When they told me I was the real heiress, I was already 45. Married, with three kids. The day I was supposed to return, before seeing my elderly biological parents, I overheard a conversation between my biological younger brother and the fake heiress: “Why bother bringing her and those mutts back? She’s been out there for decades; who knows what she’s become, what kind of man she married, or what kind of no-good degenerates her kids are?” “You’re the only sister I’ve ever known…” Mutts? No-good degenerates? Were they talking about my son, a celebrity who’s been a household name since he was 20? Or my twin daughters, who enrolled in an elite university’s accelerated program in their early teens? I was 45 when the police department informed me that my biological parents had finally found me. I stood there stunned for a long time after hearing the news. I found out I wasn’t their biological child when I was 20. My adoptive parents said they found me as a newborn, just a few days old. They initially tried to find my family, so my information was always in a DNA database. But after years with no news, they legally adopted me. Now, decades later, I was told I was born into a prominent family. How could a wealthy family abandon their child? There had to be some hidden secret I didn’t know about. My husband was currently on a business trip abroad, and my son was busy with his national concert tour. So, it was my two daughters who specifically took time off from school to accompany me to meet my blood relatives. “Mom!” “Mom, mom, mom…” My 15-year-old girls chattered excitedly. Soon after we met, all I heard were repeated calls of “Mom.” It was quite a twist of fate. When my son was four, Julian and I discussed having a second child, preferably a boy and a girl, but two boys would also be fine. When I got pregnant and went for a check-up, it turned out to be twins. I spent my entire pregnancy on edge, terrified I’d end up a mom to three boys – it felt like the equivalent of raising three wild wolves at home. Thankfully, they were two girls. Just as rambunctious, though. But adorable. Raising three healthy, beautiful children took a lot of effort, but at least they all turned out successful. When Caleb was little, his celebrity aunt took him to a film set. A director spotted him and cast him in a child role, and since then, acting offers kept pouring in. Julian and I saw that our son loved it, so we let him pursue it. After all, it’s good to develop in every aspect. Later, he picked up other talents; now he’s a triple threat: singing, dancing, and acting. As for his two younger sisters, they’re like Julian and me—smart. That kind of intelligence clearly superior to other kids their age. They skipped grades from a young age and are now both in an elite university’s accelerated program. “Ms. Hayes, please step into the car.” It was a chauffeur sent by my biological parents, and the car was a luxury model. Chloe and Maya were used to riding in similarly priced cars, but they still excitedly looked around, chattering away. “Mom,” Chloe poked me, “you’re going to meet your biological parents. I heard they’re really rich. Aren’t you excited?” “…” Just their childlike enthusiasm. They’d been studying for ages and finally got a chance to go out. They were treating the Maxwell family visit more like a fun trip to an acquaintance’s home. But from an adult perspective, if they really cared, they wouldn’t have just sent a chauffeur.
Julian, my husband, messaged me, asking if I’d arrived at the Maxwell estate. He also sent over some information about the family. Along with several pictures of designer handbags. He asked which ones I didn’t like, so he wouldn’t bring those back as gifts from his trip. Neither of us was taking this “reunion” very seriously. Of course, if this had happened when I was in my early twenties, I probably would have been more emotionally volatile. But I was 45. My adoptive parents raised me from infancy until their deaths, never waiting for anyone to claim me. I already fully belonged to one family and had built my own. The pursuit of my original family had dwindled in importance over the years. We arrived at the Maxwell family mansion. My two daughters and I got out of the car. Mr. Jenkins, the family’s butler, came to greet us. He looked at me with a hint of surprise but didn’t say much. “Miss Seraphina, please allow me to show you the way.” The way he addressed me was… telling. Clearly, someone else had been called “Miss Eleanor” for over forty years, making me the “Miss Seraphina.” Even more intriguing, the butler led us not to the main hall, but to what appeared to be a side parlor in the mansion. Before we even got close, we heard voices. “I have no idea why Dad and Mom insisted on bringing her and those mutts back. She’s been out there for decades; who knows what she’s become, what kind of man she married, or what kind of no-good degenerates her kids are?” “You’re the only sister I need, Eleanor. If this gets out, who knows what people will say about the Maxwells…” Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat. The conversation inside abruptly stopped. I was ushered forward, officially meeting the relatives I shared blood with. There were three people in front of me. My 40-year-old biological younger brother, Aaron Maxwell. I’d seen his picture before, and now, seeing him in person, he certainly had the polished, sharp look of someone groomed for wealth and power, a true product of an elite family. Next to him was Eleanor Maxwell, the fake heiress who had taken my place. She was elegant, like most society ladies. The young woman sitting beside Eleanor was likely her daughter, in her early twenties. Eleanor Maxwell – that was the name I was supposed to have. It wasn’t a bad name. But I felt no connection to it. The mix-up between us wasn’t her fault, of course, but her biological mother’s. Apparently, Evelyn Maxwell’s friend from decades ago, when Evelyn was happily married and pregnant with her first daughter, suffered a reversal of fortune. Her partner left her, and she found herself pregnant. Driven by a desperate desire to ensure her child would remain among the elite, she gave birth. It was also a girl. I don’t know the specifics of how the babies were swapped, but she took me and, instead of raising me, abandoned me. Back then, abandoning a female infant was tragically easy. But even with the truth now revealed, it changed nothing. Forty-five years, more than half a lifetime, had passed. Eleanor Maxwell’s biological mother had emigrated years ago and passed away a few years prior. Their scrutinizing gazes fell on me and my two daughters. I clearly saw the shock in all three of their eyes. They hadn’t bothered to learn much about me, naturally assuming that a mediocre middle-aged woman would show up today. Even as family, after decades of being “out there,” they expected me to be ordinary, vulgar, or perhaps bitter and resentful. But I wasn’t. I was very content with myself.
“Excuse me, are Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell not here?” I asked calmly amidst their silent appraisal. More than my siblings, I wanted to see my biological parents. Though the brother and sister had stopped their conversation, they didn’t seem to care whether I’d heard it. That deep-seated arrogance, I’d witnessed it many times before. Back when I was younger, just starting my career. By now, very few people dared to look at me or my children with such disdain. “Mom and Dad aren’t feeling well; they’re still at the sanatorium today, but they should be on their way back,” my biological younger brother said. He looked at me and finally introduced himself. “I’m Aaron Maxwell, your biological younger brother.” He then introduced the others: “This is my sister, Eleanor Maxwell, and this is her only daughter, Isabelle Thorne.” The scene was eerily awkward. After about two seconds of tense silence, Eleanor was the first to act. She stood up, walked over, and took my hand, speaking earnestly: “Sister, you’ve suffered all these years.” My gaze fell on her well-manicured hand, adorned with a dazzling, massive diamond ring. In contrast, the wedding band on my left ring finger had no pavé diamonds, looking pathetically plain. I hadn’t suffered, not really. It was just thinking about the truth behind my background that left a bitter taste in my mouth, a deep sense of unease. “Izzy, these are your aunt and cousins. Say hello,” I heard the woman holding my hand tell her daughter. Then, the equally polished and impeccably dressed young lady reluctantly said, “Aunt.” Her eyes weren’t even looking at me. Her arrogance surpassed her mother’s. It was simple: her mother was the fake heiress, but *she* wasn’t. The Maxwells were undoubtedly one of the wealthiest families in the area, and Eleanor Maxwell’s husband naturally came from a family of equal standing. Aaron, my brother, now held a position of power within the Maxwell corporation. He said: “We’ll host a welcome dinner for you tonight. Mr. Jenkins will show you to your rooms to rest soon.” He kept me in the side parlor for a few extra minutes, though. My biological younger brother told me, “No matter what happened in the past, it’s over now. My sister is a victim too. If Dad and Mom hadn’t had everyone in the family tested on a whim this year, we would never have known about this.” He explained that after discovering the daughter they’d raised for years wasn’t their biological child, my parents immediately reported it to the authorities. Because my information had been in the DNA database all along, they were able to contact me quickly. The search process wasn’t difficult at all; in fact, it was surprisingly simple. Compared to other families who had lost children. “My sister has been with us since birth. She’s always been a Maxwell, not to mention she’s Mrs. Thorne. The one who made the mistake was her biological mother, not her.” They clearly had a strong bond, these two siblings. I smiled at him and asked a question: “She’s a victim, but what exactly did she lose in these 45 years?” Aaron opened his mouth, but no words came out. “The one who was abandoned and nearly died was me.” I only said that much, but it was far from the whole truth. She had enjoyed a life of luxury that rightfully belonged to someone else, claimed my family, and in doing so, received an excellent education and an enviable marriage. Forty-five years of usurpation – how long is a person’s life, really? And how many people don’t even live past 45? Had I endured a life of hardship and instability, this 45-year-delayed truth would undoubtedly have been a double torment, both mentally and physically. Could my good fortune somehow cancel out the harm done to me?
I met my biological parents in the evening. The moment I saw them, I understood why Aaron and Eleanor had looked so startled when they first saw me. I looked very much like my biological mother, Evelyn Maxwell. I could even see my own reflection, twenty years in the future, on Evelyn’s face. “Seraphina, my daughter.” She tremblingly touched my face, and she and my biological father looked me over. The sheer resemblance was enough to confirm our relationship. This scene was quite emotional; even though I didn’t care much, a pang of sadness still welled up inside me. They were curious about my past, especially Evelyn. Her face, even with fine lines etched on it, held an unnamed hope. A hope that her culpable friend had given me up for adoption to a good family. “My adoptive parents found me in a remote suburb. I was close to dying then,” I said calmly. The faces of those around us shifted. Clearly, Eleanor Maxwell’s biological mother hadn’t intended for me to survive and cause trouble for her biological daughter. At this moment, Eleanor and her daughter weren’t present. I briefly talked about my life over the years. Nothing particularly noteworthy—adopted, went to school, worked, married, had children, all in due course. From their perspective, it was a relatively ordinary life. “Seraphina, I know you’ve suffered out there, but this matter isn’t suitable for public knowledge. We don’t want outsiders making our family a laughingstock.” Richard Maxwell, my biological father, spoke. “Although Eleanor isn’t your mother’s or my biological child, she’s been our daughter for decades. She’s also Mrs. Thorne now, and her biological mother has passed away. If this gets out, it will affect both families.” He paused, then continued, “We’ll tell everyone we took you in as our goddaughter because of fate. We’ll bring your children back too. How about your mother and I compensate you in other ways?” Before I could react, my older daughter, Chloe, spoke up: “If you weren’t planning on acknowledging my mom, then why bother finding her in the first place?” Her tone was not good. The two girls had been whispering to each other all afternoon, clearly dissatisfied with the family’s attitude. Aaron Maxwell’s voice cut in: “Who said you could interrupt when your elders are speaking? Where are your manners?” He looked down on my daughters. In other words, he looked down on me. It was rare for my two girls to have their manners questioned. Maya also spoke up for her sister: “You’re not being fair, and we can’t say anything? My mom is the victim, but you’re protecting the daughter of the one who harmed her.” “Seraphina Hayes, is this how you raise your daughters?” Aaron’s face flushed with anger, and he stood up, glaring at me. I looked at him calmly: “My daughters have excellent manners. They don’t stay silent when their mother is being bullied. And you? By what right do you presume to lecture my daughters? As their uncle?” “I was never raised by my biological parents,” I looked at Evelyn and Richard. “And my daughters have never received any care from you. Even as guests here today, we certainly don’t deserve to be criticized and lectured by someone using their ‘elder’ status, do we?” One sentence turned the faces of the three of them white, then red.
“Aaron, apologize to your sister!” Richard Maxwell glared at his son. Over forty and being told by his own father to apologize to someone else, this heir to a prominent family seemed to lose face. “What did I say wrong? All of this is someone else’s fault! Aren’t we victims here?” Aaron said coldly, “If she’s so full of resentment, why even come back?” Why come back? Good question. I didn’t bother with whether Aaron would apologize or not. Instead, I looked at my so-called parents and asked very seriously, “What kind of compensation were you referring to earlier?” Upon hearing this, Aaron revealed a “just as I expected” expression, and the contempt in his eyes reappeared. My elderly but distinguished parents, however, remained relatively calm. Evelyn took out two cards. “Seraphina, this card has five million dollars, which you can use as you wish. The other is my supplementary card; you can use it for your daily expenses. Also, if you’re willing, you can move back into the house, or we can arrange a place for you.” Five million, a supplementary card, a house. For an average working-class family, this might indeed be a sincere offer of compensation. But from Aaron’s expression, it was clear he didn’t think much of these offerings. Five million was less than the luxury car that brought me here. Not to mention, it paled in comparison to the money they had spent on their other two children. They didn’t see a hint of joy on my face, nor the expected reaction on my twin daughters’ faces. I smiled. “I thought compensation, at the very least, should be comparable to what your other children received. Like company shares, for example.” Aaron immediately became agitated. “Seraphina Hayes, don’t be so greedy! You just got back and you’re already demanding shares?” “Isn’t this what I should rightfully receive?” I retorted, “I heard Eleanor also has 5%. Shouldn’t I have at least as much as her?” “Dad, Mom, you see? I told you! She only came back for the Maxwells’ money!” I found it amusing. “If you don’t care about money, why are you so agitated?” “You—” According to what I’d gathered, the Maxwell Group was still largely under Richard Maxwell’s control; he hadn’t fully transferred his shares and equity to his son. Eleanor was never the elders’ preferred heir. Although she held a position in the Maxwell Group, it was mostly honorary. Everyone assumed the succession would primarily fall to Aaron. My recognition as a biological daughter meant one more person to divide things among. Eleanor had no standing to object, but Aaron did. Clearly, when it came to their own interests, no one could sit still. “Enough,” Richard Maxwell finally spoke. “Seraphina, take these for now. The other things can’t be sorted out immediately. Let’s just have the welcome dinner for you and the children first.” It was his way of ending the discussion. He didn’t say yes, nor did he say no, dangling a carrot to keep us intrigued. The Maxwell family’s welcome dinner was merely a family affair. As they had said, they didn’t intend to make my identity public, nor would they publicly reveal Eleanor’s true identity. As people age, the reunion with their biological child brings a certain sentimentality. Moreover, the appearance of my daughters and me wasn’t exactly embarrassing. But wanting both their biological daughter and grandchildren close, *and* wanting peace and prosperity for the family? Such a perfect scenario was impossible.
I scanned the people present. Besides my biological parents, there was Aaron Maxwell and his family of three – his wife and middle-school-aged son – as well as Eleanor Maxwell’s family of three. Her husband, Robert Thorne, the head of the Thorne family, was also there. The rest were just me and my two daughters. They weren’t shy at all. Even in this environment, where they clearly weren’t entirely welcome, they were perfectly at ease. This was due to their personalities and their upbringing. The Maxwell family chose to protect Eleanor’s identity, partly for their reputation and partly because they had to consider the Thorne family, their in-laws of over twenty years. Even though Eleanor and Robert were both in their forties, their intertwined interests ran deep, and they had a daughter together. Regardless of whether there was love when they married, social standing was certainly a factor. Announcing now that the wife of many years was a fake heiress would cause both families to lose face. So, considering their combined interests, they decided to slight me, the daughter they’d just found and with whom they had no real emotional bond. At 45, no matter how emotional one might be, it’s hard to be as naive as in youth, to blindly believe in “blood ties” or “family.” It was hard to develop deep feelings for them. They probably just couldn’t fool me anymore. The dinner table was interesting, a lavish feast. A ridiculous semblance of peace was maintained, under the guise of a happy occasion. It was essentially a group of middle-aged people trying to appease two elderly ones. Aaron and his wife, Vivian, were clearly unwelcoming. Their son, Sam, and Eleanor’s daughter, Izzy, were good friends, sitting together in a clear alliance. As for Eleanor’s identity, it seemed less critical now. Even she was confident that her situation wouldn’t worsen just because she wasn’t a biological Maxwell. So, they didn’t pay much mind to me, the “real heiress.” “Seraphina, I heard you also have a husband and a son. Where are they? For such an important reunion, why didn’t they come along?” It was Eleanor’s voice. I paused, noticing everyone else’s eyes on me. “They’re both busy with work right now and couldn’t spare the time,” I replied. “Work?” Vivian Maxwell, Aaron’s wife, exclaimed, “Eleanor, I heard your son is only 20. He’s already busy with work? Did he not even get a college degree?” “No, he didn’t,” I said, stating the truth. That kid was only in his second year of university. He was so busy with work that the leave he’d taken from school was so long, I worried he’d be asked to leave. I saw some of them exchange knowing, almost mocking smiles. “Well, there’s no need for a child to start working so young. Why not have him come back to the family company? We can arrange a position for him?” Eleanor’s daughter, Izzy Thorne, who had been quiet until now, spoke up: “Doesn’t Uncle Aaron’s company require at least a bachelor’s degree for most hires now?” “Not at all, there are some positions that don’t depend on academic qualifications,” Aaron and his niece chimed in, exchanging a glance at me. “I just don’t know if my ‘sister’ here would even consider those roles. If not, we can arrange something for your husband too.” I looked at Richard and Evelyn Maxwell, the heads of the family. They nominally scolded their children twice, but it was just lip service. “No, thank you,” I gave them a chilly smile. “They’re doing perfectly fine as they are.”
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