Here is the translated and localized version of your story: My identity was stolen, and I gave the thief my inheritance willingly. The nanny had swapped me with her own granddaughter at birth. She raised me in a cold garage, where I ate and slept with the guard dog. Meanwhile, my grandparents showered all their affection on her granddaughter, Poppy, who lived the life of a pampered princess. The nanny, Martha, and her cuckoo-in-the-nest granddaughter lorded their positions over me, their days filled with torment and ridicule. "Even a dog knows to bark at strangers. What good is a mute like you?" "Miss Poppy, stay away from our little low-born mute. You don't want her bad luck rubbing off on you." But they didn't know. I knew who I was. And I wasn't really mute. I endured it for twelve years. Then, my grandparents were paralyzed by a poison secretly administered by the nanny. The day Poppy inherited the family business, she threw the two crippled, bed-sore-ridden old people at my feet. "The company is mine now. You can have these two old parasites back." I smiled and accepted them without protest. "Fine. The fortune is yours. The family is mine." ... My grandmother, Martha, kicked over the double-sided dog bowl at my feet. Scraps and water spilled across the concrete floor. "I told you, didn't I? The dog eats first. Then you." She turned, her face instantly transforming into a fawning smile for Poppy. "Miss Poppy, get in the car over here. Stay away from our little mute. She stinks of dog and bad luck. You don't want to catch it." Poppy tilted her chin up, sneering at me. "Even a dog knows its job is to guard the house and bark at strangers. What good is a mute who can't even make a sound?" I groveled on the ground, bowing my head in a show of terrified submission. Just then, an exquisitely dressed elderly couple walked into the garage. "Poppy, darling, time to go to the mall. Grandma has her eye on several grand pianos, each worth a fortune. You can pick whichever one you like." In front of the Sterlings, twelve-year-old Poppy, already a master of deception, beamed. "Coming!" Before leaving, Mrs. Sterling shot a disgusted glance in my direction. Mr. Sterling immediately took the hint and addressed Martha. "She's just a child. Raising her in a garage with a dog… it’s not right. There are plenty of rooms in the mansion. Find one for her." "Of course, sir. I was only worried her presence would be an eyesore for you and the madam," Martha said with a sycophantic smile. The moment the Sterlings' car was out of sight, Martha's face turned to stone. A storm of fists and feet rained down on my small body. "Don't you get any ideas, you little bitch," she spat. "The master and madam will never give a damn about a little animal like you. They only told me to find you a room because they're afraid of being embarrassed if someone sees you!" As her vile words washed over me, I silently wrapped my arms around my head, protecting the spot where she'd fractured my skull once before. I felt nothing. Because I already knew the truth. I was the real Sterling heiress. And Poppy was Martha's granddaughter. When I was six, my parents died in a car crash. I was sent to an orphanage. Six months later, the Sterlings came looking for their granddaughter. Martha passed off her own flesh and blood, whom she’d kept hidden in the countryside, as me. That day at the orphanage, she had hugged me, crying dramatically, snot and tears smearing her face. "My poor, mute little girl, I'm your real grandmother!" But my eyes were fixed on Poppy, watching as she was swept up by the Sterlings, her face a mask of shocked delight, and ushered into a gleaming Bentley. I knew everything. And I wasn't really mute. But I let Martha take me "home," claiming me as her own granddaughter, and lock me away in the freezing garage with the guard dog. And so, Poppy lived my life, a princess drowning in the lavish affection of my grandparents. Forced by my grandfather's command, Martha moved me from the garage to the laundry room. Her rage still simmering, she shoved my head into the washing machine drum. The world spun, and the suffocating, near-death panic clawed at me. I was so terrified I wet myself. Only then did she mercifully release me. "You worthless mute," she hissed. "Don't you know your place? If you ever try to play the victim in front of the master and madam again, if you ever even think about wanting what's Miss Poppy's, I will kill you." The grand mansion was my home, yet I lived in that cramped, two-square-meter utility space until I was seventeen. One night, I woke from a nightmare and tiptoed upstairs for a glass of water. I saw Martha, darting glances around, furtively adding a white powder to the tins of milk powder my grandparents drank every day. "Just a little longer, you old fossils," she muttered. "Our Poppy is almost eighteen. She'll be able to inherit everything soon." After a moment of feigned shock, I turned and went back to the laundry room without a sound. I pulled up the covers, turned off the light, and went to sleep. After Martha started poisoning their milk, my grandparents' health declined rapidly. First, it was fatigue and lethargy. Then came sudden blackouts and coughing up blood. They had full physicals at the hospital, but the doctors found nothing, attributing it to the flu or old age. Poppy would coo sympathetically at them, then shoot me a cold, hard look. "It must be some bad omen in the house that's affecting you. She was a curse on her own parents at six. Now she's been living in our laundry room for six years, trying to curse you." "Grandma, Grandpa, you can't be too kind to certain kinds of filth." Ever since Poppy learned her true identity six years ago, she had made tormenting me her favorite pastime. Now, as the plan to poison my grandparents and seize their fortune reached its critical stage, she was even more determined to get rid of the real heiress. Her words found fertile ground. My grandmother, her health failing and desperate for a scapegoat, looked at me. "You're eighteen now, girl. It's time for you to leave our house." A flicker of pity crossed my grandfather's eyes. "If you truly have nowhere to go, you can stay in the garage." The cuckoo had taken over the nest, and my blinded grandparents were casting me out. I simply nodded obediently, gathered the few belongings that fit in my single backpack, and moved back to the garage. The old dog had died years ago. The kennel was now all mine—and bigger than the laundry room. With me out of the main house, Martha and Poppy grew bolder with the poison. Soon, my grandparents were too weak to leave their rooms. On the rare occasions they were brought out for some sun, it was Martha who pushed their wheelchairs. One afternoon, my grandmother saw me in the garden. Her face, usually slack and vacant, twisted into a strange, desperate expression. A hoarse, guttural sound, "Hhhh… hhhh…" rattled in her throat. She was trying to call for help. When Martha left for the grocery store, I walked over to her. She immediately reached out a trembling hand, the veins on its back bulging and blue. I saw it at once. Her hands were covered in purple and blue lumps. Looking closer, I could see the tell-tale, haphazard marks of needle punctures. No wonder her condition had worsened so dramatically. Martha was no longer waiting for the poison in their food to work. She was injecting it directly. My heart pounded. I slipped into the mansion. My grandfather, who had a stronger constitution, was already being held captive. A dog chain, as thick as my wrist, was looped around his neck, tethering him to the garbage can in the kitchen. The moment he saw me, tears welled in his old eyes. "That animal Martha… she tricked us! Poppy is her granddaughter! I always wondered why she was so cruel to you… it's because you're not hers! She brought you here from somewhere else!" "My dear girl," he pleaded, his voice a ragged whisper. "We've let you live here for years, and we've never been cruel to you. You're a good, kind child. You won't side with them, will you?" Before I could respond, Martha's angry voice echoed from the front door. "Where did that damn mute get to?!" I ducked under the dining table just as she came in. She searched the house suspiciously. Not finding me, she returned to the kitchen, muttering. "Good. The little bitch didn't see anything she wasn't supposed to. One less problem to deal with." My grandfather's eyes darted nervously to my hiding place. When Martha wasn't looking, he put a finger to his lips, signaling for me to stay silent. He still didn't know I was his real granddaughter, but he knew I was another of Martha's victims. In his mind, that made me an ally. That made me one of his own. Soon, it was time for Poppy to come home from school, and Martha began to prepare dinner. She chopped off the muddy, unwashed ends of vegetables and fatty gristle from the meat and tossed them on the floor for my grandfather, as if feeding a dog. He had been a man of status his entire life. His eyes, filled with a complex shame, met mine for a second. He pressed his lips together, his jaw tight. Perhaps he was starved. Perhaps he was afraid that if he didn't eat, he would expose my presence. Finally, he bent his proud back, picked up the filthy scraps and raw meat from the floor with his hands, and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing with tears streaming down his face. I looked away, and when Martha's back was turned, I slipped out of the house as silently as I'd come in. My grandparents waited for me to call the police. They waited for my kindness, my pity, to save them from their torment. But I stayed in my kennel, closed the door, and lived my own life, blind to their suffering. Their world didn't intrude on mine again until my grandfather's nephew, Robert, grew concerned after not hearing from him for so long and decided to pay a visit. By then, my grandmother was completely paralyzed, only her eyes able to move. My grandfather, still able to speak, was forced by Martha to act as if nothing was wrong and send his nephew away. As Robert stood up to leave, yawning, my grandfather secretly pressed a folded piece of paper into my palm. "Dear girl," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Get this note to my nephew. Please." "Once we're saved, we'll give you everything. We'd rather give the entire Sterling fortune to you than let those two animals get their hands on it." I clutched the note, my gaze locking with his. Then, under his hopeful, desperate stare, I turned and walked after the departing group. Martha, terrified my grandfather would try something, rushed back to the kitchen with Poppy to chain him up again. Robert was already in his car, the engine starting. If I hesitated for even two seconds, the chance to save my grandparents would be lost forever. He rolled down his window, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the twilight. "Little girl, you keep staring at me. Is there something you want to say?" I took two steps back and shook my head forcefully. Then I turned my back to him and, with quick, deliberate motions, tore the note into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. My eighteenth birthday arrived. Martha and Poppy held a coming-of-age party and birthday celebration at the Sterling mansion. The only guests invited were me and my grandparents. The nanny and her granddaughter sat at the head of the table, enjoying an expensive meal with fine wine, acting as if they were the masters of the house. My grandparents sat on the cold floor, waiting for the occasional bone or scrap to be thrown their way. I glanced at the lavish spread on the table for just a second too long. A cold smile touched Martha's lips. "Want some?" I just swallowed hard. She raised her wine glass and smashed it against my head. A searing pain exploded across my scalp. Shards of glass and my own blood went flying. Just then, the doorbell rang. It was the lawyer. With my grandparents poisoned into a paralyzed, speechless state, Poppy didn't even bother to hide her actions from us three "mutes." She put on a tearful performance for the lawyer, twisting the truth. "I'm only eighteen, just a child myself. But my grandparents fell ill so suddenly. If I don't take over Sterling Enterprises, the whole company will collapse." The lawyer looked at her, his eyes a mixture of sympathy and envy. "Miss Sterling, you are officially an adult as of today. Once you sign this share transfer agreement, the Sterling Group will be yours." As Poppy picked up the pen, Martha trembled with excitement. "The ancestors must be smiling down on us! Our family has finally made it! May they see that this is all my doing!" The lawyer's eyes narrowed. He sharply blocked Poppy's pen with his hand. "Aren't you the nanny? What do you mean by that?" Martha froze, her face turning a sickly white, realizing her slip. Poppy quickly stammered an excuse. "She raised me from when I was a baby. So, my inheritance is her victory too." "Is that so?" The lawyer looked suspiciously at my grandparents, but they could only blink their eyes. He had no choice but to turn to me. "Little girl, is that true?"
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