The Fake Heiress's Revenge Eight Years Later, I Own Everything

"Eight years ago, you chose the real heiress for fifty million." "Now that you see I can earn a hundred times that, you come crawling back to me—the fake?" Daniel's face drained of color. After a long silence, he finally spoke. "I know you don't want to go back to the old house, so I brought you these." He held out a set of keys. "It's my private property. No one will bother you there." "I'm just worried about you!" "Uncle Harold, Aunt Margaret, Stella—they all are. Why do you keep pushing everyone away?" Those sanctimonious words almost made me laugh. "Okay. Thanks for the concern." I wasn't in the mood to play along. Instead, I went back to the place I'd lived eight years ago. An old, run-down rental apartment with yellowed walls and cracked floors. If I told anyone the Swanson heiress had lived here, no one would believe it. The room was exactly as I'd left it. I saw myself in a photo frame, holding up a trophy, beaming. That year, I was ten. Harold, Margaret, and Daniel had showered me with praise—even though I'd only won a consolation prize. Even though that consolation prize only existed because the Swansons had donated ten buildings. I always thought I was the happiest girl in the world. Parents who adored me. A childhood sweetheart I'd been engaged to since birth. I was born into a life of blessings. Until the year I turned sixteen, and Stella appeared. She barged into my birthday banquet clutching a paternity test, shouting: "Mom, Dad—I'm your daughter!" Harold and Margaret held Stella and sobbed. And I, in my princess dress and tiara, stared blankly at the eighteen-tier birthday cake, thinking about the wish I'd made just moments before. "I hope I'll always be as happy as I am today." I can't really remember what happened after that. Only that once Stella came home, she kept saying she didn't feel safe. So I gave up the room I'd lived in for sixteen years. The "Mom" and "Dad" I'd called for sixteen years became "Chairman Swanson" and "Mrs. Swanson." Then Stella framed me for pushing her down the stairs. In my mother's resentful tears, I was kicked out of the old house. I moved into this cheap rental. Even on that consolation prize trophy from when I was ten, the name "Alex Swanson" was scraped off and replaced with "Stella Swanson." The sixteen years of happiness I'd stolen were returned to their rightful owner that day. The stale, moldy smell in the apartment made me—pampered since childhood—come down with a high fever. Penniless, I endured the whole night, trying every free method to bring it down. In the final second before I lost consciousness, I dialed Daniel's number. "Alex, how did you get this sick? Do Uncle Harold and Aunt Margaret know?" "A daughter they raised for sixteen years—even if she isn't biological, there have to be feelings, right?" "How could they force you to this!" He shouted in my ear, swearing he'd confront the Swansons for me. He said no matter who I was, he would always stay by my side. Until the James family's cash flow collapsed. Harold was decisive. "Marry my daughter Stella, and I'll invest fifty million." "Besides, the one engaged to the James family was always the Swanson heiress—not a fake." Daniel refused. Swore he would never betray me. Until he spent a month following Richard James around, begging for investments, and came back with nothing. Until Richard James knelt before his own son, pleading with him to save the family's legacy. Daniel nodded. That's when I finally understood. Daniel was also happiness I had stolen.

I spent my last dollar. Hunger left me dizzy, stars bursting at the edges of my vision. Outside the door, my landlord screamed for three hundred dollars in back rent, cursing my ancestors going back eighteen generations. How did I end up here? I couldn't help asking myself. Because I lost my value. To Harold and Margaret Swanson, they no longer needed a counterfeit daughter. To Daniel, I'd lost my worth as a bridge into the Swanson family. I knelt before Harold and kowtowed. "Please. Give me a way to live." He glanced at the blood smeared on the floor, then kicked an employment transfer order toward me with the tip of his shoe. "Start from the bottom. The Swanson family doesn't keep freeloaders." I worked like my life depended on it—because it did. When everyone else turned up their noses at difficult clients, I drank until my stomach bled. I didn't hesitate to kneel and kowtow. One outstanding performance at a time, I clawed my way up inch by inch. Finally, I earned Harold's smile. "Alex, you didn't let Dad down. Work hard—close a few more big deals, and I'll apply for a Star Path badge for you. Put it on, and you'll be a real member of the Swanson family." Hope flickered to life. Faint, but real. Until Stella blinked those innocent eyes and announced she wanted to join the company. Harold hesitated. She put on a timid look. "I know I'm not worthy, but I really envy my sister. If I'd grown up at home, I definitely could have been as amazing as her." Guilt flooded Harold's face. He patted her head. Then he pinned that badge—the one I'd treated as sacred—onto Stella's chest. It became a pretty piece of jewelry, dangling at the hem of her skirt. That night, I drank myself into oblivion, hoping to die in my dreams. In my dreams, I was still the Swanson heiress. I had parents who loved me. A childhood sweetheart who protected me. The next morning, silver shackles snapped around my wrists. "This is your car, right? Drunk driving, hit-and-run, fatal." The moment I was thrown out of Swanson Mansion, everything under my name had been transferred to Stella. Including this car. I stared at her. It was her! "The one who killed that person was Stella Swan—" A slap cracked across my face, shoving my words back down my throat. I clutched my cheek. Blood pooled under my tongue. Harold's expression twisted into something I'd never seen before. Pure ferocity. "Lin Wanxing." He used the name I had before I came to the Swanson family. "Remember this: without the Swanson family, you are nothing. Orphanage leftovers. A spot on an assembly line. That was the life you were meant to have. These sixteen years of luxury? That's your debt to repay—principal and interest included." I stared at him. Every drop of blood in my veins turned to ice. Margaret clutched Stella tight, as if she were something fragile and precious. My gaze swept past her and landed on Daniel. "Do you think so too?" His face contorted with difficulty. "Stella isn't like you. She's suffered so much these years. She's not as strong as you are." He swallowed. "This concerns the Swansons' reputation. It'll affect the James family too. We have to put the bigger picture first." Watching my face drain of color, he scrambled to soften the blow. "Don't worry—I'll hire the best lawyer, pay the highest compensation. It's just a formality. Suspended sentence at most. I absolutely won't let you go to prison." I stole her life? So I have to give up my freedom, my love, my future to make it up to her? In your dreams. "I want Jade Pruitt to have full authority over this case. I only trust her." She was my best friend—and Metro City's top lawyer.

Daniel's eyes flickered as he exchanged a glance with Harold. "Fine, I'll get you in touch with Jade." I handed her the dashcam memory card I'd kept hidden. It clearly showed Stella hitting someone, then fleeing in a panic. "Believe me! Even if I end up ruined and disgraced, I'm going to sue these people into the ground!" The fire in her eyes still made me believe in justice. On the day of the trial. I stood at the defendant's table, listening to a string of fabricated accusations. From beginning to end, Jade didn't say a single word, letting one charge after another be pinned on me. Just as the judge's gavel came down, I shouted: "I have evidence!" I looked at Jade. She avoided my pleading gaze, her eyes full of struggle. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "They went after my mom." That barely audible sentence shattered everything. I spent four years in prison. The endless high walls ground away all my spirit. I tried to find work; every resume vanished into silence. On the rare occasions I got an interview, when they saw the four-year gap that couldn't be explained away, their expressions would shift—subtle, distant. Even a hotel dishwashing job wouldn't take someone who'd done time. Just as I stood on a street corner with heavy makeup, about to sell my first night for two hundred dollars, Harold appeared. He sat in a Maybach, window rolled halfway down. No joy at our reunion after all those years—just calm appraisal. As if to say: See? After returning everything to the Swansons, I went back to the life I was supposed to have. This cheap. This filthy. I gave in. Once again I knelt at his feet and kowtowed. My bitter sobbing didn't change his expression. But I got a letter of appointment. Under Stella's smug gaze, in the posture of a stray dog, I was exiled to the Frontier Region. On that barren, lawless land, I survived six assassination attempts, took thirteen bullets, and was knocked down by malaria twice. Eight years. I brought that dying outpost back to life, turning it into the most dazzling number on Swanson Group's financial reports. The mineral veins, logistics, infrastructure—all mine. I drank throat-burning liquor and let the scorching plains wind wash over me. The Swanson family felt like something from another life. Until a transfer order from headquarters came flying in. At the time I was surveying gold deposits, mapping out the next quarter's plans. "Return to headquarters. There will be another important appointment." Sitting on the plane home, I wasn't thinking about fame or success—just every time I'd escaped death over those eight years. At the celebration banquet, Harold lavished praise on the Frontier Region branch's achievements. "The tremendous success of the Frontier Region market couldn't have happened without Director Stella's remote coordination and outstanding leadership. She strategized from the rear, ensuring every step went smoothly." Stella showed a perfectly timed shy smile. "Dad, you're praising me too much! The colleagues on the front line had it harder. Especially Alex—her execution is strong. She's my capable assistant." Eight years of fighting through blood and fire. Nine brushes with death. And all I got was "capable assistant." Stella wore an expensive custom gown, weaving through the crowd, basking in endless flattery. Daniel stayed by her side, thoughtfully blocking drinks for her. Between them, an unmistakable tenderness. I stood in an inconspicuous corner, like a piece of background scenery. Stella's gaze cut through the crowd toward me, the corner of her mouth holding a smile that belonged only to a victor. It seemed to be saying: Look, everything you clawed your way toward—all of it—just became my stepping stone. I raised my wine glass and tilted it her way. Enjoy the stolen flowers and applause while you can. Everything that's mine? I'll take it back. Principal and interest. In ways you'll never see coming.