In the twenty years I spent surviving away from my biological family, the only real defense mechanism I ever mastered was my absolute refusal to let things slide.

I take people at their word. I keep receipts.

At my engagement party, my supposed fiancé, Garrett Dylan, held my adopted sister Tiffany’s hand in front of a room full of hundreds of guests and looked me dead in the eye. "Money and status are just material things," he said, his voice echoing through the grand ballroom. "Even if you’re the biological Caldwell heiress, the only woman I’ve ever wanted to marry—the only one I will marry—is Tiffany." The entire room erupted into whispers and muffled laughter, mocking the girl who had been publicly dumped at her own engagement feast.

But while everyone else was busy enjoying the drama, my meticulous brain was wondering if Garrett actually meant what he said.

I immediately hired a toptier forensic accounting team to dig into the Dylan family’s financial holdings, fully prepared to quietly dismantle his family's empire just to see if his deep devotion to Tiffany could survive absolute poverty.

I didn't manage to find a fatal financial loophole. Instead, I stumbled upon something far better: Garrett was a fraud.

The real Dylan heir had been switched at birth and was living halfway across the world. I couldn't help but smile.

That very night, I sent the certified DNA results straight to the one person who cared about bloodline legitimacy more than anyone else—the formidable, oldmoney patriarch of the Dylan family.

I wanted to see if this "true love" of theirs could survive once Garrett lost his golden pedestal. … I never expected the pristine, untouchable heir of the Dylan family to be a fake.

When the realization first hit me, I let out a sharp, genuine laugh.

My parents, misunderstanding my reaction completely, immediately looked at me with cold disapproval. "Mallory, we aren't playing favorites here," my father said, his voice flat and hard. "But you saw it yourself.

Garrett has made his choice clear.

For the sake of the family's relationship with the Dylans, you need to let your sister have this marriage." Garrett, still clutching Tiffany’s hand, nodded in smooth agreement. "Even though the arrangement is shifting to Tiffany, the Dylan family won't leave you emptyhanded, Mallory.

Starting tomorrow, you can have a position in our logistics department.

It’s a stable job, more than enough to keep you on your feet." Tiffany chimed in, her voice dripping with sweet, performative sympathy. "Don't worry, Mallory.

Even if you and Garrett aren't getting married, we're still family. We’ll both make sure you're taken care of." A murmur of appreciation rippled through the crowd.

Everyone began praising Tiffany’s grace and generosity. No one seemed to think there was anything wrong with stealing a wedding that was legally and rightfully mine.

In their eyes, Garrett’s offer of a lowlevel desk job was an act of supreme charity. They seemed to forget that I was the actual, biological daughter of the Caldwell family.

They had cried sweet tears when they brought me back, begging to make up for the twenty years we'd lost.

I had only agreed to return to see if they were genuine—and in the process, I had quietly resolved several backend financial crises that would have otherwise driven the Caldwell Group into bankruptcy.

Now that the family business was thriving again, they wanted to kick me to the curb. I didn't mind. But I still needed to verify if their grand declarations of love were real.

I stood up, interrupting the newly rearranged celebration. Looking directly at Garrett, I asked, "Are you absolutely certain about this, Garrett?

No matter what happens—regardless of wealth, status, or ruin—you will stand by Tiffany's side forever?" Garrett frowned, his pride clearly pricked. "Of course.

Tiffany and I grew up together.

Our bond isn't something that changes just because of a DNA test." Tiffany leaned into his arm, offering me a sweet, victorious smile. "Mallory, I'm not like you.

I don't marry for money or status.

Even if Garrett weren't the Dylan heir, I would still gladly be his wife." The look they exchanged was so thick with drama it belonged in a soap opera.

Around us, the guests whispered about how desperate and bitter I was, trying to use cheap semantics to tear a beautiful couple apart. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

If they were truly that devoted, then bringing back the real heir wouldn't hurt them at all.

With a quick tap on my phone screen, I sent the encrypted DNA profile of the real Dylan heir to Old Edward Dylan’s private line. A second later, my phone vibrated violently.

The patriarch of the Dylan family was calling me directly. "Where are you?" his voice boomed through the receiver. Old Edward’s sudden arrival threw the venue into chaos.

When his security detail informed the family that the patriarch wanted to see me—and only me—in the private lounge upstairs, Tiffany's face paled.

She gripped Garrett’s sleeve, tears welling in her eyes. "What do we do? Mallory must be trying to ruin things.

What if she convinces the patriarch to call off our wedding?" Garrett looked at me with open disgust, patting her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry.

Not even the patriarch can force me to marry someone I don't want. Mallory grew up in the backwoods; she doesn't have the poise or the intellect to represent our family.

My grandfather would never let someone like her represent the Dylan name." "But what if he gets angry? What if he threatens to cut you off?" Tiffany whimpered.

Garrett pinched her nose playfully. "Then let him.

Even if I have to walk away from the Dylan name, I will choose you." Flush with validation, Tiffany leaned against his chest and shot me a smug, defiant look. "You're wasting your breath, Mallory.

Even if you cry to his grandfather, Garrett is mine. You might as well play nice and help me plan the wedding.

If you do, I’ll make sure Garrett gives you that job." Garrett gave me a warning glare. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Who in their right mind would want to beg for a fraud of a husband? Still, seeing how deeply in love they were made me feel much better.

It saved me the trouble of worrying about their relationship cracking when the real heir arrived. Upstairs, Old Edward Dylan stared intensely at the digital file on my tablet.

His weathered face remained unreadable. "Mallory, you understand the consequences of trying to fabricate a claim regarding the Dylan bloodline." I did.

The last person who had tried to run a paternity scam on the Dylans hadn't just been sued; they had been blacklisted so thoroughly they ended up working manual labor in an isolated mining town, unable to ever return to civilized society.

But I wasn't afraid. His sternness only proved how seriously he took the family legacy. "I don't play games, Mr.

Dylan," I said calmly. "My team pulled these records from a secure international database. We haven't pinned down his exact physical address yet, but data doesn't lie.

Furthermore, I think you'll find this interesting." I slid a photograph across the table.

It showed a young man's bare shoulder blade, clearly displaying a rare, distinct birthmark shaped like a falcon—the hereditary mark of the Dylan bloodline. Edward’s breath hitched.

His fingers trembled slightly as he picked up the photo. "How long until I can see him?" "Seven days," I replied. "Fine," the old man breathed, a sudden spark returning to his eyes.

He paused, looking at me with a heavy nod. "I heard what happened downstairs today. If this boy is indeed my grandson...

I will ensure you are properly compensated." I smiled politely but said nothing. I didn't need his charity. I kept my own receipts, and I settled my own debts.

When we stepped back out of the lounge, Edward’s gaze swept coldly over Garrett. "Have you completed your annual physical for the family trust yet?" Garrett looked surprised. "No, Grandfather.

I've been quite busy with the merger.

I was planning to schedule it next month." "Go to my private clinic tomorrow," Edward instructed flatly. "My personal physician will handle it." Feeling deeply honored by what he assumed was a sign of grandfatherly care, Garrett beamed.

As he walked past me to escort the old man to his car, he muttered under his breath, "Glad to see you've finally accepted your place." My parents and Tiffany looked immensely relieved.

Tiffany held her chin high, practically glowing with triumph. "Some things simply can't be forced, Mallory," she whispered as we walked back inside. "In our world, pedigree and breeding matter.

No matter how many lies you tell his grandfather, Garrett will only ever marry me." I nodded in absolute agreement. A fake daughter and a fake heir. They truly were a perfect match.

I only hoped she could keep that same energy when the truth came out. Over the next few days, I focused entirely on coordinating the real heir's return.

Meanwhile, rumors began to circulate. Word got out that Old Edward had suffered a sudden spell of ill health right after Garrett’s physical exam.

Fearing the old man might not have much time left, the Caldwells and Tiffany rushed to pull the wedding date forward, hoping to "bring some good fortune" to the family.

My parents were ecstatic. "I knew our Tiffany was a blessing," my mother gushed. "Don't you worry, sweetheart.

We are going to give you the grandest wedding this city has ever seen." Tiffany, however, pouted. "What's the point of a grand wedding if it's just for show?

Garrett and I are uniting our families.

If I don't hold any actual power in the Caldwell Group, the other socialites will laugh at me." My parents took the bait instantly. "Don't worry, darling," my father said smoothly. "Your mother and I have already taken care of it.

We’ve transferred thirty percent of the company's shares directly to your name. As of today, you are a primary shareholder." "Thank you, Dad!

Thank you, Mom!" Tiffany squealed, kissing them both on the cheek. Then, her eyes drifted over to me, sitting silently at the end of the table.

She lowered her gaze, putting on her best victim face. "But... isn't Mallory the biological daughter?

Giving the shares to me seems so unfair to her." My parents looked slightly uncomfortable, but my father quickly rationalized it. "Mallory, this is business.

Tiffany is marrying into the Dylan family. For the alliance to work, she must represent our family’s assets. But we won't let you starve.

You can stay here with us, and we’ll give you a monthly allowance of three hundred dollars. You won't even have to work.

Isn't that wonderful?" Thirty percent of a multimillion dollar corporation for Tiffany.

A threehundreddollar allowance and the expectation to act as their livein housekeeper for me.

Their math was even more insulting than Garrett’s. "No, thank you," I said, putting my napkin down. "I have my own income." Tiffany’s eyes instantly welled with tears. "Mallory, are you angry with me?

I can give the shares back... it’s just that if I'm not a major shareholder, I don't know if the Dylans will still proceed with the investment in Caldwell Group..." My father slammed his hand on the table, glaring at me. "Mallory!

Why must you be so incredibly selfish? We told you this is for the family's future.

You carry our blood—how can you be so utterly shortsighted?" The baseless hostility was exhausting.

I stood up and walked upstairs, leaving them to comfort their precious adoptive daughter.

I had just received confirmation from my team that the real Dylan heir’s flight had been booked.

At the same time, I sent a brief text to my personal associates: "Pull all liquidity and private investments from Caldwell Group immediately." Tiffany slipped into my room a moment later, a smug look on her face. "Mallory, did you really think pulling your petty little investments would sink the company?" she sneered. "Garrett has already promised that the Dylans will inject fresh capital into the Caldwell Group next week.

Soon, we’ll be on the same level as them.

My parents will finally see that an adopted daughter like me is worth ten of a charity case like you." "Are you finished?" I asked, not looking up from my phone. "You can leave now." In three days, the real heir would land.

By then, Garrett wouldn't even have the authority to sign a lunch receipt, let alone authorize a multimillion dollar corporate bailout. Tiffany didn't catch the warning in my tone.

Her eyes drifted to my dresser, landing on a pair of vintage emerald earrings sitting in a small velvet tray—the only keepsake left to me by the kind woman who had raised me in Oregon. "You know, for a country girl, you have surprisingly decent taste," Tiffany remarked, reaching out to touch them. "These emeralds are beautiful.

They’re wasted on you.

You should give them to me as a wedding present." I grabbed her wrist before she could touch them, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Put them down." Tiffany resisted, trying to wrench her hand back.

When she realized I wouldn't let go, she suddenly threw herself backward onto the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs. "Mallory!

Please, I know you're angry about the wedding, but you can't steal the family heirloom Garrett gave me!

If Grandfather asks about it, what am I supposed to say?" My parents burst into the room. Seeing Tiffany crying on the floor, my father didn't even ask questions.

He marched over and delivered a sharp slap across my face. "You absolute monster!" he roared. "How dare you lay a hand on your sister and try to steal her jewelry!

If anything happens to her before the wedding, I will make sure you pay for it!" Tiffany was rushed to the hospital that night for a "full evaluation." My parents insisted on every scan imaginable, terrified that their golden ticket to high society might have a microscopic scratch.

I went back to my apartment to get some actual sleep, but at midnight, Garrett and two police officers kicked my door open. "You think you can assault Tiffany and just sleep it off?" Garrett snarled, grabbing my arm to drag me out of bed.

I wrenched myself free. "Are you insane? Tiffany tried to steal my late mother's earrings and staged a theatrical fall.

If you had half a brain cell, you'd see she doesn't have a scratch on her, and those earrings are mine." Garrett refused to listen, forcing me into the back of a squad car.

But when we arrived at the hospital, even the doctors looked embarrassed. Tiffany was sitting upright in bed, eating grapes, without a single bruise on her skin. "Mr. and Mrs.

Caldwell," Garrett asked, looking thoroughly confused. "You said Tiffany was severely injured and might not make it to the altar.

She looks... fine." My parents looked momentarily flustered, but Tiffany quickly threw herself into Garrett’s arms, sobbing hysterically. "Garrett, Mallory said I stole her life, and she tried to rip these earrings right out of my ears.

She attacked me! Look at my face, it’s completely swollen!

The wedding is in two days—how am I supposed to walk down the aisle like this?" There wasn't a speck of redness on her face.

I leaned against the doorframe, letting out a cold laugh. "Funny. Ten minutes ago you told my parents those earrings were a Dylan heirloom.

Now you're telling Garrett they were a gift from my parents?" Tiffany’s expression stiffened, but she quickly recovered, looking at our parents. "They were a gift from Mom and Dad to help me present myself well at the wedding, right, Mom?

Dad?" Despite knowing she was lying through her teeth, my parents nodded instantly. "Yes, we gave those to Tiffany," my father lied smoothly. "Mallory, no matter how bitter you are, this wedding is happening.

Stop this childish jealousy, apologize to your sister, and we can still be a family." A family?

A family that stripped me of my birthright, handed my inheritance to an imposter, and now wanted to steal the only physical memory of the woman who actually loved me? "Return my earrings," I said, my voice completely cold. "Or I file a report for grand theft." "Go ahead," Garrett sneered, pulling out his phone. "Let's see who the police believe." By morning, I was sitting in a holding cell, charged with domestic assault and grand larceny.

My parents didn't even bother to post my bail. Instead, my mother visited me, looking down her nose through the plexiglass. "Mallory, we know you're hurting.

But Tiffany's wedding is the priority right now. Once she’s safely married into the Dylan family, we’ll come back and bail you out.

Just stay quiet until then." They had no idea that Tiffany would never become a Dylan. Old Edward had already received the final verification.

That very night, a private jet landed at the airport, carrying Callum Dylan—the true heir—back to his rightful home.

And because I was the one who had brought Callum back, Old Edward personally cleared my charges and had me escorted to a private estate to recover.

As it turned out, Callum and I weren't strangers. We had crossed paths in London years ago during a highstakes financial acquisition. He was brilliant, sharp, and intensely loyal.

When Edward suggested that Callum and I marry to consolidate our respective assets, Callum looked at me with a quiet smile. "I'd be honored," he said. "If Mallory is willing." I figured if I had to marry into high society, marrying a trusted colleague was infinitely better than dealing with a narcissistic fraud. "Let's do it," I said.

Edward was thrilled. He immediately booked the Grand Regent—the most exclusive hotel in the city—for a massive, highprofile wedding to be held in exactly three days.

Garrett and Tiffany, completely oblivious to the shift in power, were busy finalizing their own plans, eagerly anticipating their big day at the exact same venue.

But when their bridal limousine pulled up to the Grand Regent’s goldleafed entrance, a line of security guards blocked their path. "I’m sorry, sir, ma'am," the head concierge said, his tone perfectly polite but utterly unyielding. "The hotel is closed for a private event today.

No unauthorized guests are permitted inside."