I Died Replacing The Fake Daughter

Three years into the substitute marriage—the one I took for her—my husband was arrested for murder. With nowhere else to go, I found myself back at that house. The fake daughter, Stella Reed, was there, wrapped tight in Mother’s embrace, whispering for attention. The atmosphere was thick with awkward silence. Nobody quite knew what to do with me, the thorny piece of returned property. It was my brother, Marcus, who finally broke the tension. He simply pointed toward a small room. Seeing my lack of protest, he narrowed his eyes, a flicker of genuine surprise there. “Marriage certainly calmed your fire, Liz.” “I thought you'd tear the place apart, like you used to.” I managed a slight tug at the corner of my mouth, a polite, practiced smile. It wasn't that I didn't want to fight. It was just that the will to fight them had died. I had surrendered. 1 No one, I suppose, expected the runaway daughter to be returned, used and discarded. The lively air in the main hall instantly chilled. Mother, Veronica, instinctively tightened her arm around Stella, her eyes on me defensive and cold. Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose, impatience etched on his face. “You’ve been gone for three years. That guest room was converted into Stella’s music studio ages ago.” He gestured vaguely. “If you insist on staying, there’s that small room available.” He was pointing to the utility space, the cramped spot they used for the retrievers when I first arrived. It was the first power play Marcus had made, seven years ago, the day I was found to be the true Reed heir. I touched the scar beneath my sleeve—an old, jagged souvenir. It hadn't hurt for years, yet my body still trembled. After learning the truth—that I was the stolen Reed daughter—I’d spent hours online searching for the family. Wealthy, harmonious, and everything my troubled childhood had lacked. My real brother, the society columns promised, was elegant and fiercely protective. He was not the lowlife I'd known who peeked in while I showered and openly discussed marrying me off to an old, lame widower for a dowry. But on the first day, the only welcome was three enormous, pedigree Dobermans that lunged, their jaws wide, tearing at my clothes and flesh. Just as I thought I might die, Marcus, the brother I'd only seen on television, appeared. His voice was utterly devoid of warmth. “In this house, I will only have one sister. Stella.” When I remained silent, he sighed, his impatience returning. “If you don't want to stay there…” “I’ll take it. Any room.” I rushed the words out, terrified he’d retract the offer and leave me on the curb. The still-healing wounds from the past few days ached faintly as I spoke. Before he could say anything more, I limped toward the small, dark room. His voice followed me. “Look, it’s temporary. We need time to clear out the spare guest suite. Don’t be melodramatic.” I paused, turning back, forcing out a small, placating smile. “No sacrifice needed.” My voice was a mere whisper of gratitude, a truth. But Marcus’s face instantly darkened. “Liz Sutton, are you questioning my arrangement?” “Or are you still bitter about the marriage three years ago? Stella was still in school. We couldn’t very well force her to drop out, could we?” At the mention of the past, my eyes glazed over. Stella had caused a scene at a high-end club, offending someone with serious influence. To settle the issue, the Reeds had proposed a marriage alliance. They just failed to specify which daughter. On my wedding night, I was drugged and delivered to Rhys Albright’s bed. The next morning, the headlines screamed: ‘Adopted Reed Daughter Steals Sister’s Fiancé! The Ungrateful Imposter!’ Dragging my battered body, I’d confronted Marcus, asking why he forced me to take her place, why he had ruined my name. He had no guilt in his eyes. “You lived the life of a Reed for years. It was time to give back.” “Besides, the Albrights are old money and powerful. You married up.” I turned to Mother for help. She mumbled a few platitudes and told me to be a good wife. I thought that even if they didn't love me, they held some form of affection for me. But how could four years of blood ties compete with eighteen years of shared life with Stella? No sacrifice needed. That was my truth. The utility room, despite its size, was the best, safest space I’d been in for years. The Albright family, forced to take me, the imposter, vented all their fury on me. Rhys, spoiled and entitled, took particular pleasure in my misery. In the beginning, he’d just lock me in the basement, cutting off water and food. Later, the vicious games started on the bed. I remember screaming that I was pregnant, begging him to stop. He only laughed, his hands tightening around my throat. Just hours before his arrest, Rhys had me bound to the bed. When the police finally stormed in, they found me covered in bruises, welts, and lash marks. I retrieved the first-aid box and began treating my wounds with practiced ease. The door burst open. Stella walked in, holding a glass of milk. “How do you have the nerve to come back?” she spat. “Did you hear I’m marrying Owen Kincaid and decide to crash the wedding?” The unexpected mention of Owen’s name sent a fresh, sharp ache through my otherwise numb heart. Owen Kincaid. The boy who was my only sunlight in the old shantytown. We’d sworn we’d attend Crestwood’s best university together. When the Reeds first found me, he was the only person I could confide in. He would defend me, righteously condemning the Reeds’ blindness, even once risking their wrath to warn Stella off. But as he grew closer to Stella, Owen changed. He stopped taking my side. He urged me to ‘be the bigger person,’ to stop ‘competing’ with Stella, the poor adopted girl. He said the Reeds would eventually reward their blood daughter, and that Stella, as an orphan, was at a disadvantage. The irony was crushing: I was the one they publicly labeled the ungrateful foster child, and it was Stella they protected. Even the one person who stood by me had defected. I didn’t understand Owen’s shift, and I was too weary to probe it. The fear of losing my only anchor made me hysterical, leading to screaming arguments. Each fight brought a colder, more distant response from him. When the abuse and torment began, Owen ignored my desperate calls for help. My silence seemed to irritate Stella. She walked toward me and threw the glass of milk. The warm liquid coated my hair and dripped down my face. “I’m warning you, Liz Sutton. I chased you out of the Reed home three years ago.” “I can do it again, now.” Compared to the dark, sustained torment in the Albright house, Stella’s petty act felt insignificant, a mere splash. No humiliation registered. I looked up at her, my eyes flat. “I’m not here to take anything from you.” Before I could finish, Stella didn't miss a beat, dramatically collapsing to the floor. “Sister!” she cried, tears instantly welling up. “I only came to bring you warm milk because you looked starved!” The rest of the family—who had been in the living room—rushed in. Owen immediately knelt, gently lifting Stella from the floor. Marcus frowned at the white mess on the carpet. “Liz Sutton, I just complimented you on your improved disposition. Are you dropping the act already?” Accusations like this were a staple of my four years in the Reed house. Stella once shattered Mother’s favorite vase. She’d confessed to me, yet she cried and swore I was the culprit. Whenever I argued my innocence, the only reply was the sting of a cane across my palms. Knowing the outcome, I always stubbornly fought back. This time, I was empty. I dropped to my knees, right there on the ruined carpet, facing Stella. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” Before Stella could speak again, I raised a hand and slapped my own face. Hard. I didn’t stop until my mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. Stella finally seemed to ‘recover’ from her shock. “Sister, why are you hurting yourself?” she wailed. “Are you trying to make them believe I attacked you? Are you trying to force me out of the house?” She stood up, sobbing loudly. “Fine! I’ll leave the Reeds. I won’t stand in your way anymore!” Marcus instantly chased after her. Owen, however, remained. He pulled a crisp, folded handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to me. “Wipe yourself.” “Since you’re back, stop trying to make Stella leave. She’s marrying me in a few days. She won’t be here much longer anyway.” That faint, familiar cedar scent he always wore was now completely drowned out by the sickly-sweet smell of peach—Stella’s signature perfume. The sudden mix made me nauseous. I reached out to take the handkerchief. Instead, Owen bent down, bypassing my hand, and gently wiped the blood from my lip. I flinched, instinctively curling my body inward, protecting my head. My hair, already sticky with milk, smeared with dirt from the floor, made me look even more pathetic. Owen stared at me, his eyes complicated. “Liz, do you really hate me that much?” “Look, you can’t force feelings. If you need anything, just ask.” I forced out the most genuine, placating smile I could manage. “Could you… give me some money?” Disappointment washed over Owen’s face, harsh and immediate. “After all this time, that’s all you want?” The old me had wanted so much: pure motherly love, a doting brother, and a singular, selfless love from him. The current me only wanted enough money to escape. Owen took out his phone, his voice cold. “Unblock me. I’ll transfer the funds.” I hesitated, embarrassment rising. “Could you just give me cash?” His expression immediately turned to ice. “Are you truly that determined to cut me out of your life?” He didn't hand the money to me. He pulled a handful of thick, crisp bills from his wallet and threw them in my face. By the time I had gathered the cash from the floor, Owen was gone. It wasn't that I didn't want to add him back. It was that three years in the Albright house had severed every possible connection I had to the outside world. If Rhys’s crime hadn’t been so public, so massive, I wouldn't have even had a chance to flee. After a quick wash, I took the money, intending to buy painkillers. I didn’t expect Rhys Albright, who should have been in a jail cell, to be waiting in the Reed living room.

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