The Fake Heiress Stole My Life Novels & Stories

I had a strange habit: everything I responded to somehow ended up going nowhere. When I was eight, my adoptive father stole an electric scooter and told me to keep watch. I patted my chest and promised, "Don't worry. I'll tell you if anyone comes!" Then I turned around, crouched by the side of the road, and watched ants carry food. Twenty minutes later, both he and the stolen scooter were being loaded into a police car. Later, I got kidnapped. The kidnapper told me to sit still and keep quiet. I nodded enthusiastically. "Okay, sir!" Then I stuck my head out the car window and waved at the pedestrians. "Hi, everyone! This stranger says I have to be quiet!" Three blocks later, more tha

For twenty years I was the Whitmore heiress. Then a DNA test proved I was never theirs. The real daughter came home and took everything. My room, my parents, my boyfriend. Then she framed me for a crime she committed, and the brother I loved stood in court and lied. Three years later, my family was waiting outside the prison gate with a wedding dress. The Mafia Don needed a bride for his comatose son. My family needed his protection. I was the price. At the wedding, everyone laughed at the bride marrying a man who would never wake up. That night, I found my "sleeping" husband standing by the window, giving orders to armed men. "Keep my secret," he said. "And I'll help you destroy every

I interrupted him with a trembling voice, "Tim, Micah's kidnapped me. Can you please come to save me? He said he'll only let me go if you come." I heard a sarcastic laugh from the phone. "Micah kidnapped you? You two are really something. Of course the fake heiress and fake heir go together. No wonder you make such a perfect pair of actors." Timothy was not wrong. I had been living Nancy Jones' life for 26 years. Meanwhile, Micah had taken Timothy's right as the Lanes' heir for 27 years. Micah's grip tightened on the knife as he drove it deeper into my skin. The smell of blood grew stronger, and the pain in my neck intensified. I knew Micah was serious this time.

My mother stroked her hair, filled with pity, blaming herself for losing her daughter. Then, seeing the cold look on my face, she seemed a bit embarrassed. She quickly got up, came to my side, and held my hand to comfort me. "It’s okay, we'll just consider her an older sister. I could never abandon you," she said. Bella's look of hurt quickly twisted into one of spite, her eyes glaring at me with intensity. She hadn't expected that I, the impostor, would be so valued—that the return of the real heiress wouldn't mean I'd step aside.

He only knew that the real and fake heiresses had returned to their biological families, but he had not paid attention to the story beyond that as he was busy making a living. “The fake heiress died, and the head of the Fisher family is also dead. The real heiress is said to be returning everything to the previous matriarch’s line, but the new head hasn’t officially taken over yet. These wealthy families will do anything for power and profit, you know.”

“That’s not what happened. If what you say is true, if the will was falsified, then why all the conditions? Why come and live with us, why not take it all in a heartbeat?” Maria narrows her eyes at me, looking victorious, like she knows all the secrets of the world. “Why not? They needed time to pin it all on you, didn’t they? To make you look like the villain right when you let your guard down the second you invited her in your bed. And with you gone, she becomes the only heir to the riches.” “And give them all to someone else?” “Just think about it. Who in their right mind travel half the world on a promise of an inheritance that might not even exist?”

Longing for so-called freedom and true love, she fell hopelessly for Yale Walker, a useless school bully. All for the sake of running off with him, she tore up her guaranteed admission letter to Westbridge University with her own hands and publicly renounced her engagement to the Lowe family. The news sent my dad, Duncan Stewart, into a heart attack from the rage. The entire upper-class circle watched as she turned herself into the biggest scandal of the year. I, the fake heiress who suddenly lost everything the moment the real one returned, could only stay silent. Under the weight of stares filled with either scorn or pity, I bent down to pick up what she had tossed aside like trash—the Wes

Eventually, I lost count of how many times I threw up. Maverick's eyes were bloodshot when he hugged me tightly and swore that he would treat me right for the rest of my life. He thought that Rosalia was the heiress of the richest family in the country. He had no idea that when I left for a "business trip" some time ago, I had actually gone to reunite with my family. I was the real heiress, not Rosalia! I grabbed my marriage certificate from my bag and brandished it. "Maverick, no matter how stubbornly you deny the truth, you can't deny that I'm your lawfully wedded wife! Not only did you use our money to pay for your mistress' expenses, but you also had an illegitimate child with her.

“After something like this, your foster parents will definitely think you embarrassed them, and they’ll throw you out. “I’ll marry Peter, and everything will be just like in the dream.” After saying that, she suddenly messed up her hair, let water drip down her body, reddened her eyes, and rushed out. I sensed danger and hurried after her. The moment I stepped out, four or five reporters blocked the door with cameras and recorders. Flash after flash lit up both of us. So she had already set a trap, and she had been waiting for me to fall for it. Vicky turned back with a triumphant smirk, then instantly switched into a dramatic victim.

"They're practically identical." The woman suddenly rushes over and grabs my hands. Her touch makes me uncomfortable. "How is this possible?" she whispers. I pull away. Whatever game they're playing, I'm not interested. "Look," I say to Paul, "just tell me what I need to do to get my mom back." Instead of answering, Paul throws a magazine at my feet. "Look at the image," he says quietly. The headline hit me first: "Billionaire Hattie is Back in Style." But it's the photo that makes my blood run cold. The woman in the designer clothes - she looks exactly like me. Same face, same features, everything.