The real heiress, after enduring years of abuse in the countryside, was finally reunited with the Ashworth family. In her second year back, she killed our father, the city's richest man, with a single knife wound. And I, the fake heiress, was the only witness. I called the police immediately, swearing she would pay with her life. Every piece of evidence at the crime scene, every forensic finding, and the autopsy report all corroborated my testimony. The real heiress, Seraphina, had no defense. She could only confess. But the lead detective on the case, Miles Corbin, was convinced there was more to the story. To uncover the truth, he latched onto me and refused to let go. But later, when I finally told him everything, the sharpest blade in South Crest Homicide completely broke down. "Stop," he begged, his voice cracking. "That's enough. Please..." 1 The harsh light of the interrogation room beat down on my face, making my eyes ache. Across from me sat the man leading the questioning: Detective Miles Corbin, head of the South Crest Police Department's Homicide Division. Every question he threw at me was a hammer blow against my nerves. "After Seraphina Ashworth was brought back to the family, you repeatedly tried to force her out. Why?" "We hear that Mr. Ashworth planned to transfer a five percent stake in the Ashworth Corporation to her at her college acceptance party. He was also going to announce her engagement to the Prescott family." "You grew up with Julian Prescott, the youngest son of the Prescott family. You've been in love with him since you were children, haven't you?" "Seraphina came back and took everything that was supposed to be hers. You must have wanted her to disappear, didn't you?" I remained silent. An eerie quiet settled over the room. Suddenly, Detective Corbin slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing through the sterile space. SLAM! It was just like the thud of my father's body hitting the bed after the knife went in. "Seraphina confessed so quickly," he said, his voice low and intense. "Your statements match perfectly. Almost too perfectly." "But you both overlooked one crucial detail. Seraphina had no motive!" He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. "Chloe Ashworth, she's taking the fall for you, isn't she?" I closed my eyes, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. It was always like this. People who had never walked a mile in my shoes felt they could so easily judge me. After all, in every story about the swapped heiress, the real villain is always the vicious, jealous fake. Detective Corbin watched me, not missing the slightest flicker of emotion on my face. When I still didn't speak, he tapped the table, a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Conrad Ashworth was in his prime. He was fit. Seraphina, on the other hand, is malnourished and frail. Assuming she was the killer, tell me, how did she manage a single, fatal blow?" "We've looked into Seraphina's past. The sixteen years she spent in that rural village... it was hell. Her adoptive parents' actions constituted severe abuse and neglect. Yet, she never gave up. She fought with everything she had to find her way back to her real family." "Do you really think someone who cherishes life that much, someone who clawed her way toward the light, would kill her own father over a little favoritism?" His gaze deepened, his tone heavy with meaning. "Mr. Conrad Ashworth was a great philanthropist. You can go outside and see for yourself how many people in South Crest, and across the country, have benefited from his generosity!" "He didn't deserve to die like this." I slowly opened my eyes. I hadn't had a single night of proper sleep since the murder. Now, the sound of Corbin's voice, the rhythmic tap of his fingers on the table, felt like a drill boring into my skull. But my lawyer, Mr. Davies, had warned me. Everything in this room was a calculated psychological game. I had to stay sharp. "I have already recounted the events of that night as they occurred," I said, my voice steady. "The law expressly prohibits the use of inducement or deception to obtain evidence." "You have been leading me with your questions. I request that this line of questioning be noted in the record, and that this entire session is being recorded." Corbin shot to his feet, leaning over the table on his knuckles. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, pinned me in place. "When Seraphina was in that remote mountain village, she did everything she could just to attend school. After returning to the Ashworths, she was given the best educational resources imaginable. Your father not only hired the finest tutors for her, but he also enrolled her in South Crest's top preparatory academy." "As long as Conrad Ashworth was alive, Seraphina's future and fortune were secure. What possible reason could she have to kill him?" "According to the autopsy, the weapon entered at a 35-degree upward angle, right through the diaphragm. It didn't strike the heart directly at first, but the killer then twisted the blade, severing the major blood vessels nearby." His voice was a low growl. "That's a special kind of hatred. Making sure he wouldn't survive." This man, the embodiment of justice, stood before me. He was an immovable mountain, before which all evil was exposed. His voice was crushing. "Chloe Ashworth, tell me. What are you hiding? Or maybe the question is, what are you holding over Seraphina's head to make her confess?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Your mother's death last year... was it really an accident?" The thread I'd been holding onto snapped. I shot up from my chair and shoved him, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. "Why are you dragging my mother into this?! She's dead! She's already dead! Why can't you just let her rest?!" "Seraphina killed him! The evidence is there, the witnesses are there, why won't you believe it?!" "Go interrogate the murderer! Why are you in here grilling me, the witness?!" The female officer taking notes rushed over, shouting, "Sit down! Hands on your lap!" I was trembling all over, my eyes burning with hatred as I stared at Corbin. After a long moment, I sank back into the chair, my eyes red, and slowly forced my breathing to even out. "Fine," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "I'll prove her motive." "...Two years ago, the very first day Seraphina, no, she was called Daisy back then, the very first day Daisy set foot in our house, she tried to kill me." 2 That day, Julian Prescott and I were coming home from school. I was on my period and in a foul mood, so I stormed out of the car and headed straight for the house. Julian trailed behind me, holding a thermos of the ginger tea he’d brewed just for my cramps, trying every trick in the book to cheer me up. "Your Highness, your humble servant skipped class to prepare this elixir. Won't you grace it with a sip?" The household staff nearby covered their mouths, trying to stifle their laughter. My face flushed. I snatched the thermos from him, twisted the cap open, and took a small sip. Julian stood there, grinning as he watched me. Suddenly, he spoke. "Huh, who's that?" "Why are there cops at your house? Did something happen?" I followed his gaze and saw them, two police officers standing outside the main house, and next to them, a thin, sun-darkened girl. Daisy. She wore an ill-fitting red dress. Her thin, straw-colored hair was pulled into a braid over her shoulder, and on her feet were a pair of faded black cloth shoes. Everything about her screamed cheap and out of place, yet she held herself with a strange, clean dignity. She was clearly nervous, but her back was ramrod straight. Her eyes were fixed on me, the girl who had everything, and they were filled with a profound sadness. She had obviously seen the whole exchange with Julian. When she noticed me looking, she took a clumsy step back, as if trying to hide the worn-out toes of her shoes. My father was gratefully seeing the officers off. My mother, Eleanor, was crying, pulling Daisy into her arms without a hint of hesitation. "My daughter," she wept. "I'm so sorry. Chloe's blood type was the same as yours... we never knew those monsters swapped you. All these years... how much you must have suffered..." The thermos slipped from my hand and clattered onto the stone path. Julian was stunned. He recovered quickly, his hand finding mine, his grip full of concern. My mother turned to me, her expression a mix of emotions. Wiping her tears, she spoke in a soft voice. "Chloe, this is your sister. My... my other child. She grew up in the countryside and has been through so much. From now on, you need to be understanding with her." My father, usually so stern, looked at Daisy with undisguised pity. He gently patted her back. "You're home now. That's all that matters." "We won't call you Daisy anymore," he declared. "To match Chloe, we'll call you Seraphina." "Everything you've missed, your mother and I will give it back to you." "You and Chloe are the same age. You can keep each other company. You'll get used to each other in no time." My nose tingled, my eyes burned. I opened my mouth to say "Okay," but all that came out was a weak, trembling smile. Daisy's lips remained a thin line. The affection from her biological parents didn't seem to move her. If anything, she looked disappointed. Her eyes landed on me again, her focus intense. She studied my face, then my school uniform, the designer backpack slung over my shoulder, and the simple but expensive leather shoes on my feet. Her gaze swept over to Julian, who stood protectively beside me, his refined air screaming old money. Finally, she looked back at our parents and forced a smile that was more painful than a grimace. "You raised her well." Slowly, she pushed up her sleeves, revealing arms littered with scars. "I assume the police notified you of my existence a few days ago." "I don't know how much they told you, or what you've found out on your own, but before we make this official, before you change my name, I want you to hear my version." "Chloe's biological parents stole me and took me back to their village in the mountains. It's so remote the bus lines don't even go there. Most people live their whole lives without ever seeing a city." "My earliest memories are of being chained in a pigsty, fighting animals for scraps." "My 'parents' couldn't have a son, and in the village, that was a disgrace. They took all their bitterness out on me. They cursed me, beat me, tried to break my spirit, and made me kneel on the ground and lick up my food like a dog." "Later, a charity school opened in the village. I insisted on going. They would have rather beaten me to death than let me. I begged the village chief. I worked myself to exhaustion at the homes of the village elders, collapsing several times in the dead of winter, just to earn the chance to go to school." "As long as they didn't kill me, I was going to study. To escape that hell, I was so careful, so patient. But last year, they sold me to an old bachelor in the village." "Five hundred dollars. That's all it took for them to ruin my life." "I didn't know the truth about my birth then. There's a taboo in the village about marrying relatives, but they sold me to a distant cousin, and no one stopped them. Now I understand. They all knew. Every single one of them was an accomplice." "My hands and feet were bound, and I was carried to his house. I was pregnant within three months. I was only fifteen... The next year, I had a difficult birth. I begged him to take me to a hospital." "The county hospital had a maternity ward. It was my only chance to get to a city. I was hemorrhaging, but I screamed for help from the doctors and nurses." "I almost died on that operating table. The baby didn't make it. I sent my 'parents' and that man to prison." "Back then, I thought my life was completely ruined. But at the police station, they told me I had other parents." "So I thought, even though I was broken, I had to get better. I had to face my real parents looking my best." "I had let go of the hate. They weren't my real parents, so it wasn't my fault they treated me that way." "But coming here, seeing the child you raised like a precious jewel, I realize... that all the cruelty I endured, all those years I was treated worse than an animal... you can't just erase it with a simple 'we didn't know'." My mother nearly fainted from grief. My father's face was etched with sorrow. Even Julian's eyes were red. Daisy raised a scarred finger and pointed it at me. "So, Chloe and I can never be at peace." "I will only stay in this house until I graduate from high school. After that, I'm leaving. I won't fight Chloe for anything, and don't you dare try to use family to tie me down." Her words pinned me to the spot. Only then did I understand what kind of life we had traded. The novels and TV shows always start the story when the real heiress returns, but the heartbreaking past, which is only ever shown in flashbacks, seems to be a pain only she bears. But for two girls who have lived such a twisted fate, can there ever be an easy reconciliation? Julian brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. I hadn't realized I was crying. He looked at Daisy and said earnestly, "But Chloe is a wonderful person. You can't blame her for what happened. It's not fair to her." "You're back with your family now. It's a new beginning. Why not let go of the past so you can all be a family?" He gave me a gentle push forward. I stumbled a few steps. Timidly, I reached out my hand. "Seraphina... sister, I..." But it was like a switch flipped inside her. Her face contorted with rage. She lunged at me, her hands closing around my throat, and slammed me against the wall. "I can't let it go! I will never let it go!" she screamed, her voice raw. "Don't call me sister! Don't talk to me! Don't you dare look at me with those pathetic, pitying eyes!" "Chloe Ashworth, your very existence is a sin!" Her eyes were filled with hate, with despair, and with tears. Our parents' attempts to pull her off were useless. She was like a cornered animal, fighting with a suicidal ferocity. Julian, enraged, kicked her hard, sending her stumbling away. I gasped for air, my throat burning. Angry red marks were already blooming on my neck. In that moment, I knew. She truly wanted me dead. Julian hadn't held back. Daisy's head hit the corner of the coffee table, and blood streamed down her forehead. She ignored it, pushing herself back to her feet. Her voice was cold, empty. "Are you angry? That feeling of suffocation, of near-death? I've felt it more times than I can count." She straightened her dress. "I'm not taking anyone's name. From now on, I'm Seraphina. Seraphina Ashworth." "From this day forward, my life is my own." The timid, awestruck, hysterical girl who had arrived just moments before was gone. In her place was a warrior in a suit of armor, her eyes devoid of any warmth. I shrank into my mother's arms, watching her through a blur of tears. It was like looking at a demon summoned from the depths of hell. 3 As the memory faded, I snapped my head up to look at Detective Corbin, my voice rising with agitation. "She's just born bad! She's violent! She's the one who killed my father!" "She hated me for taking her place. She hated our parents for losing her. She only came back for revenge!" "But what did I do wrong? What was my crime in all of this?!" The young female officer looked on with a pained expression, her eyes welling up, though for whom, I couldn't tell. Detective Corbin, however, remained impassive. After a long pause, he gave a small, humorless smile. "You're smart. You're using this emotional outburst to hide the truth." "But you're still young, Chloe. You're not talking to some random person on the street. You're talking to a seasoned detective who has dealt with countless criminals." The young officer beside him awkwardly scratched her nose. Corbin's fingers resumed their soft, rhythmic tapping on the table. "Anger is sharp. It's easy to express with your body. But hatred... hatred is chronic. It's much harder to fake." "Your eyes tell a different story. You don't hate Seraphina. On the contrary, you're heartbroken by what she went through." "So, what was that display of anger meant to accomplish?" "Chloe Ashworth, let me remind you. Providing a false statement not only obstructs justice, it carries legal consequences. We don't need your clever games. We just need the truth." "Did Seraphina Ashworth really kill your father?" My pupils constricted. A chill ran through me. I remembered something Seraphina had once said to me. "You're a little greenhouse flower. You wear every emotion on your face. Don't even try to play games with me. Only a fool like Julian would fall for it." "So when you're dealing with someone like me, you have two choices: either swallow your little schemes, or tell the truth." I dug my nails into my thighs, forcing myself to meet Corbin's gaze. My voice was calm, earnest. "Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you, Detective." "I know you suspect me, but I did not kill my father." He studied me, and for the first time, a hint of uncertainty flickered in the veteran detective's eyes. Corbin thought for a moment, then spoke in a low voice. "Studies show that when women commit crimes, their motives are often directly tied to external triggers." "Chloe, you're the only witness. You say the killer is Seraphina. Even if the evidence is solid, the trigger you've given me isn't strong enough. It doesn't convince me." "Now, tell me again what happened on the night of the murder." I lowered my eyes. My mind was dragged back to that night. "After Seraphina came back, my mother was consumed with guilt. She wanted to give her everything. Slowly, she started to neglect me." "Because of that, my father paid more attention to me. Whenever my mother treated us differently, he would defend me. He took me to business events, bought me priceless jewelry at auctions, and made it clear to everyone that I was still his cherished daughter." "During that time, my parents fought almost every day. I felt caught in the middle and just tried to avoid it. But Seraphina would always stand in front of my mother, a wall of thorns, confronting my father head-on. The tension between them just got worse and worse..." "Then my mother died suddenly. After that, Seraphina stopped calling him 'Dad.' She blamed his indifference for my mother's decline." "That night..." That night, the rain was torrential. In the dead of night, a flash of lightning tore the sky in two, as if a god had slashed it with a blade. My eyes flew open. I scrambled out of bed in terror and fell to the floor. Cold sweat soaked my back, and my breathing came in ragged gasps. Just then, my bedroom door creaked open. "Chloe, the thunder is bad. Are you okay? I was worried." The next flash of lightning illuminated his face, twisting his features into a monstrous mask, as if he'd grown fangs. A scream tore from my throat. My father immediately flipped on the light and rushed in. He was still wearing the expensive suit he'd left in, clearly just having returned home. Seeing my terror, he knelt beside me, his eyes full of concern. "A nightmare? Don't be scared, Chloe. Daddy's here." He held out a jewelry box. "I went to the villa to get your mother's favorite necklace. Want to see?" "Silly girl. Mommy's gone, but you still have me. And you have your sister..." He unfastened his cufflinks, took off his watch, and shed his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves. Then he took out the priceless sapphire necklace and gently fastened it around my neck. I replayed the scene in my mind. "My father was talking to me, trying to calm me down. Then, Seraphina burst into my room. When she saw the necklace on me, she went insane and lunged for it." "She had never known a moment of kindness in her life. My mother was the only light she'd ever had. Like me, she couldn't accept her death. She couldn't stand my father touching my mother's things." "She pulled so hard the chain scraped my neck and drew blood. My father got angry and slapped her..." "They kept arguing, breaking things. Then the thunder started again. I was so scared..." "When I came to my senses, my father was lying in a pool of blood. Seraphina was standing there, holding the bloody knife, her face a mask of shock..." Tears streamed down my face. I wrapped my arms around myself. "There was blood everywhere... on the floor, the walls... I couldn't tell if it was his or hers... all I could do was scream..." My vision blurred. My voice broke, losing the line between reality and memory. But Corbin cut through the haze, his voice sharp. "That bread knife. Why was it in your room?" "The Ashworths need you to slice your own bread?" I paused, then answered in a low voice. "I have trouble sleeping. I often get up to study at night. My mother worried I'd get hungry, so she had a small kitchenette set up in my room with some basic supplies..." The words were barely out of my mouth when Corbin fired another question. "You and Mr. Ashworth were close?" My face was a calm mask, but a sharp spasm shot through my left hand. I quickly used my right to grip my thumb, stilling the tremor. In psychology, when a suspect is lying, you increase the pace of questioning. So, he thought I was lying. I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, they were swimming with tears. "As everyone knows," I said, my voice trembling, "I was the person my father loved most in this world." Corbin scrutinized me. After a long moment, he stood up abruptly. He paced back and forth, thinking. "No." "That's not right." "The first half of your story was incredibly detailed. But the second half... you glossed over certain parts, rushing through them." "Between the moment your father put the necklace on you and the moment Seraphina burst in... what happened in that gap?" "Someone truly terrified wouldn't be able to recall details so clearly. But you remember every step he took. Unfastening his cufflinks, removing his watch, taking off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves." "Your attention must have been completely fixed on him. You were watching his every move. So what happened next?" My curled fingers twitched. Then, my body began to shake uncontrollably. I tried to stop it, but my teeth started chattering. When I looked up, my eyes were wide with a primal fear, as if I were staring into an abyss. Corbin's pupils dilated slightly. He returned to his seat. I braced for him to dig deeper, but instead, he changed the subject entirely. "What is your assessment of the relationship between Julian Prescott and Seraphina Ashworth?" 4 I fought to regain control, waiting for the wave of terror to pass. When it did, I spoke softly. "Julian..." It felt like a lifetime since we had truly spoken. My memory drifted back to the summer Seraphina arrived. To help her catch up academically, my father hired the best tutors in South Crest. South Crest Preparatory Academy was the top school in the state, where both Julian and I were students. At first, because of the animosity between Seraphina and me, Julian was firmly on my side. He not only ignored Seraphina himself but also acted as my bodyguard, making sure I was never left alone with her, terrified she might hurt me again. That changed one day when we overheard Seraphina's English tutor complaining to her physics tutor in the garden. "It's like teaching a toddler to speak," the English tutor said with dramatic flair. "But at least toddlers are clever. They can learn and adapt." "This 'real heiress' speaks English with such a thick rural accent... I just can't get rid of it." The physics tutor sighed. "They said she finished middle school, but I looked into it. The school was at the foot of a mountain, understaffed... the same teachers taught both middle and elementary school." "Mr. Ashworth expects us to get her up to speed with the academy's curriculum. It's an impossible task." I saw a sliver of Seraphina's dress from behind a nearby wall. She was listening. Mortified for her, I was about to pull Julian away, but he was already marching over to them. "Is that how a teacher is supposed to speak?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "You were hired by Mr. Ashworth to teach, and you're being paid handsomely for it. The least you can do is provide the service you were hired for!" "I will report every word you just said to him. You'd better think about that." The two tutors jumped, stammering apologies. The genuine anger on Julian's face vanished the moment Seraphina stepped out from behind the wall. He looked flustered, tugging at the collar of his uniform. "Don't get the wrong idea. I just..." "Thank you," Seraphina cut him off. They stood there in awkward silence. After that, whenever Julian saw Seraphina, he would still look uncomfortable, but he would offer a simple greeting. And Seraphina, instead of her usual icy glare, would usually give a curt nod in return. I watched as the boy I'd known my whole life started mentioning her more and more. His nickname for her changed from "that violent girl" to "your sister," and finally, to "Seraphina." Summer ended, and autumn flew by. By the first snowfall of winter, Julian was tutoring her himself. "She's brilliant, you know," he told me once. "And tough. She never backs down from a challenge." "If she had grown up here, she would have been one of the most remarkable women of our generation." More than once at parties, he would say with a sigh, "Compared to Seraphina, Chloe, you've had such a blessed life." He took her to fine restaurants, to the symphony, to amusement parks where they screamed on rollercoasters. He introduced her to a world she had never known. During their tutoring sessions, he poured all his knowledge into her. The time he spent with me dwindled to almost nothing. Eventually, Seraphina's grades broke into the top hundred in our year. And then, our two families sat down to discuss the engagement. Julian's father proposed that the engagement be with Seraphina instead. Seraphina did not refuse. Julian did not object. As the decision was finalized, I saw it clearly. A small, subtle smile touched the lips of the boy I had cherished for more than a decade. No one heard the sound of my heart shattering. I skipped school and sat at my mother's grave for the entire day. Even though I was no longer the center of her world, in my deepest sorrow, she was the only one I wanted to be near. I remembered when I was very small, my mother holding my hand, leading me to Julian for the first time. She had smiled and said, "Julian, this is my little treasure. She's starting at your preschool tomorrow. Can you be her knight and protect her for me?" A young Julian had looked at me with curiosity, then puffed out his little chest. "Don't worry, Mrs. Ashworth! I'm the best protector there is!" And just like that, he had taken my hand and protected me as I grew up. But in the same year my mother died, he let my hand go. As I left the cemetery, I told my mother that my boy was no longer mine, and that I was all alone in the world. The life I had stolen was finally being returned. As I finished recounting the memory, my eyes welled with tears. Suddenly, the interrogation room door was pushed open. "Detective," an officer said, "we've got new evidence."
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