The day of my daughter’s engagement, a city-wide procession of luxury vehicles cleared the way, proclaiming her the happiest bride of 2025. But the trending topic wasn't about her. Confused, I tapped on the video. It showed a complete stranger, in a painfully familiar wedding gown, sitting in a flower car. The diamond ring on her hand seemed to be the custom-made one I'd given my daughter. My face contorted with disbelief as I rushed to the venue. There, the stranger was graciously greeting the elders with my daughter's fiancé at her side, formally introducing him to the family. “This is my mother, Eleanor Vance,” she announced proudly. “The billionaire, an international asset magnate with countless resources at her fingertips.” Meanwhile, my own daughter was tossed aside like roadkill, left for dead. Rage boiled within me, my knuckles white as I clenched my phone. “She’s Eleanor Vance, the asset magnate? Then who the hell am I?!” “Well, well, never seen a stray as pretty as you. Looking for a good time, sweetheart, or just want to snuggle up to a real man?” A man whistled, his gaze raking over the girl. Following his leering stare, I instantly roared, cutting him off. In the corner, filthy and disheveled, was my daughter. My bodyguard stepped forward, kicking the man away. “You dare mess with Ms. Vance’s daughter? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” The man’s eyes widened, his voice trembling instantly. “I... I didn’t know she was Ms. Vance’s daughter. I’m blind, I’m getting out of here.” I stared, aghast, at my daughter, huddled and trembling on the ground. She'd only been abroad for half a year. How could she have ended up like this? I moved to embrace her, but then the huge LED screen behind me suddenly lit up. My daughter’s head snapped up, letting out a deafening scream, and she bolted. “Chloe!” I tried to chase her but tripped on my heels. “What are you standing around for? Go after her!” I looked up at the screen. It was my daughter’s engagement announcement. But my daughter’s fiancé was arm-in-arm with another woman. My assistant opened her phone, and that’s when I saw the top trending headline. Today was supposed to be the engagement party for my daughter, Chloe Vance, and her fiancé, Tyler Reed. Instead, Tyler was walking hand-in-hand with another woman, declaring her to be the true Vance heiress. In the video, no one listened to Chloe’s desperate explanations. Shameless tabloids focused their cameras on her, their lenses lingering with predatory intent, violating her privacy and dignity, even suggesting she was mentally unstable. My heart shattered watching my daughter being driven out of her own engagement party like a lunatic. The camera panned, showing the engagement party continuing happily, utterly oblivious to my daughter’s pleas. The stranger, Brittany, still clinging to Tyler Reed, introduced another woman to the guests. “This is my mother, Eleanor Vance, the international asset magnate.” The unfamiliar mother and daughter reveled in the spotlight, triumphant. My brows furrowed. “How interesting. She’s Eleanor Vance? Then who the hell am I?” I scrolled through the various trending videos. On one side, lavish celebrations for the fake Vance heiress’s engagement; on the other, vicious slander and abuse aimed at the real heiress. They even spread death rumors and fabricated vulgar lies about my daughter. My knuckles were white as I squeezed my phone. “Take them down!” “Pull all these videos! Are these media outlets trying to go out of business?!” I sent the message, but those media outlets actually blocked me. “Are you crazy? Another one pretending to be the CEO of Vance Corp. If you’re Eleanor Vance, I’m Eleanor Vance’s mother.” My pupils dilated at the media’s reply. A sudden fire surged within me. Oh, they were good. If they wouldn’t take down the videos, then I’d just shut them down entirely. I coldly instructed my assistant. But it didn’t end there. To ensure my daughter’s engagement party went off without a hitch, I had specifically hired the country’s most renowned emcee. For him to get the bride-to-be wrong was a professional failure. I called him, ready to demand an explanation, but he spoke first. “You’re the cleaning lady from Vance Corp, right? Seriously, what’s the point of pretending to be the CEO?” I asked, bewildered. “What do you mean?” He scoffed, clearly exasperated. “That dog you let loose at the engagement party bit me! You haven’t paid my medical bills yet. If I don’t see that money in my account within half an hour, I’m suing you!” The call disconnected with a beep. I stood there, dumbfounded. Then my assistant handed me a video. After being thrown out like a mental patient, my daughter was in utter despair. And the emcee, desperate not to disrupt the party, had brutally kicked my daughter twice in the stomach. That’s when my daughter, maddened, suddenly bit his hand. My voice tightened, my face turning grim at the sight. I sent the video evidence to the emcee, but he had already blocked me. My body trembled uncontrollably as I stared at the red exclamation mark on the screen, consumed by fury. My hands balled into fists. Fine. Unbelievable. In just half a year, my daughter, the heir of international asset magnate Eleanor Vance, had become a public pariah, branded as mentally ill. How utterly wonderful. If I hadn't made such an effort to return for her engagement party, I might never have seen this whole charade. I intended to find out exactly what had happened to the Vance family during these past six months!
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