He Begged After Knowing my Real Identity

James didn’t stop calling. He messaged non-stop, desperate, angry, confused. I never replied.

I had already left the apartment. I was home—our real home. The mansion.

One of the staff told me James had gone berserk. He’d stormed into my apartment like a lunatic, trashed the place, screaming and cursing. There was even a video. Someone caught him on camera yelling how I’d ruined everything.

Because I didn’t help him, someone else got the promotion he wanted so badly.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Eventually, I picked up his call—just once.

“You ruined everything!” he spat the moment I answered. No hello. No “are you okay?” Just rage. “You’re just gonna disappear after everything I’ve done? You owe me. You have to fix this.”

I stayed silent.

“You’ve been seducing Harold Steel, right?” he added bitterly.

“What?” I muttered.

“That’s what people are saying. That’s how you got in. Might as well use him now. Make up for what you did to me.”

I couldn’t even breathe for a second.

“I’m not doing that,” I replied, voice steady.

“If you won’t, then we’re done!” he shouted and hung up.

That’s when I knew—without any doubt—James never loved me. He just needed me. But I didn’t care.

Two days later, the night of the banquet arrived. It was being held at the Skyview Grand, one of the most prestigious venues in the city—gilded chandeliers, polished marble floors, a string quartet humming in the corner. I walked in alone through the side entrance, wearing a sleek black gown, my hair pinned in soft waves. No staff badge. No name tag. Just another employee in the eyes of everyone else.

I kept my head high and my steps calm as I moved across the ballroom. Guests were arriving one by one—executives, board members, influential business families, all dressed in luxury and sipping champagne.

I stayed close to the walls, invisible but watching. Then I saw him—James.

He spotted me seconds later. His eyes flared. He abandoned the conversation he was in and stormed across the floor, jaw clenched, fury in every step.

“You think ignoring me makes it okay?” he hissed under his breath the moment he was close. “You’ve made a joke of me.”

“I’m here to work,” I said evenly. “Walk away, James. I’m done. You said we’re done. We’re quits now.”

But he didn’t.

“This is your fault!” he spat. “That promotion should’ve been mine. You had the chance to fix it!”

People nearby began to glance our way.

“This is your chance now,” he growled. “Make it right. Talk to Harold. Tell him I deserve it. Do something!”

His voice rose. Guests were starting to murmur. My fists clenched at my sides. But I didn’t respond. I didn’t even blink.

Then the doors opened. And everything stopped. Harold Steel stepped into the ballroom like the air itself shifted. All eyes turned. Conversations fell silent. The air buzzed with anticipation.

But he didn’t look at anyone—only at me.

And then he started walking. through the sea of suits and gowns. Right. Toward. Me.

James turned pale beside me. People stared—wide-eyed, whispering louder now. Harold stopped in front of me, his tall frame shielding me from the stares.

Then, calmly, deliberately, he reached for my hand and slid his arm around me. His voice, when he spoke, cut through the entire room.

“I’ve heard the rumors.”

Dead silence.

“I don’t know who started them,” he continued, “and I don’t care to find out. But let’s make one thing clear right now.”

He turned slightly, eyes scanning the room, landing briefly on Amber, who immediately looked away.

“This woman didn’t seduce me. She didn’t flirt, didn’t manipulate, and frankly—couldn’t seduce me even if she tried,” he said with the barest hint of a smirk.

The guests gasped. The word "couldn’t?" started echoing in confused whispers.

“She’s my cousin,” he finished simply.

The silence shattered into gasps and stammered disbelief.

Amber blinked in disbelief, stumbling back a step. “What? But she’s… she’s poor. She lived in some run-down apartment. There’s no way—”

And that was when the microphone clicked on.

My mother stood on stage, radiant in emerald green, her poise absolute.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, smiling like the proudest mother alive, “my daughter has chosen to remain quiet about her identity until now. She wanted to prove herself—not as my heir, but as a capable, hardworking woman on her own terms.”

Murmurs rippled across the hall.

“But tonight,” she continued, “I am honored to introduce the future of the Steel Corporation. My daughter—Camilla Steel.”