Sneaking back into the country, two weeks ahead of schedule, I found a stranger in my home. She was draped in my mother’s silk dressing gown, wearing a necklace that belonged to the Shaw family—a piece of heirloom jewelry. When her eyes landed on me, she pointed a freshly manicured finger right at my face and spat fire. “Did you sanitize before you dared walk into my house? I’m carrying the Wells Fortune’s golden grandson, and lowlife trash like you isn’t fit to breathe the same air!” “Mr. Peterson! Get the disinfectant wipes! Sterilize this tramp and whatever cheap takeout she brought with her!” I stared at the unfamiliar woman, my mind blank with a shock so profound it stole the air from my lungs. It took an age before I managed to grind the words out. “This is Robert Wells’ house. The CEO Robert Wells. Am I wrong?” Her eyes went wide, not with fear, but with venomous indignation. She swung her hand, a stinging slap across my cheek. “Another desperate hussy trying to hook my husband, are we? Get her out! Throw her onto the street!” I was hauled out and dumped onto the manicured lawn of Greenwich, Connecticut. I numbly reached for my phone and called my mother. “Mom, you need to come home. Dad didn’t just cheat; he had a son, and now that son is about to have a baby of his own.” 1 I hung up, my hands shaking not from fear, but from a terrifying cold resolve. I turned back toward the imposing Georgian mansion, shoving my way past the startled staff and storming back into the foyer. I grabbed the woman by her hair—my mother’s emerald silk brushing against my knuckles—and ignored her thrashing screams. I kneed her, hard, then shoved her bodily out the same front door. “You keep shouting about the Wells heir. Fine. Let me tell you something: Robert Wells doesn’t have a son. He only has me, his daughter, Anya Wells!” The woman, sprawled on the porch steps, scrambled up, her face a mask of disbelief and rage. She lunged, trying to claw at me. “Everyone knows the head of Wells Industries and his wife have a marriage for the ages! He announced he was leaving his entire fortune to his only child and even got a vasectomy to prove his devotion! Only a moron would do all that for a daughter when he could have a proper heir! The Wells child is a son, and he is my darling husband!” I couldn't help but roll my eyes. The absurdity was staggering. “Alright, then. Call your ‘darling husband.’ Bring him here for a confrontation. I want to see exactly who has the balls to occupy Anya Wells’ place.” She snatched up her phone, ready to dial, then paused. Her eyes narrowed, raking over my high-end travel clothes, my expensive but slightly rumpled appearance. She sneered. “The tricks these gold-diggers use now are truly pathetic.” My frozen expression must have convinced her. She nodded, her voice dripping with condescension. “You trash. You must be some stray trash Brendan picked up. Now that you’ve heard I’m pregnant, you’re here to cause a scene, hoping to drive a wedge between us so you can slide in. It’s not going to happen.” I was almost laughing, a sharp, bitter sound, at her twisted logic. “I told you. I am Anya Wells, Robert Wells’ daughter. The Wells family has no son. We never have.” “If you don't believe me, go up to the second-floor sunroom. That’s my bedroom. The walk-in closet has a hidden room. The code is my birthday: 1011. There are journals and records of my entire childhood in the top drawer.” “If that isn't enough, call out the staff. Ask them who they recognize: me, the true heiress, or you, the poor fool who got scammed into marrying an imposter.” She wavered, clearly thrown by the specificity, but quickly regained her composure. “Brendan and I had an engagement ceremony witnessed by both sets of parents. We’re having the wedding today! My father-in-law, Robert Wells, personally gave me an eight-million-dollar black card at the party. There is no mistake!” “Everyone! Come out and look! Does anyone recognize this lunatic?” My heart sank, confirming my initial chilling suspicion. If this whole scenario wasn't a mistake, the problem lay with one person: my father, Robert Wells. The kitchen and cleaning staff began to emerge, wiping their hands on aprons. They looked at me, then back at the woman, and shook their heads one by one. “Apologies, Ma’am, we’ve never seen her before.” I looked at them, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. Not a single familiar face. The staff who had raised me, the people who had been fixtures in my childhood, were all gone. To replace the entire domestic team in a house this size? Only one person had the authority and the motive. The woman, whose name I didn't yet know, puffed out her chest, vindicated. “There you have it. Trespassing, attempted robbery, and slander. Get her! Let’s show this pathetic little tramp who she’s messing with!” The staff immediately surged toward me. I was outnumbered, a rain of fists and feet assaulting me. I tasted blood, and my vision swam. Then, the main door creaked open again. A hurried, panicked voice cut through the chaos. “The Butler said we had an intruder! Tinsley, are you hurt?” I focused on the newcomer. He was handsome, in a slick, forgettable way, dressed in an impeccably tailored tuxedo. I didn't recognize him, either. Brendan Cole. Brendan immediately spotted me, bloodied on the floor. His face contorted in a furious snarl. “You have a hell of a nerve!” he roared. “I am Robert Wells’ only son and heir! You dare attack my fiancée and the mother of my child! I will make sure you never see the light of day again!” He was spitting his words, desperate to tear me apart. I pushed myself up, maintaining a cold dignity despite the pain. “You claim to be the CEO’s son. Where is the proof?” I demanded. “This is my house. You two broke in, set up shop, and tried to steal my life. I want to know who gave you the authority to do this.” Brendan stopped short, momentarily stunned. He then let out a laugh of pure disbelief. “Lady, are you high? You’re the daughter? Who the hell doesn’t know that Robert Wells took a solemn oath on the day his child was born? He said his entire life, and all of his billions, would go to his one and only heir. Who would do that for a daughter? That’s laughable.” “This isn’t about you staking a claim. You heard Tinsley was pregnant, and you thought you could use the commotion to get my attention. Well, guess what? She’s carrying a boy. No one can touch her position!” Tinsley melted into Brendan’s arms, deeply moved. “Oh, darling, you are the best.” Watching their sickening display, my fury spiked. “I’m telling you, I am the only heir to the Wells Fortune.” Brendan shoved Tinsley away and took a step toward me, his hand raised. “My father, Robert Wells, is a public figure. He kept me out of the spotlight all these years to protect me—not to give a raving lunatic like you a chance to impersonate me!” He yanked out his phone. “I’m calling my Dad right now. Let’s hear straight from him whether he had a son or a daughter!” My stomach dropped as he dialed the familiar number. He put the phone on speaker. The next second, Rob Wells’ voice, loud and booming, came through. “Son! My boy! Dad’s at the venue setting up the final details for your wedding. Is everything alright?” Brendan gave me a smug, triumphant look. “Yeah, Dad, fine. Just a quick question: Do I have any siblings?” My father’s voice, a little too loud, a little too reassuring, replied. “You goofball. What are you thinking? Your father had a vasectomy for you! How could you possibly have a sibling or a—a half-sibling? When I’m gone, this entire empire is yours. Relax.” The hatred in my chest reached a boiling point. I shouted my father’s full name—“Robert Wells!”
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