurt you. So today, I brazenly took over as host because I wanted to formally apologize."

He paused, looking directly into my eyes, and continued, "Do you still hold a grudge about the past?"

Look at how he phrased that. If I said I still held a grudge, it would make me look petty and unable to let him go.

So, I looked up and gave him a dazzling, magnanimous smile. "You said it yourselfit's in the past."

We all ran in the same circles, and it really had been a long time. He meant absolutely nothing to me now.

I picked up a glass of champagne and smiled breezily. "Sophie mentioned that you and Lily got married over a year ago. I haven't congratulated you yet. Here's to you."

His expression remained flat. Logically, having successfully married the girl of his dreams, even with his naturally stoic personality, he shouldn't be looking this indifferent.

Before I could even process his reaction, he picked up his glass and downed it in one go.

It didn't look like he was accepting a blessing; it looked like he was drowning his sorrows.

But I couldn't be bothered to care.

Reuniting with old friends naturally led to endless catching up. Since I was the guest of honor, everyone hyped me up, and the topics revolved entirely around me.

Someone asked how many boyfriends I had in France.

Someone brought up my global art exhibition tour.

Another friend complained, half-jokingly, "Seriously, Claire, why do you have to be so overachieving? Tickets to your gallery exhibitions are impossible to get, and you've opened so many galleries worldwide. My old man constantly compares me to you, sighing about how I only know how to chase celebrities, shop for Birkins, and race sports cars."

I laughed. "It's just a hobby."

Preston, who had been sitting silently on the sidelines, smiled. "After all these years, you've finally learned to be humble."

His tone... how should I put it? It was as natural as an old friend's, laced with an intimate familiarity. It was as if we had never had our messy falling out, as if he had never said those agonizingly cruel things to me just to defend Lily.

I didn't quite know how to respond. I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination, but his tone felt... almost flirtatious.

While I was still debating how to reply, he added, "I went to see your exhibition, Dance of Shadows. It was breathtaking."

Now it wasn't just me; even the friends sitting around us sensed something was off.

They fell silent, their gazes darting subtly between me and Preston.

My expression didn't change as I politely replied, "Oh. Thank you."

After a brief pause, I jokingly reminded him, "Did you go see it with Lily? Speaking of which, why didn't she come today? I haven't seen her in years, and we are old high school classmates after all."

His expression cooled again, and he said dismissively, "Oh, she's busy at home."

He said it as if he were talking about an irrelevant stranger.

I had no idea why he was using such a dismissive tone and attitude when referring to the woman he had once loved so recklessly, but I had no desire to get tangled in his mess.

So, I just let out a polite laugh and steered the conversation elsewhere.

It wasn't until the party ended and we walked out to the club's lobby that we saw Lily sitting on the lounge sofas.

Her eyes were glued to the private VIP elevator, her expression a mix of anxiousness, distress, and insecurity. The moment the elevator doors dinged open, she shot up from the sofa.

It looked like she had been sitting there the entire time, just waiting for us to come down.

Everyone paused.

She tried her best to force a smile, scanning the group until her eyes landed on me standing next to Preston. Instantly, the color drained from her face.

She stared at me, looking completely crestfallen and panicked, as if she were facing her greatest enemy.

I found the whole thing baffling.

Lily had changed a lot.

I remembered the first time I saw her. It was the second semester of our sophomore year when she transferred to our prep school.

Back then, she stood at the front of the classroom wearing a faded uniform. She was so thin she looked malnourished, the clothes hanging loosely off her frame. Her features were plain and unremarkable, and her face was painted with awkward, nervous tension.

Our homeroom teacher, however, smiled brightly. "This is Lily Evans, who consistently ranks at the very top of the statewide standardized tests. Let's make her feel welcome."

A silence fell over the room as countless assessing gazes landed on Lily. We were at an elite, ultra-exclusive private academy. Everyone came from old money or massive wealth. Grades were absolutely not the only ticket to acceptance herelet alone someone with Lily's unrefined, shabby appearance.

I felt a bit of pity for her at the time, so I smiled and was the first to start clapping. Only then did scattered applause ripple through the classroom, eventually growing until it filled the room.

The teacher shot me a grateful smile, pointed at me, and told Lily, "That's our class president, Claire Sterling. If you need any help, you can go to her."

Despite the teacher's words, Lily never once came to me for help.

When Lily transferred in, the only empty desk was the one next to Preston Harrington. So, Lily became Preston's desk-mate.

I don't know if the feelings that eventually betrayed me started budding right there.

For example, because Lily's family was so poor, she suffered from severe hypoglycemia and anemia. Once, during morning study hall, she suddenly fainted. It was Preston who scooped her up and carried her to the nurse's office.

Another time, Preston's mother came back from a trip to Belgium and brought a mountain of gifts for both me and Preston. When she told me to pick first, Preston, who was standing nearby, grabbed a box of artisanal chocolates and said, "I'll take this box of candy."

I was confused at the time because Preston despised anything sweet, and I had never known him to have a sudden fondness for chocolate. Later, he even asked me for my private chef's pastry recipes. I thought it was too much of a hassle, so I just had my chef bake the pastries and sent them directly to him.

Back then, I genuinely thought Preston's palate had just changed.

It wasn't until later, when I saw the artisanal chocolate wrappers and the pastries my chef had made sitting on Lily's desk, that it clicked.

The one who loved chocolate was Lily. The one who loved sweet pastries was Lily.

I convinced myself that it was just Preston's way of looking out for his struggling desk-mateeven though Preston had never been the kind, meddlesome type to go out of his way to "save" anyone.

Truthfully, it wasn't that I never had suspicions. It was just that Lily was so incredibly plain that I never entertained the thought that Preston would betray me and fall for her.

After all, I was exceptional. I was the prettiest girl in the entire academy. Back when Gossip Girl was at the peak of its popularity, people affectionately gave me the nickname "Queen C." Not because I was a schemer, but because I had the perfect family, perfect grades, and perfect popularity.

How could I have possibly imagined that Preston Harrington would betray me and fall for Lily Evans?

She walked over and offered a polite smile, greeting me, "Claire, you're back?"

After speaking, her eyes shifted hesitantly between me and Preston. The probing, suspicious nature of her gaze made me deeply uncomfortable, and I frowned slightly in displeasure.

Preston spoke first, his tone freezing cold: "What are you doing here?"

Lily carefully gauged his mood, her smile turning into a pathetic, fawning attempt to please him. "I was out shopping. The club owner mentioned you and your friends were hosting a welcome-home party for Claire here today, so I thought I'd wait and we could go home together."

The excuse was full of holes.

She then held up the shopping bag in her hand to show Preston. "The manager here heard I was in the lobby, so he specially brought over two bottles of wine. He said it was a token of respect for Mr. and Mrs. Harrington."

She heavily emphasized the words "Mrs. Harrington," as if trying to assert her territory. Preston, who had already been looking cold, furrowed his brows in deep irritation at those words.

Behind me, I heard a friend fail to stifle a quiet snort of laughter.

Given the Harrington family's status, let alone a mere floor manager, even the owner of this ultra-exclusive club would have to book an appointment half a month in advance just to get a meeting with Preston. Yet here she was, the wife of Preston Harrington, treating two bottles of wine from a manager like a rare treasure, presenting them to him like an offering.

It was undeniably tacky and completely beneath their social standing.

It was obvious that humiliating incidents like this had happened many, many times over the year and a half Lily had been married to Preston.

Because Preston's voice was filled with sheer impatience, completely devoid of any politeness: "Didn't I tell you to stay at home? Why are you out here embarrassing me?"

Behind me, someone laughed out loud.

Lily's already pale face instantly turned paper-white. She looked at Preston in total panic.

She had no idea why Preston had suddenly snapped, nor did she know what she had done wrong.

No one explained the reason to her, and no one taught her how to act.

Everyone was just laughing at her lack of class and unrefined behavior.

I, however, was quite surprised by Preston's reaction. I instinctively turned to look at him. His face was stoic, completely unmoved by the suppressed laughter of the crowd, as if the person being openly mocked wasn't the wife he had sacrificed so much to marry.

I froze for a second. He... didn't used to be like this.

Back then, because she didn't fit in, Lily had faced her fair share of collective ostracization in class. Later, when Preston demanded to break our engagement for her, I had bullied Lily too.

But every single time, Preston would step right in front of Lily, taking her side and protecting her fiercely.

Yet now, standing here looking down at the woman in front of him, his expression was icy, and deep within his eyes was a barely concealed layer of exhaustion and impatience.

He was like a completely different person from the boy he used to be.

How could he be disgusted by Lily?

Had he forgotten exactly what he put me through just to defend her?

The first time Preston ever stood up for Lily was during French class.

For the students in our circle, out of all the subjects, the one we navigated with the most effortless grace was French.

Since we were toddlers, our families had hired resident native tutors. Our daily communication at home was often entirely in French. From grammar to pronunciation, we sounded like Parisian aristocrats. It was just one of our basic, required life skills.

That day, the French teacher called on Lily to read a passage. The moment she stood up and uttered her first syllable, murmurs rippled through the classroom. By the time she was halfway through, someone finally couldn't hold back and let out a snicker.

There was no denying her grades were phenomenal, but having never received proper private education, her pronunciation was terrible and painfully awkward.

The laughter was contagious, slowly growing into a loud uproar until Lily just stood there, unable to make another sound.

The French teacher sighed helplessly, told her to sit down, and desperately tried to change the subject.

After class, Sophie intentionally walked up to Lily's desk, loudly mimicking her broken pronunciation while speaking French to her friends.

Her impression was spot-on, and the people around her burst into laughter.

Lily sat at her desk with her head bowed, her bangs falling over her face. From my angle, I couldn't see her expression, but her frail silhouette and tense shoulders radiated quiet humiliation.

I don't know why, but I suddenly lost interest in the whole spectacle.

I was about to call out to Sophie and tell her to stop bullying the new girl. But before I could speak, Prestonwho historically hated meddling in other people's businessmoved first.

He had been sleeping with his head on his desk. Hearing Sophie's mockery, he sat up with a blank expression. He grabbed his heavy, original English copy of Harry Potter and slammed the thick spine against his desk. The loud thud cut through the noise.

In the sudden silence, he shot an icy glare at Sophie, who was still laughing at Lily, and said coldly: "Shut up. You're giving me a headache."

Sophie's smile froze on her face. The classroom fell into a dead silence.

My eyes fell on Preston. I paused, then looked at Sophie with a warm smile, breaking the suffocating awkwardness. I said, "Sophie, class is about to start."

Sophie turned back and gave me a silent "zip-it" gesture. Taking the out I gave her, she nodded and pulled her friends back to their seats, obediently saying, "Got it, Claire."

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Lily. She turned her head, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at Preston, whispering something to him.

I figured she was probably thanking him.

But Preston just looked bored, showing no emotional reaction at all.

Later that day, after lunch, I ran into Lily again in the library.

The library was always empty at noon because most people were eating, napping, or catching up on the latest Upper East Side gossip.

She was sitting in a hidden corner by the window. I could hear her struggling, repeating after a small MP3 player, desperately trying to practice her accent.

I didn't pay it much mind and rested my head on a desk on the other side, preparing to take a nap.

Until I saw Preston.

Still carrying that effortlessly handsome, careless aura, holding his copy of Harry Potter, he walked in and didn't stop until he reached Lily.

Standing beside her, he said, "Practicing like that isn't going to work."

He casually pulled out a chair and sat next to her. Flipping open his book, he pointed at a sentence and said, "Read this line for me."

Encouraged by him, Lily's face turned bright red. After holding her breath for a long time, she quietly and haltingly read the sentence aloud.

"Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness."

Preston's fingertip tapped on the word "drifting." I listened as he patiently taught Lily how to produce a beautiful, flawless British accent.

The library was perfectly quiet. Sunlight poured through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the tiny golden specks of dust dancing in the air. The two of them, bathed in the warm light, looked like a painting.

Of course, up to this point, none of this was Lily's fault. She was merely passively accepting Preston's help.

That is, until the very end, when I saw her staring at Preston's face, turning progressively redder, before whispering with deep envy: "I really, really envy Claire Sterling."

It was obvious what she was envious of.

From that exact moment onward, I started having a serious problem with Lily Evans.

Naturally, no one could tell I disliked Lily.

I had always been easygoing and detached. Even though the students in my class looked up to me, I never engaged in petty cliques or intentionally ostracized anyone.

My first real move against her was during P.E. class. The boys and girls separated to practice tennis, and everyone had to pick their own partners.

Unsurprisingly, Lily was the last one left.

She stood awkwardly in the middle of the court holding her racket, her face burning red as she looked around, the absolute picture of a helpless, pitiful victim.

I smiled, walked over, extended my hand, and said, "Let's pair up."

She looked incredibly flattered, staring at me in shock as she stuttered, "M-me?"

I nodded with a warm smile. "Yes, you."

She smiled back, looking incredibly grateful.

Thinking back to that scene in the library between her and Preston, I wiped the smile off my face the second I turned around. With a blank expression, I thought to myself: Let's see if you're still smiling in a few minutes.

Lily didn't manage to return a single one of my serves.

I played her like a dog. Every time I served, I aimed the ball exactly where she couldn't reach it. She scrambled pathetically, giving it her all, running left and right, but all she did was end up fetching the balls.

While picking up the tennis balls, she kept apologizing to me: "I-I'm so sorry, I'm just really bad at this."

She didn't realize I was messing with her on purpose. It wasn't until students from other courts started gathering around us that I heard someone whisper behind me, "What's up with Queen C? I've never seen her haze someone like this."

"What did the new girl do to piss off Claire?"

I smiled, pretending I didn't hear a thing. My serves became even more vicious, until Lily, desperately lunging to return a ball, stumbled and crashed hard onto the court.

I stood exactly where I was, offering a completely unapologetic apology: "Oh my, I'm so sorry about that."

She kept her head down, clutching her scraped, red knee, and whispered, "I-It's okay."

I smiled sweetly and continued, "You really are terrible at this. When we do the group matches later, please try not to drag me down."

Lily kept apologizing while awkwardly struggling to stand up.

Everyone around was just watching the showuntil Preston walked over. He shot me a cold look, took the racket from the teary-eyed Lily's hand, and glared at me.

He smirked and said, "She's bad at tennis. I'll practice with you instead, Claire."

Preston absolutely destroyed me on the court. To make it "fair," he even played left-handed.

He had won the Junior National Tennis Championship when he was twelve. I had only taken a few years of private lessons just so I'd have a shared hobby to talk to him about. My amateur skills were a joke compared to his.

I stubbornly forced myself to rally with him for thirty minutes, barely returning a fraction of his shots.

But it was fine. I didn't have to fetch the balls. Every time I missed, one of the boys who had a crush on me would scramble to pick it up and place it right in my hand.

Eventually, the pain in my wrist became too much. If someone hadn't gasped and rushed forward to catch me, I would have dropped to my knees in agony.

Preston was completely unfazed. He stared at me with eyes like ice and said coldly, "With your skills, Claire, even without someone dragging you down, you could never win."

After saying that, he turned to Lily, waved her over, and said, "Come here. We're leaving."

Lily looked at him like a damsel looking at her knight in shining armor. She nodded obediently and said, "Okay."

After that, a few classmates helped me to the nurse's office. Once my wrist was wrapped, Sophie stayed by my side.

Sophie was usually carefree and oblivious, but even she sensed something was horribly wrong that day. She asked me, "Claire... has Preston lost his mind?"

It was a prophecy. Everything he did after thatwasn't it all complete madness?

But looking at him now... how hilarious. He was actually regretting it.

What an absolute joke.