The Found Heiress

The day I found out my adoptive parents had finally located their real daughter, I was drowning in guilt. As the fake heiress, I got her number and sent a barrage of texts, trying to smooth things over before she even arrived:
Sweetheart, I'm so, so sorry. I've been living a life of luxury in your place for all these years.
"Sweetheart, our parents have arranged everything, and from now on, we're going to be sisters! I'm already so excited to meet you!"
"Sweetheart, please don't listen to any rumors. The whole family already loves you, especially me! I love you the mostest!"
…
The day the real heiress was set to arrive, I was buzzing with anticipation, waiting with my adoptive parents to welcome her.
The next second, the front door swung open, and a gorgeous six-foot-one stranger walked in. "Mom, Dad," he said. "I'm home."
Me: ???
Hold on. How did my sweet, delicate, heiress... turn into a dude?

1
For the twenty years I was raised by the Harrisons—the family that owns one of the country’s largest fortunes—they treated me as their own flesh and blood.
I was cherished, spoiled, and protected from every imaginable hardship. I grew up swimming in boundless love and privilege.
But on the morning of my twentieth birthday, everything changed.
I accidentally overheard my adoptive parents in a private conversation. My adoptive mother, usually the picture of composure and elegance, sounded strained, her voice thick with tears.
"Are you certain? Is this truly our biological child?" she whispered.
My adoptive father's excitement was palpable. "The DNA test is right here. It's him. He is our son."
My mother sobbed quietly for a moment before asking, "When… when will we bring him home?"
My father patted her hand reassuringly, his voice low with promise. "Soon."
"However, even though we intend to make arrangements for both children, I'm just worried about Summer, that she might…"
…
He didn't finish the thought, but I understood completely.
They had found their biological child, who had been missing for years.
And they were worried that I, their adoptive daughter, would behave like one of those wicked "fake daughters" from novels—spiteful toward the true heir.
How could they think that?
I, the imposter, had occupied the true heir's place. I had enjoyed twenty years of comfort, wealth, and security in the Harrington estate. Meanwhile, the real Harrington heir had suffered untold hardship out there.
If I treated him poorly, what kind of ungrateful wretch would that make me? I would be betraying the years of kindness and careful love my parents had given me.

2
That evening, I sought them out and preemptively confessed.
"Mom, Dad, I heard your whole conversation and your plans."
"You don't need to worry. I agree to everything you discussed."
My adoptive parents exchanged startled looks. Then, a mix of surprise and joy washed over their faces.
"You heard? You agree to everything?" my mother asked, her voice trembling.
I nodded decisively. "Yes."
My father's voice wavered slightly as he asked cautiously, "Summer, are you sure you don't need time to think? This concerns your entire future…"
What was there to think about? It was only right that the true heir should take his place in the family.
I nodded again. "No need to consider. I agree entirely."
My mother finally recovered from her shock, her earlier anxiety replaced by overwhelming emotion. She gripped my hands tightly.
"That's wonderful, my darling! I was so worried you would disagree…"
"Oh, you wonderful girl. Even if you find your own biological family someday, you must still call me Mom. That thought makes me so happy…"
She then slipped the exquisite diamond bracelet from her wrist. It was an antique piece, passed down from my grandmother, which my mother rarely allowed anyone to see.
"This was your grandmother's. I'm giving it to you now."
The fact that she was giving me this treasure, which she guarded so fiercely, showed how desperately she wished for me and the returning heir to get along.
I stared at the sparkling bracelet on my wrist, secretly vowing.
I would treat the true heir with nothing but kindness.

3
Under the pretense of "building a connection," I asked for the true heir's contact information.
My mother's doting smile was practically unstoppable. "Yes, yes, build a connection! You two will be spending a lot of time together soon."
I pulled up the true heir’s profile. The avatar was completely black, with no nickname and no personalized status.
I gasped, a chill running down my spine.
I couldn't imagine how much this poor child must have suffered over the years. They should be a vibrant young adult, but the harshness of life had clearly forced them into a cold, "do not disturb" persona.
Filled with guilt, I sent the first message: [Adrian, hello. I'm Summer Harrington.]
They replied instantly. The tone was exactly as my mother had described: cold and distant.
[I know. They told me.]
See? Referring to his own biological parents as "they." It was a clear sign of emotional trauma, making him cautious around anyone trying to get close. I felt deeply sorry for him.
[Waaah, Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I’ve occupied your place and enjoyed this good life for so many years…]
Adrian: [No need to apologize.]
[You were adopted. You didn't 'occupy' anything that was mine.]
I was stunned. Who said that a harsh environment couldn't produce a beautiful soul? This vulnerable person, having suffered so much, showed no resentment, even finding a reason to excuse me.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
[Sweetheart, you are truly the best.]
[Sweetheart, from today on, I am your family. Don't worry, I promise to take care of you.]
[I love you I love you kissy kissy smooch smooch…]
Adrian replied with six dots: [......]
A moment later, a new message popped up:
[Don't call me that.]
Me: [What? Call you what?]
This time, Adrian was silent for a full fifteen minutes before replying:
[That… 'Sweetheart.' ]
Me: [Why?]
Adrian: [Don't you think that kind of affectionate term is moving a little too fast?]
I immediately refuted him:
[Given our relationship, isn't it perfectly normal for me to call you Sweetheart? How is that fast?]
[Sweetheart, you need to get used to it quickly, because I'm going to call you that forever.]
[A lifetime, in fact.]
Adrian: [......]
Adrian: [To be honest, I'm still considering their offer, so you don't need to be so hasty.]
Considering what? If he should come home?
It seemed he was still wary of the family and, perhaps, of me. I rushed to reassure him.
[Please don't overthink things, and don't listen to any gossip outside.]
[Everyone here loves you, especially me. I love you the mostest!]
After sending those two messages, Adrian's chat bubble showed he was perpetually typing. One minute, two minutes, three minutes… Fifteen minutes passed before he finally sent a message, sounding slightly suspicious.
[Have you… ever met me?]
Oh, so that was what he was worried about. While I hadn't met him, my guilt and my desire to compensate and protect him were absolutely genuine. But to ease his mind, I decided to tell a small white lie.
[Of course! Mom showed me your photo.]
[The moment I saw you, I just knew you were a truly wonderful person.]
[Have you ever heard of 'love at first sight'? That's how I feel about you. I swear, I genuinely like you.]
Adrian: [... You genuinely like me?]
Me: [Of course!]
Adrian: [... Ahem.]
[Well, whatever. It doesn't affect me.]
[I have to go now. The chicken broth is on the stove; I need to tend the soup. Goodbye.]
…
His words were jumbled and confusing. I was completely bewildered, yet I zeroed in on one crucial piece of information—Adrian was cooking for an entire family?
A surge of protective fury immediately welled up inside me. I was furious.

4
The next day, I ordered eighteen extravagant, five-star meals to Adrian's current address. I also paid my family's housekeeper, Mrs. Peterson, to go help Adrian clean his house. I even arranged for a few bodyguards to discreetly watch over him.
Later, from the pile of old clothes Mrs. Peterson brought back, I found a pair of men's boxer briefs.
I almost laughed from sheer indignation. Dressing a delicate young woman in oversized men's coats and pants was bad enough, but even her most intimate clothing was masculine?
Fighting back my rage, I grabbed my phone and messaged Adrian:
[You wear boxer briefs? They make you wear boxer briefs?!]
Adrian was silent for a long moment. Then slowly typed: [?]
Adrian, utterly baffled: [... What else should I be wearing?]
This poor girl was so innocent she didn't even know what she should be wearing.
I opened my favorite online boutique. I sent him a link to the lingerie I bought frequently.
[I've bought this pink lace number so many times! The quality is amazing, super comfortable! I'm wearing this exact one right now!]
[And for the bra…]
Words wouldn't do it justice. I flipped my camera and recorded a quick demonstration of the item I was wearing, tugging playfully at the straps and lace, explaining enthusiastically:
[Sweetheart, look at this style! Isn't it gorgeous? The fabric is so soft, it doesn't itch at all on your skin…]
The moment the video sent, the chat box exploded with frantic new messages.
Adrian's emotion was more intense than I'd ever seen:
[Summer Evans!]
[You! You must never send that again! And stop saying such strange things!]
[You, you, you! Summer! Show some decency!]

5
I burst out laughing.
[With our relationship, what is there to be embarrassed about?]
[Oh, speaking of bras, what about your measurements? I need to know your cup size.]
Adrian: [............ Enough.]
Me: [Enough is big enough? They say if you massage them, they'll grow bigger, you know! I was thinking of trying it out!]
[Hehehe, how about I practice on you? Once you get home, let me help you with your measurements and see if we can make a difference…]
Adrian: [............ Shut up.]
I tutted. [Why are you so stingy? What's the harm in letting me have a little look, given our connection?]
[......]
Adrian stopped replying entirely. I waited a few minutes, then worriedly checked with Mrs. Peterson.
[Mrs. P, where is Adrian?]
Mrs. Peterson: [She was blushing furiously, threw her phone down, and rushed into the bathroom to take a shower. Is something wrong, dear?]
[No, nothing at all.]
I was relieved, but I couldn't help but marvel. Taking a shower and going to bed at nine in the morning?

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