6- the real heiress

Lynn

By the time I leave Professor Valerian's office, my head is practically spinning.

Who knew studying psychology could feel like being interrogated by the police?

The man gives me enough reading material to last an entire week, and that's only for one subject.

I sigh, adjusting the strap of my handbag as I walk down the university corridor.

Still, I can't complain. If I want to graduate, I need to put in the work.

But academics aren't the only thing demanding my attention.

There is something else I need to deal with.

My mother's company.

For the past several years, Miranda has been running it. In my previous life, I gave her permission to manage the business while I concentrated on my studies.

I thought she was helping me.

I thought she was protecting what my mother had worked so hard to build.

How foolish.

I never signed any documents transferring ownership to her. Neither did I give her the right to claim the company as her own.

Yet, I allowed her to make herself comfortable in my mother's seat.

Well, that is about to change.

I'm going to see what has been happening in my absence.

Just as I reach the university parking area, someone steps into my path.

I look up.

Kai.

Of course.

The universe must be testing my patience.

He stands with his hands in his pockets, his expression carrying the same arrogance I remember so well.

“You're here?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You have eyes. I'm impressed.”

His expression darkens.

“Can we talk?”

“Can we not?”

“Lynn.”

I stop, mostly because I want to hear whatever nonsense he has prepared.

He glances around before looking directly at me.

“I heard you've been spending time with my uncle.”

I almost laugh.

So that's what this is about.

“And?”

“Stay away from him.”

I blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Stay away from Valerian.”

I tilt my head, studying him.

“Since when did you become responsible for your uncle's social life?”

“Don't play dumb, Lynn.”

“I'm not. I'm genuinely curious.”

He exhales impatiently.

“My uncle isn't interested in women who throw themselves at him. He doesn't entertain women who try to use him for his money or connections.”

For a moment, I simply stare at him.

Then I laugh.

Actually laugh.

Kai's eyebrows pull together.

“What's so funny?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

I wipe an imaginary tear from the corner of my eye.

“You're standing here warning me about a man who has absolutely nothing to do with you, and somehow you expect me to take you seriously.”

“I'm trying to save you the embarrassment.”

“How considerate.”

“Lynn, I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

I step closer, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Let me make something clear. Your uncle is my professor. I'm interested in passing my examinations, not auditioning to become his next headache.”

His jaw tightens.

“Then keep your distance.”

I smile.

“Why don't you worry about your life, Kai? You seem to have plenty of work to do there.”

His eyes narrow.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you heard.”

I step around him.

“Have a wonderful day, Kai. And please, stop worrying about women throwing themselves at your uncle. It makes you sound rather insecure.”

I don't wait for his response.

For the first time in my life, walking away from Kai feels incredibly satisfying.

In my previous life, I spent years trying to earn his affection. I adjusted my behavior, swallowed my pride, and overlooked his disrespect because I believed he was the man I wanted to spend my life with.

Now, I can't even be bothered to argue with him for more than five minutes.

What a waste of years.

My mother's company stands in the business district, occupying an impressive building with large glass windows and a beautifully maintained entrance.

I remember coming here with her as a child.

Back then, the employees would smile whenever I walked through the doors. Some even sneaked sweets into my hands before my mother caught them.

I smile faintly at the memory.

It's been a long time.

I approach the reception desk.

“Good afternoon.”

The receptionist looks up from her computer.

“Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

“I'd like to see the person in charge.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But I believe she'll make time for me.”

The woman gives me a polite but unimpressed smile.

“I'm afraid you cannot see the managing director without an appointment.”

I nod.

“That's fine. I'll wait.”

She points towards the waiting area.

I walk over and settle into one of the chairs.

While waiting, I notice two female employees standing near the reception desk. They're speaking quietly, although not quietly enough.

“Did you see Hellen's new pictures?” one asks.

“Of course. She's such a beautiful young lady.”

“She's lucky. Imagine being born into a wealthy family and inheriting a company like this.”

The other woman chuckles.

“Well, she's the heiress. It was always going to be hers.”

My fingers slowly tighten around my handbag.

The heiress?

“Madam Miranda has done a wonderful job raising her,” the first woman adds. “And managing the company too. I hear Hellen will eventually take over.”

“She practically owns the place already.”

I lower my gaze.

Interesting.

Apparently, while I was busy trying to make my father proud in my previous life, Miranda was busy rewriting my family's history.

I look around the reception area.

Something feels different.

The furniture has changed, the walls have been repainted, and the decorations are unfamiliar.

But that's not what catches my attention.

It's the wall behind the reception desk.

I remember what used to hang there.

My mother's portrait of us.

A beautiful painting of us wearing cream-colored dresses, her brown hair falling gracefully over her shoulders. My dark hair was done up in two buns.

She always loved that painting.

I stand up.

“Excuse me.”

The receptionist looks at me.

“Yes?”

“There used to be a portrait hanging on that wall. Where is it?”

She follows my gaze.

“Oh, you mean the old woman's portrait?”

Old woman?

I swallow.

“Yes. Where is it?”

“I believe it's in the storeroom. Madam Miranda had it removed when they renovated the reception area.”

My stomach twists.

“May I see it?”

The receptionist hesitates.

“Why?”

“I'd like to.”

She looks at me for a moment before pointing towards a corridor.

“The storeroom is at the end of that hallway. You can ask one of the cleaners to open it.”

I thank her and walk away.

Each step feels heavier than the last.

I don't know what I'm expecting to find, but I'm certainly not prepared for what greets me when the storeroom door opens.

There are discarded office chairs, broken cabinets, and old files and boxes stacked against the walls.

And there, leaning against a pile of unwanted furniture, is our portrait.

Covered in dust.

I stop breathing for a moment.

My mother.

The woman who built this company from almost nothing.

The woman who spent countless nights working until exhaustion took over.

The woman whose name was once spoken with respect throughout this building.

Her portrait is thrown into a storeroom like an unwanted piece of furniture.

I approach it slowly.

My fingers tremble as I wipe away the dust covering the glass.

Her familiar smile greets me.

My eyes sting.

“Mom…”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

“I came to see you.”

A bitter laugh escapes my lips.

“Look what they've done.”

I remember the first time she brought me here. She held my little hand and walked me through the building, introducing me to everyone.

One day, she told me, this would be mine to protect.

I promised her I would.

And yet, in my previous life, I allowed strangers to take over while I foolishly believed they had my best interests at heart.

I look towards the reception area.

There, hanging proudly on the wall where my mother's portrait once stood, is a large photograph of Miranda and Hellen.

Both are smiling.

Miranda stands with one hand resting on Hellen's shoulder, looking every bit like the proud mother of an heiress.

My lips part.

They have replaced my mother with themselves.

I stare at the photograph for a long moment.

Then something inside me settles.

I'm not going to cry over them.

Not anymore.

I carefully lift my mother's portrait, holding it against my chest.

“I'll bring you back, Mom.”

My voice is barely above a whisper.

“I promise.”

I turn towards the door.

Miranda might have spent years running this company, and Hellen might have grown accustomed to being called its heiress.

But neither of them has ever been its owner.

I gave Miranda permission to manage the business. Nothing more.

There was no signed agreement, no transfer of ownership, and no document making Hellen my mother's successor.

They mistook my kindness for stupidity.

And I intend to correct that mistake.

I glance at the photograph one last time.

Enjoy your position while it lasts, Miranda.

Because the real heiress has finally returned.