1 The Hilton Corporation’s long-lost heiress had been found. As the family’s adopted daughter, I was just about to step forward to welcome her when a tiny, indignant voice echoed in my mind. This brain-dead heiress has been reading too many trashy novels. She’s going to frame my mom as the wicked adopted daughter, turning this into some cheap drama! My poor mom has no idea she’s about to be shoved down the stairs! She doesn’t even know I exist… and our time together is about to be cut short! It’s true, I’m the Hiltons’ adopted daughter. But my own parents are every bit as powerful as the Hiltons, if not more… And… wait a minute. Am I… pregnant? I’m carrying the sole heir to the Vance family—a decorated military legacy four generations in the making. I watched as Isabelle Hilton took two deliberately clumsy steps toward me. Just as she lunged, I took a sharp step back, my eyes cold as I watched her let out a shriek. And tumble down the grand staircase. … Isabelle, the girl who had meant to push me, was now a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Her face was a mask of pain, but her eyes, when they met mine, were blazing with theatrical fury. “I can’t believe it,” she declared, her voice ringing with manufactured disbelief. “The whole ‘real vs. fake heiress’ drama from the novels is actually happening to me.” “Nora,” she said, her voice dripping with accusation, “I know you’re upset that my parents found me. I know you’re terrified I’m here to steal the life of luxury you schemed your way into!” She pushed herself up, wincing. “But have you ever stopped to think that this was always my home? You’re the one who stole my parents, who stole eighteen years of my life! And I haven’t even blamed you yet! How dare you treat me with such hostility!” Her eyes glistened with a ‘defiant’ light, as if her every word was a righteous truth. But when did I ever steal her life? The little voice in my head scoffed. Isabelle dropped out of middle school, fantasizing about being a secret heiress. Now that her dream’s come true, she’s determined to play the part. My poor, innocent mom is being forced to swallow this crap. I gently touched my stomach, a faint flutter confirming it. There really was a baby in there, and somehow, I could hear its thoughts. While I stood there, stunned, Mr. and Mrs. Hilton rushed to Isabelle’s side, their faces etched with concern. “Isabelle, darling, get up. No one is trying to take your place.” “Nora would never push you on purpose. She has her own…” They were trying to explain my background. My grandmother and Mrs. Hilton's mother had been the dearest of friends. When the Hiltons’ daughter vanished, my grandmother, heartbroken for her friend, had me spend time with them, even calling them ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ to comfort the grieving family. The tradition continued even after our grandmothers passed, a testament to the bond between the Hayworth and Hilton families. But Isabelle cut them off before they could finish. “Mr. Hilton, Mrs. Hilton! Stop!” she cried out. “I know that compared to a stranger like me, Nora is the one you truly have a bond with! I’m not trying to compete with her, so you don’t have to make excuses for her!” The formal address was like a knife to their hearts. They had spent years searching for their daughter, and this reunion was everything they had dreamed of. Their hearts ached for her, but I wasn't about to be her stepping stone. “You’ve misunderstood, Isabelle,” I said, my smile vanishing. My voice was calm but firm. “I have my own parents. I have no need to steal yours.” I tilted my chin toward a security camera in the corner. “And as for whether I pushed you or you fell… the camera recorded everything.” I mimicked her earlier sarcastic tone. “I know you just got here, and you’re feeling insecure, worried you won’t be loved. But you can’t build a connection by framing others for sympathy, can you?” She wanted to play the strong, misunderstood victim. I was going to expose her pathetic little game. Isabelle’s face froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to call her out so directly, disregarding the Hiltons’ feelings. I crossed my arms, my gaze unwavering. “So, are you going to apologize, or should I have the butler pull the security footage right now?” Whoa! A tiny cheer erupted in my head. I thought Mom was going to be a pushover to keep the peace with the Hiltons, but she’s a total badass! Looks like this is gonna be an easy win! A small smile touched my lips. My mother always taught me to avoid trouble but never to run from it. Now that I had my own baby to protect, I had to be an even better role model. Isabelle’s neck stiffened, but before she could retort, the Hiltons had regained their composure. “Isabelle, dear, Nora has her own family. She just comes to stay with us from time to time,” Mrs. Hilton explained gently, trying to smooth things over. “You must have lost your balance and thought she bumped you. It’s all a misunderstanding…” They reached down to help her up, offering her an easy way out. But as soon as they touched her, she let out a pained cry, “Ouch!” Isabelle had deliberately rolled up her sleeves, revealing a canvas of horror on her arms: ugly purple bruises, the circular scars of cigarette burns, and the faded white lines of old cuts. The Hiltons gasped. Before a word of pity could escape their lips, Isabelle began to tremble violently. The next second, she threw herself at my feet, groveling. “Mom and Dad are right, it was all my fault! I was just so nervous, I thought my sister pushed me. It’s all my fault! Please, Nora, forgive me…” She seemed to have snapped, frantically slapping her own face. “It’s my fault!” “I’m so sorry! I’ll do anything to make it up to you!” “Think whatever you want of me, sister! Just please, don’t let this little incident upset Mom and Dad. Don’t make things difficult for them…” I stared at her, utterly bewildered by her sudden transformation. Did she hit her head and develop a split personality? A moment later, a diagnostic report fell out of her purse, seemingly confirming my theory. Stress-induced psychosis. Dissociative identity disorder. She really did have multiple personalities. Through her sobs, Isabelle recounted a story of abuse after being abducted. “Every time I was hurt, I wished someone would protect me… and then… ‘she’ appeared.” The weaker Isabelle collapsed into Mrs. Hilton’s arms, whispering, “She told me to hide… that she would protect me, like a parent… I know she can be harsh and sometimes lashes out… but when I had no one, she was the one who kept me safe… Mom, if she does something wrong, can you promise not to blame her?” Clutching the report, the Hiltons held her tight, their hearts breaking. “It’s okay, baby, you’re home now!” “You’re safe in your own home!” “With Mom and Dad here to protect you, no one will ever hurt you again!” Isabelle peeked at me timidly. “Nora… sister… I need to apologize to you, too. Please, be the bigger person and forgive me!” She started bowing her head to the floor again, and Mrs. Hilton’s eyes filled with tears as she tried to stop her. Mr. Hilton, however, fixed his gaze on me, his brow furrowed. “Nora, Isabelle hasn’t had the same life you have. She must have endured unimaginable horrors to become this ill. If you’re going to hold a grudge over something so small and force her to apologize… then I will apologize to you on her behalf!” He actually bowed to me, his voice holding a cold distance I’d never heard before. Mrs. Hilton was openly weeping now. “Nora, please, for the sake of all the years your father and I have cared for you, show some compassion for Isabelle. I’m begging you!” It was as if I was the one who had driven her to this state. As the Hiltons escorted Isabelle to her room, I felt like I’d been force-fed poison. But how could I argue with someone who was clearly mentally ill? I was about to say something to comfort them when I looked up and a chill ran down my spine. As Isabelle turned her head, our eyes met. A cold, mocking smirk twisted her lips. For a second, I couldn't tell if I’d imagined it or if her other personality was back online. Just as fear began to grip me, the angry little voice in my head snapped me back to reality. Those bruises are self-inflicted! She pinched herself to look pathetic! The burns and scars are from her edgy teen phase! Mom is the one who was wrongly accused and humiliated, so why is she being treated like the bully?! I placed a hand on my roiling stomach, trying to soothe my unborn child. I didn’t know if Isabelle’s illness was real or fake, but one thing was certain: anything that upset my baby was something I needed to get away from. After all, my husband, Ethan Vance, came from a family that had given three generations to this country. When he chose to follow in their footsteps, our lives became complicated. We’d married in secret due to the classified nature of his work, and I’d longed for a child, but it never happened. To my astonishment, this little miracle was conceived just before he left for his latest mission. I would let nothing and no one disturb its peace. Besides, no matter why Isabelle was targeting me, her goal was simple: she wanted me gone. I called my assistant. “Have the villa cleaned and prepared. I can’t stay at the Hilton manor any longer.” I’d only been staying here because my parents were overseas on business and Ethan was away. It was meant to give everyone peace of mind. But the moment I announced my departure, Isabelle was the first to object. She fell to her knees before me, weeping. “Sister, are you leaving because you’re still angry with me? I know you’ve been pampered your whole life and can’t stand the slightest grievance! If you’re still upset about the other day, please, just slap me again!” She gritted her teeth, a picture of grim determination. “I’m used to being hit! I’m not afraid of pain!” Her melodramatic performance sent a ripple of murmurs through the household staff. “Miss Hayworth is so petty! Miss Isabelle is sick! How could she blame a patient?” “An adopted daughter, bullying the real one into a corner like this!” “This isn’t even her house! Who is she trying to threaten by storming out?” Isabelle’s act of noble suffering made it seem as if she were the one who had been tormented these past few days. But in reality, her constant personality-switching had been exhausting. The “strong” Isabelle claimed she wasn’t used to being “served.” “I’m not a useless parasite like Nora Hayworth! I don’t need someone to clean my room!” she’d shouted, snatching a rag from the cleaning lady and throwing it in my face. “Do it yourself! A fake heiress with a princess complex!” Then, when the Hiltons returned, she would dissolve into tears, snatching the rag from my hands and kneeling at my feet. “I’m so sorry, sister! When I get scared or stressed, I just lose control… Let me scrub the floors for you…” The “weak” Isabelle was no better. Complaining that the house lacked warmth, she invited a mob of the staff’s children into my room. They tore apart my limited-edition collectibles and rare designer toys, leaving a trail of destruction. Then she’d ask me with wide, innocent eyes, “Don’t you like children, sister? They say their innocence is healing. I just adore them.” In front of the staff, she was all gentleness. But when I coldly kicked them out, her face would contort with malice. “Toys are meant for kids to play with! Are you really going to be a bitch and fight a child for a toy, Nora?” My specially ordered prenatal supplements were “gifted” away. The gentle Isabelle would say, “Mrs. Gable’s mother is in the hospital and needs nutrition. It was an emergency… I’m so sorry, sister! Blame me!” The strong Isabelle would spit at my feet. “I know you look down on the ‘help.’ You think they don’t deserve nice things! But you’re just a leech sucking the Hiltons’ blood! What gives you the right to be such a snob?” The vintage convertible my boyfriend gave me for my birthday? The weak Isabelle “kindly” lent it to the driver’s son to impress his girlfriend. It came back with deep scratches down the side. The strong Isabelle then blocked my path, arms crossed. “The car has full insurance coverage! Just let them handle it! Why make things difficult for him? Does seeing someone suffer over a little money satisfy your rich-girl ego?” No matter which “Isabelle” was on display, her calculated acts of generosity quickly won over the staff. “The real heiress is so much better than the fake one!” they’d whisper. Now, their whispers had turned into a chorus of condemnation, solidifying my reputation as an “arrogant, entitled bully.” The weak Isabelle was sobbing, her voice thick with despair. “It’s all my fault that sister is leaving! If you have to leave to make a point, to worry Mom and Dad, then I won’t stop you! I will simply die to atone for my sins!” In front of the Hiltons, Isabelle put on a life-or-death performance. Mr. Hilton’s voice was heavy with disappointment. “Nora, you’ve always been such a sensible girl. You and Julian always got along so well.” Isabelle wasn't their only child. They had a son, Julian. He and I were raised together by our grandmothers and were as close as real siblings. He was the main reason I ever stayed at the manor. I never expected them to welcome a newcomer while he was away on a business trip. For the first time ever, Mr. Hilton’s voice held a note of reprimand. “Why is it that when it’s your sister, you become so difficult? Isabelle just came home, full of hope, and you’ve already scared her into a relapse. Now you’re using this ‘leaving home’ stunt to terrify her even more? You know she’s ill, yet you keep pushing her! Are you really so jealous of the affection we show her? You need to remember, Nora—Isabelle is our biological daughter!” Mrs. Hilton’s eyes were full of pain. “Nora, if you insist on throwing a tantrum and leaving now, Isabelle will be consumed by guilt. Please, I’m begging you. Can’t you stop competing with your sister for attention, just for now?” I felt a furious churning in my stomach and fought back a wave of nausea. “Mr. and Mrs. Hilton,” I began, my voice steady, “it’s perfectly understandable that you dote on your long-lost daughter. But you cannot demand that I sacrifice my well-being for her. I am my parents’ treasure, too, and they would be heartbroken to know I was being mistreated.” I paused, letting my words sink in. “And if, as Isabelle claims, my presence truly puts her under so much pressure, then my leaving is the best thing for her. It will save her the daily paranoia of competing with me and prevent her condition from getting worse.” They still didn't know me. I don't respond to emotional blackmail. As I walked toward the door, I paused. “And Mr. and Mrs. Hilton, if you truly care about Isabelle’s well-being… you should really consider getting her a second opinion.” After leaving the Hilton manor, the little voice inside me let out a sigh. You’re not supposed to wrestle with a pig… but seeing Mom put up with so much crap still makes me furious! A smile tugged at my lips, but the baby’s sigh grew heavier. And when I think about the huge blow Mom is going to suffer at the Hilton’s recognition banquet in a few days… I wish I could just jump out right now and tell her the truth! A blow? The truth? My eyebrows shot up. I didn’t know what my little one was referring to, but after all the humiliation Isabelle had forced on me, I never said I would just let it go. A recognition banquet, you say? Sounds like the perfect stage for a comeback. According to my little informant, I had a few days. That should be more than enough time to uncover the truth my baby couldn't tell me. Once I moved out, life without Isabelle’s constant drama was blissfully peaceful. My brother-figure, Julian, even called me. “I heard everything,” he said, his voice warm with concern. “Don’t you worry, Nora. I don’t care if she’s a Hilton—even if she were the queen of England, she can’t bully my Nora.” He suggested I unwind at a new private spa he’d opened. “Wait for me to get back, and I’ll make things right for you.” But I never imagined I’d run into my nemesis there. It was the sharp-eyed, aggressive Isabelle, her face a mask of contempt. “I almost thought you had some backbone and actually left. So my brother is keeping you on the side, is he? No wonder he called my parents, reading them the riot act. You’ve been whispering poison in his ear behind my back!” Behind her stood a gang of her ‘friends,’ who immediately cornered me. My baby informed me these were her old crew from her rougher days. A bunch of girls who used to pool their money to buy one cup of lemonade. Now that Isabelle’s hit the jackpot, they’re all riding her coattails. One of them, with nails like talons, blew a puff of smoke in my face. “So you’re the shameless fake who stole Isabelle’s place?” “You took advantage of grieving parents and leeched off them for years! You really think that makes you a lady?” another one jeered, poking my cheek. The others chimed in, their words like venomous darts. “Isabelle is the real daughter! She comes home and has to walk on eggshells around a fraud like you!” “I hear you were all buddy-buddy with the young master, Julian, calling him ‘brother.’ How come you’re so threatened by a real sister?” “You’re a woman, yet you’re pulling this pathetic mean-girl crap! You have no shame!” “Did you think you could push Isabelle around because she just got back and doesn’t have anyone to back her up? Well, think again! We’re here now, and we won’t let you bully her!” Isabelle glanced at a nearby security camera and gave her friends a subtle nod. “Take her to a private room.” Mom! Run!
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