During the poorest year of our lives, my mom was identified as the long-lost daughter of a billionaire family. I was obsessed with web novels, especially the "Switched at Birth" trope. I often fantasized about the plot: "If only I were the secret heiress, I’d have endless money." I wanted to buy my mom a huge mansion and hire five or six male models to wait on her hand and foot. I never expected it to actually happen. Except, the lost heiress wasn't me. It was my mom. And me? I was just the ordinary, third-generation baggage. 1 I was riding my mom’s coattails to the top! Before I could fully process the reality, we were whisked away to the Sterling family estate. The Sterling mansion was massive, complete with manicured gardens and a fountain that probably cost more than my entire existence. Internally, I was screaming. Even after reading a thousand novels about rich families, my poverty-limited imagination couldn't have conjured this level of luxury. I held my mom’s hand tightly as I looked around. My mom, the heiress missing for thirty-four years. Overwhelmed by the sudden revelation of her identity, she was understandably nervous. I squeezed her hand, a silent signal that I had her back. "Harper, look at me. Is this outfit okay?" My mom tugged nervously at her thrift-store coat, whispering to me. It was old, smelling faintly of the mothballs from the wooden chest we kept it in. But it was the best—and only—decent coat she owned. She only wore it for holidays. Still, standing in front of this three-story palace, we looked painfully out of place. "Mom, you look beautiful," I said. To me, my mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. 2 I kept a smile plastered on my face, but internally, I was already singing a funeral dirge. Life in a wealthy family is never easy. The novels had taught me the brutal truth: when the real heiress returns, she doesn't just face a biased family; she faces a scheming, fake heiress. But I was here. I wouldn't let my mom suffer. As we entered, a group of people approached. I almost shouted, "Where’s my battle axe?!" But then I saw them. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, both in their fifties. A beautiful, sophisticated woman in her thirties. And her ten-year-old daughter. I paused. Surely that bratty-looking kid wasn't the fake heiress occupying the nest? While I zoned out, Mrs. Sterling and my mom hugged, weeping. After a tearful reunion, I quickly assessed the situation. The real heiress—my mom—had returned too late. The story was already in its final chapters. The fake heiress, Vanessa, had already secured the money, married the wealthy fiancé, and had a child. The dust had settled. What now? I thought, looking around for a metaphorical weapon. My mom was sobbing in Mrs. Sterling’s arms, calling her "Mom"... I mentally put down my weapon. Nothing else mattered right now. My mom’s life had been bitter. Her adoptive parents were misogynistic nightmares who forced her to drop out of school to support their family. They abused her regularly. When she grew up, they tricked her into marrying a man just to get the dowry money for their son’s wedding. My mom couldn't fight fate. She lay on a cot in a cramped room, convincing herself, Maybe life after marriage will be better. But life is cruel. Her husband—my biological father—revealed his true colors immediately. He was a drunk and a gambler. When he lost money or got drunk, he used my mom’s face as a punching bag. She endured it all to give me a "complete family." Until the day his fist turned toward me. That was when she grabbed me and ran. She refused to let me become the second victim. Raising me alone wasn't easy. With no degree and few skills, she worked three jobs, taking the dirtiest, hardest shifts. Eventually, she saved enough to open a small sandwich stand near my school. We were poor, but she never let me feel less than anyone else. She gave me a happy childhood. She always said, "Harper, as long as Mom is here, you don't have to worry about anything." But now, it was different. She had found her mother. She had found a rock to lean on. She could finally cry. She didn't have to face the cruelty of the world alone. I knew, better than anyone, how deeply my mother craved a family. 3 To celebrate the reunion, the Sterlings prepared a feast. There were dishes on the table I couldn't even name. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling sat my mom down between them. I sat next to her. Mrs. Sterling kept piling food onto my mom’s plate, asking about her life with concern. Seeing them tear up again, Mr. Sterling changed the subject. "You must be Harper. This is your home now. We are your grandparents. Isn't it time to change how you address us? Are you shy? Why aren't you calling us Grandma and Grandpa?" Suddenly put on the spot, my mind went blank. Honestly, I was still in "protective villainess mode" for my mom. I hadn't switched characters yet. Everyone laughed to cover the awkwardness, and the atmosphere seemed warm. Clatter! The ten-year-old girl across from me threw her chopsticks. This was Bella, the daughter of Vanessa, the fake heiress. She started wailing. "They're my grandparents, not yours! You hillbilly! You loser! You don't deserve to be in our house!" Silence fell over the table. My mom instinctively shielded me, her face flushing red with embarrassment. I looked around. Vanessa, the mother, sat there silently. Her silence was an endorsement of her daughter's behavior. Mrs. Sterling frowned. "Bella, don't speak to your sister like that. Harper is family now. She lives here." The girl cried louder. "She's not my family! Since she got here, you don't care about me or Mommy anymore! You never scolded me before! She's a bad person! Her mom is a bad person too!" "Mommy, do Grandma and Grandpa not want us anymore?" Vanessa pulled the girl into her arms, glaring at us with cold eyes. "Mom, don't forget what you promised me before they came! You said nothing would change. It’s their first day, and Bella is already crying! Maybe in a few days, you and Dad should just rewrite the will and kick us out!" Small tea, big attitude. This fake heiress was arrogant. She had the inheritance and the powerful Preston family backing her up. She didn't need to pretend to be nice. Mr. Sterling slammed the table. "Vanessa, look at you! What nonsense are you spouting?" Mrs. Sterling looked pained. She opened her mouth to scold Vanessa but couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she turned to my mom. "Sarah, don't take Vanessa's words to heart. I know we owe you, and I will make it up to you for all the lost years!" Translation: Compensation is fine, but re-dividing the assets? Don't think about it. She added softly, "The maid has prepared a guest room. Don't go back tonight. Stay here." Guest room. That confirmed it. The warmth was a mirage. In this house, everything belonged to Vanessa. Even the parents' hearts leaned toward her. It's 2025, and people are still this cliché? 4 We stayed at the Sterling estate. The guest room was nicer than our rental apartment, I’ll give them that. I lay on the soft mattress, seething with rage until 3 AM. My mom was asleep, her face peaceful in the moonlight. It made the Sterlings' behavior seem even darker. I decided to read web novels to calm down. I burned through titles like Reborn to Slap the Fake Heiress, The Real Daughter Returns, and Family Crematorium. After reading hundreds of them, I had a question: What do you do when the fake heiress has already won, got the money, married the guy, and had the kid? The books had no answer. The author of my life gave me a hard problem. Suddenly, I felt thirsty. I crept out of the room for water. Bella appeared in the hallway, wearing a white dress. I thought I saw a ghost. She held a glass of water, looking prepared. "Why did you come back? Why are you trying to steal my grandparents..." Her face twisted. "They're mine! You and your mom should have died in the gutter. Why did you come back?!" "Go die! Just die!" Before I could react, she threw the water onto her own face. Then, she threw herself backward. The glass shattered on the floor. She planted her hands onto the shards, slicing her palm open. Blood dripped onto the white porcelain. Instantly, the villa lit up. Footsteps thundered toward us. My heart hammered. Bella lay on the floor, screaming at me. "Sister! Mommy and I didn't mean to steal your things! Don't hit me! I'll give you everything, just don't kick us out! Mommy loves Grandma and Grandpa, I love them too..." She lay pale-faced in Vanessa's arms, her bloody hand clutching Mrs. Sterling's sleeve. No one believes a ten-year-old would lie about this. Wow. Just wow. The "manipulative victim" gene is hereditary, and apparently, it gets stronger with each generation. "Harper..." I turned around. My mom stood there, face pale, looking like she might faint.
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