Fake Heiress, Beware: The Real One's Here

I'm Brixton's most notorious spoiled heiress. All because I refuse to back down in a feud with my nemesis, I keep raising my bids at the auction, making sure no one can outbid me. Dad is so furious that he cuts off my cards and throws me into the family business to experience real life. On my first day at work, the department happens to be doing a thorough cleanup. I stare at the spin mop, genuinely baffled. "How do you wring this thing out?" Sandy Melville, another intern who started at the same time as me, gives me a condescending look. "Seriously? In this day and age, there are still people who don't even know how to use a mop? If you're going to put on airs, at least have some common sense." "Mariam does all this stuff at home," I explain, releasing the mop. "I've never had to do it myself." Soft snickers immediately ripple through the room. A few colleagues exchange looks, shaking their heads or smiling in disdain. "Girl, I get it. You're one of those fallen heiresses who thinks she's the main character in a rags-to-riches story and wants to reform the workplace." "Can you stop binge-reading those trashy billionaire romance novels? Sandy is Mr. Melville's daughter, and even she doesn't put on airs like you do." I say nothing. Instead, I turn and walk into the break room, pull out my phone, and call Mom. "Mom, I think Dad might have another daughter out there." Chapter 1 Silence stretched on for two seconds before Mom spoke again. "Winona, what the heck are you talking about?" she asked, sounding half-asleep. "Your dad's illegitimate daughter? Even if he had the time to cheat on me, he wouldn't have the guts." My words caught in my throat as memories came rushing back. Growing up, I'd always known my dad as Arthur Melville, the decisive, no-nonsense businessman who ran the company with an iron fist. At home, though, he was practically Mom's devoted puppy. That was why I'd taken Mom's last name, Grant, from birth. Even if I didn't trust Dad's self-control, I had to trust Mom's ability to keep her husband in line. Actually, that made a lot of sense. "But there's an intern at the company named Sandy Melville! Everyone says she's Mr. Melville's biological daughter. His actual daughter!" I made sure to emphasize Dad's name. "Wait." Mom immediately hung up. Less than three minutes later, my phone buzzed with a detailed report. It was from Mom's all-purpose secretary, Samuel Johnson. "Sandy Melville, 22. Both parents deceased. One of several underprivileged students secretly sponsored by Mr. Melville over the years. Graduated from Brixton University and was recommended for an internship at the company through the group's charitable foundation." A photo was attached at the bottom. It showed Sandy standing onstage beside Dad at a charity event, representing the beneficiaries of the program. So that was it. She had the Melville last name, a photo of herself with Dad on her desk, and a few carefully planted hints that suggested there was more to their relationship. Just like that, Sandy had packaged herself as the heiress of a wealthy family—a fraud who assumed everyone else was a fraud, too. Fuming, I grabbed my phone and immediately called Dad to report what was going on. But the person who answered was his assistant, Liam Burton. "Ms. Grant, Mr. Melville is currently in Boroupe negotiating an important merger and acquisition deal. His meetings are scheduled back-to-back. He specifically instructed me that if you called, I was to handle everything unless the company was on fire or your life was in immediate danger." I nearly exploded. "I have something important to tell him!" I shouted. "Someone at the company is pretending to be his daughter! And now that I've started working here, when are you going to reinstate my credit card?" Liam's voice remained polite, yet rigid. "Ms. Grant, the reinstatement of your credit limit depends on whether you can secure a permanent position after your internship through your own abilities, without relying on your family name. "Mr. Melville also requires you to keep a low profile until then. You're not to reveal your identity or use it to gain any unfair advantages." With that, the call ended. I stared at my darkened screen, practically picturing Dad issuing those instructions in the middle of a negotiation, wearing that smug expression. "That's what you get for spending so recklessly," he'd say. "Time to experience a little hardship." Ugh, this was infuriating! Fine. I'd make it on my own, then. Chapter 2 After pulling myself together, I left the break room. The office cleanup seemed to be over. Sandy was surrounded by several colleagues, holding a cup of coffee someone had brought her while listening to their flattery with a pleasant smile. "Sandy, you're so approachable. You don't put on airs at all." "Exactly! Unlike certain people who put on a show but can't even figure out how to use a mop." Sandy pressed her lips together in a smile. "Come on, don't say that. Everyone's different." When she spotted me, her smile widened slightly, a clear hint of superiority in her eyes. I couldn't be bothered to entertain her and went straight back to my desk. I spent the entire afternoon buried in work, and before I knew it, it was time to leave. I shut down my computer right on schedule and had barely stood up when Sandy called out to me. "Winona, leaving already? The rest of us haven't even finished work yet." She gestured toward several colleagues who were clearly slacking off but putting on a convincing show of being busy. I picked up my bag. "I've finished my work. Is there a problem?" "Not really," she replied, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I'm just curious. Why are you leaving so early? Do you have something urgent to take care of?" "Yeah." I nodded. "I have dinner with my grandma at the family estate a few times every month. She's old-fashioned, and some traditions just can't be broken." The office fell silent for a moment before several barely suppressed snickers broke out. "The family estate? Grandma? Wow, that's quite the aristocratic lifestyle you've got there." "You mean some rundown old house in the countryside? Do you have to catch the last bus home, too?" "Sandy is the real heiress here, and even she doesn't leave early. She leads by example and works overtime. Some people sure know how to put on a performance." A flash of smugness crossed Sandy's face before she replaced it with an expression of feigned exasperation. "Ms. Grant, your first priority should be deleting that trashy romance-reading app." I felt my temper flare, but then I remembered my frozen credit card and forced myself to swallow my retort. They could think whatever they wanted. I couldn't care less. I turned and headed for the elevator, taking it straight down to the underground parking lot. My car was parked in its designated spot. It was an adorable little electric microcar that looked almost toy-sized. I'd just opened the driver's door when I heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by laughter and chatter. Sandy had come down with several colleagues, and they spotted me and my car almost immediately. One of the male colleagues couldn't hold back a laugh. "Winona, is this your ride? That's… certainly a unique choice." Sandy looked my car up and down, a mocking smile tugging at her lips. "Winona, didn't you say your family was so... big on tradition? Then why do you drive something like this?" she asked, putting particular emphasis on the last three words. Her insinuation was perfectly clear. She could insult me all she wanted, but she was not going to insult my beloved car. Anger boiled in me, and I decided that enough was enough. I shut the car door, leaned against it, and pulled out my phone. After opening a car enthusiast website, I turned to Sandy and began my lecture. "This is a limited-edition electric concept car. Only 99 of them exist worldwide, and it's never been made available for public sale. "To qualify for one, you have to already own at least one of the brand's globally limited-edition supercars. Only then are you eligible to receive this matching city commuter car as a complimentary gift." I turned my phone screen toward them, showing the car's specifications and the conditions for obtaining one. "Sandy…" I watched her smile stiffen ever so slightly before asking in an unhurried voice, "Aren't you the Melville heiress? Everyone in those circles knows about this sort of thing. How could you not?" My colleagues' laughter died instantly. They glanced between Sandy and me, their expressions shifting to suspicion. Sandy's expression changed, but she quickly forced herself to regain her composure. "I-I'm just a girl!" she sputtered. "How am I supposed to spend all day keeping track of cars and houses? My family has so many cars that I can't even recognize all the keys. Who cares about little details like this?" She waved a hand dismissively. "Come on, let's go! Didn't we agree to try that new restaurant?" She practically dragged the still-bewildered colleagues out of the parking lot, her retreat looking decidedly less graceful than her entrance. Chapter 3 Ever since the incident in the parking lot, Sandy had been much better behaved. She no longer went out of her way to provoke me. I stuck to my routine, worked diligently, and kept negotiating deals. Eventually, all that hard work started to pay off. My latest prospect was a stylish design studio run by a couple from Ferasia. Since I'd studied in Ferasia before, I could communicate with them effortlessly. Combined with the extensive preparation I'd done, my efforts had brought the deal so close to completion that Claire Dubois and Adrien Moreau had practically agreed to entrust us with their annual marketing campaign. My supervisor, Jacob Langdon, called me into his office with a broad smile. "Winona, great job! However, management has decided that Sandy will take the lead on this project, with you assisting her. Don't worry, your name will still be on the list of people who contributed." "I've been handling this project from the start," I countered with a frown. "Now that we're on the verge of closing the deal, you're suddenly replacing me? What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Mr. Langdon looked slightly embarrassed. "Winona, don't blame me for this," he said in a low voice. "Everyone in the company knows Sandy is the Melville heiress getting some hands-on experience at the ground level." That made everything clear. He was trying to curry favor with Sandy. Putting a deal I'd practically secured under her name was the quickest way to prove his loyalty. When I returned to the office, Mr. Langdon announced this so-called good news to everyone. Just as I'd expected, my colleagues watched me with a mix of pity and barely concealed amusement, waiting for the woman they considered all show and no substance to lose her temper, protest, or make a scene. Sandy, meanwhile, stood up and put on a show of humility. "Thank you for trusting me, Mr. Langdon. And thank you, Winona, for all the groundwork you've done. I'll do my best." Looking at her, I suddenly smiled. To everyone's astonishment, I was the first to start applauding. My claps rang out clearly through the otherwise quiet office. "Congratulations, Sandy!" My voice was bright, my smile sincere. "You're certainly setting the standard for everyone in this department! You've barely arrived, and you've already landed such an important deal. "Surely an achievement this big deserves a celebratory dinner. Give the rest of us a chance to share in your luck, Ms. Melville!" My reaction caught everyone off guard. A few colleagues who were always eager to stir up excitement immediately joined in. "Exactly! Sandy, you have to treat us!" "Come on, a project this big deserves a celebration!" "Your treat! Your treat!" Sandy's smile began to falter, but with everyone watching, she was backed into a corner and had no choice but to agree. "Y-Yes, of course!" she replied, her voice trembling. "What does everyone want to eat?" I immediately named the most expensive and hardest-to-book Ferasian restaurant in Brixton. "I know a fantastic place," I said. "Great atmosphere, authentic food, and perfect for celebrating. Only a restaurant like that would be fitting for a treat from the Melville heiress." Sandy winced when she heard the restaurant's name. But with everyone showering her with praise—telling her how influential she must be to get a table there and how generous she was—she could only grit her teeth and nod. … That evening, in Le Jardin's private dining room, Sandy grew paler by the minute as she scanned the prices on the menu. Being the thoughtful colleague I was, I recommended that everyone try the signature dishes, making sure every item we ordered came with a hefty price tag. Just as the tension in the air began to heighten, a polite knock sounded at the door. The waiter led two guests into the room—the Ferasian couple who owned the design studio we'd been negotiating with. Claire and Adrien were dining at Le Jardin that evening, too. After hearing that Sandy was celebrating the project, they'd decided to stop by and offer their congratulations. Sandy panicked. She jumped to her feet, stammering a "hello" in Ferasian, then she froze, her face turning bright red. Watching her flounder, I said nothing, merely smiling to myself. This was the real reason I'd chosen this restaurant. I hadn't just wanted to make Sandy pay through the nose. I also intended to take back the deal that should have been mine. The Moreau couple were gracious enough to switch to another language and greet everyone with a smile. Unfortunately, Sandy's command of that language was limited to everyday conversation. The moment the discussion turned to anything technical or industry-specific, she started stumbling over her words. Claire and Adrien exchanged subtle frowns, clearly growing concerned about Sandy's communication skills and her ability to handle herself professionally. "Is this really the level of competence your company's new project lead has to offer?" Mr. Langdon was sweating bullets. He kept shooting me desperate looks, silently begging me to step in. Chapter 4 Only then did I rise to my feet, completely unhurried, and greet Claire and Adrien in fluent Ferasian before smoothly steering the conversation toward business. By the time the Moreau couple left, their expressions had softened considerably. They even pointed toward me and said, "She's the kind of person we trust to handle our account." The moment they were gone, Mr. Langdon pulled Sandy aside and whispered something to her. When he returned, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well... after considering everything, we've decided that Winona will remain in charge of this project, with Sandy assisting her and learning the ropes. We need to make sure the client is satisfied!" Sandy stood frozen, her face flushing before turning pale. Whatever composure she had left completely crumbled when she saw the astronomical bill. "Sandy, you're such a generous person! You gave me the opportunity to work on the project again, and you even treated everyone to such an expensive dinner. That's what I'd expect from an heiress!" "It's not a big deal," she ground out, practically clenching her teeth. "We're colleagues. It's the least I could do." … Time flew by, and the holidays soon rolled around. With a long weekend approaching, our department group chat was buzzing with plans for a team-building trip involving hiking and camping. Sandy tagged me in the group chat and wrote, "Winona, why don't you join us? It'll be a great chance for everyone to bond." "Thanks, but I'll pass," I declined. "I've already made plans to visit the Meldives with my family." The group chat went quiet for a moment before erupting. "Here she goes again! The Meldives!" "Winona, if you're going to make things up, at least put some thought into it!" "Exactly! Even Sandy hasn't claimed she's going to the Meldives. Can't you be a little more realistic?" I couldn't be bothered to argue with them in the group chat. As I stepped out of the office building after work, a flashy bright yellow sports car screeched to a stop right in front of me. The door swung open, and my sworn nemesis, Zach Fulton, climbed out clutching an outrageously large bouquet of roses. "Winona, I was wrong! I shouldn't have provoked you at the auction and gotten you exiled. These flowers are my apology. I'll drive you wherever you want, cater to your every whim, and be your loyal servant. Please, please forgive me!" He was loud, theatrical, and impossible to ignore. Within seconds, he'd attracted the attention of countless coworkers leaving the building, including Sandy and her little entourage, who happened to walk out at that very moment. … By the next morning, rumors were spreading like wildfire. "Winona's being kept by some rich guy. No wonder she won't go hiking. She's got money to blow on a trip to the Meldives!" "She drives a tiny car to work and gets picked up in a luxury sports car afterward. How many sugar daddies does she have?" "Who knows how she usually lands her deals? Some people will do absolutely anything for money." This time, I refused to stay silent. I went straight to a top lawyer, sought legal advice in my own name, and began gathering evidence. By that afternoon, a formal legal notice had been delivered to Sandy's desk. She panicked. She'd never expected me to stand my ground so firmly, let alone take the matter straight to a lawyer. She rushed over to me, her eyes red as she choked out, "Winona, why would you go this far? We're all colleagues. It was just a joke. Do you really have to make things this ugly?" Other coworkers quickly gathered around us, all talking over one another. "Winona, aren't you making a mountain out of a molehill?" "Sandy can be a bit blunt sometimes. She didn't mean any harm." "We're all just trying to earn a living. Why make things so difficult for each other?" Mr. Langdon summoned me to his office as well, his expression dark with displeasure. "Winona, I hear you're planning to sue a coworker? This is absolutely ridiculous!" he barked. "The company hired you to work, not cause trouble! I'm warning you—put an immediate stop to this nonsense, or you can forget about securing a permanent position. "In fact, I'll make sure you regret it! Pack your things. You're fired!" Before he could finish, the office door swung open from the outside. Dad strode in, looking as though he'd come straight from a long trip. He stood in the doorway with an air of quiet authority. Liam followed close behind with a nervous expression, along with Melville Group's HR director. Dad's gaze swept over Mr. Langdon before settling on me, then shifted toward the open office, where everyone had fallen deathly silent. Mr. Langdon froze for a moment before plastering on an ingratiating smile and hurrying over to greet him. "Mr. Melville! What brings you back so soon? You must be exhausted from your business trip! You've arrived just in time, actually. We have an intern here who's been causing trouble, and I was just about to deal with her."