After I found out the real heir had been located, I, the foster daughter, felt a wave of guilt. Before even meeting her, I added her on SnapChat to butter her up. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I’ve been living in your shoes and enjoying all these perks for so many years.” “Baby, according to Mom and Dad’s plan, I’m your family starting today! I really, really like you.” “Baby, don’t listen to the gossip. Everyone at home loves you, especially me! I love you the mostest…” Time flew, and soon it was the day the real heir was coming home. I was brimming with anticipation, joining my adoptive parents to welcome her. The next second, a tall, handsome guy, about 6’1″, pushed open our front door. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.” Me: ??? Wait, what?! My sweet, delicate heiress… why did she turn into a man?! For twenty years, since Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, the city’s wealthiest couple, adopted me, they had showered me with love. They pampered me beyond belief, treating me like a delicate doll. I grew up amidst their endless affection. However. On the morning of my twentieth birthday. Everything changed. I accidentally overheard my adoptive parents whispering. Mrs. Anderson had shed her usual elegance; her eyes were red with tears, her voice hoarse: “Are you sure? Is this really our biological child?” Mr. Anderson couldn’t hide his excitement: “The DNA test is right here. He’s our son.” Mrs. Anderson sobbed heartbrokenly for a bit, then asked, “So, when are we bringing him home?” Mr. Anderson patted her hand reassuringly, promising softly: “Soon.” “But, even though we’re planning to arrange things for both children, I’m just worried about Daisy…” Mr. Anderson’s words trailed off. But I already understood what he meant. They had found their biological child, who had been missing for years. And they were worried I, their adopted daughter, would treat the real heir like some evil fake heiress in a novel. But how could that even happen? I, the imposter, had occupied the real heir’s place. I’d lived in luxury, enjoying the Anderson family’s wealth for twenty years. While the real Anderson heir had suffered outside for all those years. If I treated him badly. What would that make me but an ungrateful wretch? It would be a complete betrayal of my adoptive parents’ loving care all these years!
So, that very evening. I proactively approached them and confessed: “Mom and Dad, I overheard your entire conversation and your plans.” “You don’t need to worry; I agree with everything you talked about.” As my words fell, my adoptive parents exchanged a stunned look. Then, they asked, both surprised and delighted: “You heard it all? And you agree with everything?” I nodded decisively. “Yes.” Mr. Anderson’s voice trembled slightly as he cautiously asked again: “Daisy, are you sure you don’t want to think it over? This is about your future, after all…” What was there to think about? Isn’t it only right for the rightful heir to come home and reclaim their place? I kept nodding. “No need to consider, I agree to everything.” Mrs. Anderson, who had been lost in thought, finally snapped out of it. Her worried expression vanished. She grabbed my hand, incredibly excited: “That’s wonderful! I was so worried you wouldn’t agree…” “Oh, my good girl! Even if you find your birth mother someday, you’ll still call me Mom. Thinking about that makes me so happy…” With that. Mrs. Anderson took off the emerald bracelet from her wrist. She slid it onto my hand: “Good girl, your grandmother passed this down to me, and now I’m passing it to you…” Mom cherished that bracelet immensely. She never let anyone see it easily. But now she had given it directly to me. It was clear. How much she hoped that I and the soon-to-be-home real heir could coexist peacefully. I gazed blankly at the sparkling bracelet on my wrist. And secretly made a resolution. I absolutely had to be good to that real heir.
Using “building our bond” as an excuse, I got the real heir’s contact information. Mrs. Anderson’s loving smile was almost impossible to contain. “Yes, yes, yes, definitely build that bond. After all, you two will be living together from now on.” I searched for the real heir’s profile. Then I noticed her profile picture was completely black, without even a username or a personalized bio. I gasped. I couldn’t imagine. How much that poor girl must have suffered these past few years. She was a vibrant young woman, in the prime of her life. Yet, she had been forced into a persona that screamed “hardened and cold, do not disturb.” Filled with immense guilt, I sent her a message: [Hi Julian, I’m Daisy.] She replied instantly. Her tone, just as Mrs. Anderson had said, was cold and distant: [I know. They told me.] See? Referring to her own parents as “them.” It was clear she had suffered emotional trauma related to family. So, she kept her guard up with anyone trying to get close. My heart genuinely ached for her: [Oh, baby, it’s all my fault. I’ve been living in your shoes and enjoying all these perks for so many years…] Julian: [No need to apologize.] [You were adopted, so you didn’t ‘take’ my place.] I froze. Who says beautiful flowers can’t bloom in barren soil? This fragile girl, who had endured so much hardship, not only held no resentment but also empathetically offered me an excuse. I was so moved I almost teared up: [Baby, you’re so kind.] [Baby, starting today, I’m your family. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be good to you.] [Wuwuwu, love you, love you, kisses, mwah mwah mwah…] Julian replied with six dots: […] After a pause. Another message popped up: [Don’t call me that.] Me: [What? Call you what?] This time. Julian’s side was silent for a full ten minutes before replying: [Just, just ‘baby’…] Me: [Why?] Julian: [Don’t you think, that kind of nickname, it’s moving a little fast?] I immediately retorted: [With our relationship, isn’t it perfectly normal for me to call you baby? What’s fast about it?] [Baby, you need to get used to it quickly, because I’ll be calling you that forever.] [For our entire lives.] Julian: […] Julian: [Actually, I’m still thinking about what they told me, so you don’t have to rush.] Thinking about what? Thinking about whether to come home? It seemed she was still wary of this family and of me. I anxiously reassured her: [Please don’t overthink anything, and definitely don’t listen to any gossip outside.] [Everyone at home loves you, especially me! I love you the mostest!] After sending these two messages. Julian’s status kept showing “typing…” One minute, two minutes, three minutes… a full fifteen minutes passed. Julian finally sent a slightly suspicious message: [Have you, have you ever met me?] Oh, so that’s what she was worried about. Even though I hadn’t met her. My guilt and my desire to make it up to her, to protect her, were very real. But to prevent her from overthinking, I decided to tell a white lie: [Of course! Mom showed me your photo.] [The moment I saw you, I just knew you had to be an amazing person.] [There’s a saying, ‘love at first sight,’ you know? That’s exactly how I feel about you. I swear, I genuinely like you.] Julian: […You genuinely like me?] Me: [Of course!] Julian: […Ahem.] [Oh, whatever, it doesn’t affect me anyway.] [Alright, gotta go, my stew is still cooking, I need to take it off the stove, see ya.] His words were all over the place. I was completely confused. But I accurately caught one key piece of information— Julian actually cooks for his family? A surge of inexplicable anger instantly flared up in my heart. I absolutely lost it.
The next day. I ordered eighteen luxury takeout meals to Julian’s current address. I also paid extra for Ms. Davies, our housekeeper, to go help Julian clean his place. And I even arranged for several bodyguards to go protect him. Then. Among the pile of old clothes Ms. Davies brought back. I found a pair of men’s boxer briefs. I almost burst out laughing. It was one thing to make Julian, a girl, wear men’s jackets and pants. But even her most intimate clothing was men’s? I suppressed my surging anger, picked up my phone, and messaged Julian: [You actually wear boxer briefs?! They actually make you wear boxer briefs?!] Julian was silent for a long time. Julian slowly typed out: [?] Julian was completely baffled: […What else am I supposed to wear?] This naive girl didn’t even know what she was supposed to wear. I opened my Amazon app. And sent her the link to the underwear I’d bought multiple times. [I’ve bought these pink undies so many times, the quality is super good, they don’t dig into your waist or give you a wedgie, I’m wearing this exact style right now!] [And bras too…] Just talking might not be clear enough. So I flipped my phone camera. And recorded a video showcasing the bra I was wearing. While tugging at the straps and lace. I enthusiastically explained: [Baby, look, this is the style, isn’t it pretty? And the fabric is super comfortable, it’s not scratchy at all against your skin…] As soon as the video was sent. A flurry of urgent new messages popped up in the chat: Julian’s emotions were more agitated than ever: [Daisy!] [You! You’re not allowed to send any more! And you’re not allowed to say such weird things!] [You, you, you! Daisy! Have some self-respect!] I burst out laughing: [With our relationship, what’s there to be shy about?]
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