CHAPTER 1 — "The Girl Who Took My Place."
Navira's POV
The Aureline mansion is even bigger in person.
It looks like the kind of place where even the dust is expensive and the doors judge you for your bank balance.
And right now, its giant front hall is packed with people.
Not for me, obviously.
No, they're all gathered around one girl, sitting on the floor dramatically like a tragic princess who just discovered her favorite lipstick shade got discontinued.
Agnes Aureline.
The fake heiress.
The girl who grew up with my life.
She's "crying."
Quotation marks included.
"I–I don't deserve to be here anymore!" she sobs, face buried in her hands. "You'll all hate me now— I know it!"
Sure, Agnes.
Cry more.
Hydration is important.
Her mother Vivienne is kneeling beside her, stroking her hair like she's a fragile porcelain doll.
Her father Victor is pacing like a stressed CEO whose stock price just dropped.
And her brothers—
Alden (the softer one with empathetic eyes)
and Alastair (the one who looks like his emotions come pre-packaged and rarely used)—
stand protectively around her like bodyguards at a royal meltdown.
I take one step inside.
No one notices.
Second step.
Still nothing.
Third step.
Agnes sniffles loudly.
"Oh my god— m-my whole life was a lie. They won't love me anymore!" she wails.
Alastair immediately kneels beside her. "Stop saying that. You are our sister."
Alden looks like he's about to start crying too.
Cute.
Really cute.
What a lovely scene for me to walk into — the displaced fake heiress being comforted by her entire emotional support army.
A maid finally spots me and freezes like she saw a ghost made of algebra homework.
"Uh— M-Miss Navira is here!" she blurts.
The room goes silent.
Agnes's sobbing stops mid-whimper.
Even her tears pause.
Slowly — dramatically, as if she practiced this in a mirror — she lifts her head.
And all those comforting arms around her stiffen.
Vivienne rises to her full elegant height.
Victor straightens his shoulders.
Alden and Alastair turn toward me, protective instincts activating like security alarms.
And Agnes…
Oh, Agnes stares at me like someone just unplugged her entire identity.
I give her a polite smile.
"Hello."
It's amazing how a two-syllable word can make a room collectively forget how to breathe.
Alden takes a step forward, cautious. "You're… Navira."
"Last time I checked," I say.
Agnes scrambles to her feet, wiping her tears too quickly to be believable.
(If you're going to fake cry, at least commit.)
Her voice trembles — on purpose.
"I-I didn't want you to see me like this," she whispers. "I didn't want you to think I'm… trying to steal attention."
Oh sweetheart.
You literally staged a Shakespeare-level breakdown in the entrance hall.
But sure.
I gently lower my gaze, keeping my face soft.
"I understand. This must be hard for you."
Agnes blinks, thrown off. She was expecting jealousy or anger. Not… empathy.
Vivienne clears her throat. "Navira… welcome home."
There's guilt in her eyes.
Lots of it.
Seventeen years of guilt, probably heavy enough to bench press.
"Thank you," I whisper, adding the slightest tremble. "I… I'm grateful to be here."
Alden looks like his heart just cracked.
Alastair narrows his eyes, suspicious.
Agnes quickly steps closer to her brothers, like they form a human shield.
"I hope we can still be… a family," she says shakily.
A family.
Interesting word choice.
I smile at her, gentle, harmless.
"Of course," I say.
But in my head?
Cry all you want, Agnes.
The real game hasn't even started.