He Hides His Identity for My Stepsister

I didn’t want to be there. But I had no choice.

My father had made it clear—if I didn’t attend Ivy’s birthday celebration, he would cancel all my cards and cut off my finances until the wedding. He didn’t say it like a threat. He said it like a favor. Like he was giving me a push in the right direction.

I wore a muted emerald gown. Floor-length velvet with long sleeves that covered my still-healing shoulder. I didn’t bother with makeup. Didn’t care to impress anyone.

The party was hosted in the glass garden of the estate—a room bathed in warm chandelier light and fragrant with imported roses. The guests had already arrived, sipping champagne, dressed in couture. I stood at the entrance for a moment, invisible and unwanted.

And then I saw her.

Ivy.

She stood in the center of it all, wearing a delicate pink dress like a doll brought to life. Her hair was curled into soft waves. Her cheeks blushed from excitement. And around her neck—gleaming, bold, familiar—was my mother’s necklace.

The same one Father had yanked off me.

I clenched my fists.

She wore it like it belonged to her.

As if it hadn’t once rested on the woman who gave birth to me, raised me, and died betrayed.

But I said nothing.

I didn’t want to cause a scene—not here. Not now. I swallowed the fury and retreated to a corner, where I watched like a ghost.

The guests surrounded Ivy with gifts—Tiffany boxes, limited edition Hermès bags, the key to a new Porsche. Their praises echoed: “She’s so sweet,” “so elegant,” “the perfect daughter.”

And then, Father stepped forward.

He raised a glass. “Thank you all for being here. Tonight, we celebrate my precious daughter Ivy—who has been sweet, kind, and sensible since she was a child.”

Everyone clapped.

He didn’t mention me.

Not even once.

I wasn’t surprised.

Just... tired.

I remembered the way he used to look at me when I was a child—before Ivy, before the lies. He’d hold me high, call me his little star. My mother would smile softly beside him, her hands resting on my shoulders like wings.

That memory didn’t exist anymore.

Now, there was only Ivy.

And in the family photo they took that night, I wasn’t even in the frame.

Later, as the party wore on, the doors opened. A line of men in black entered, each holding a velvet box. One stepped forward. “Young Master Smith sends these birthday gifts to Miss Ivy.”

The crowd gasped.

Even I froze for a moment.

Of course. Jaxon. He wasn’t just present—he was flaunting it now, even with his hidden identity.

Ivy lit up, hands to her mouth in mock shock. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this!”

The boxes were opened one by one—sapphire earrings, diamond bracelets, a rose gold watch engraved with her initials.

Someone whispered, “That’s the heir to the Smith family, right? He must love her even though they haven’t met in person.”

And Ivy? She turned toward me.

Smiling. As if she had won. As if I had lost.

The guests clapped again, crowding around her, taking photos, showering her with more compliments than anyone could deserve.

It felt like the room was shrinking. The air too thick.

I needed to breathe.

But then, more guests gathered around Ivy. One of her friends leaned in, whispering loud enough for all to hear, “There are so many young men here today, Ivy. Is your father arranging a blind date for you? Didn’t you used to be engaged to that guy from the Hale family?”

Ivy smiled coyly, but her eyes flicked to me. “Oh, that’s been over for a long time.”

Laughter rippled through the girls.

“Well, lucky you,” the friend continued. “That guy is practically a vegetable now. Who’d want to marry into a grave?”

My chest twisted. Well, I did, just to get away from this family.

Later on, the girls asked her about her ideal man, with Jaxon around listening carefully as if he’d been willing to trade anything for whatever Ivy would say.

The girls squealed.

And I remembered.

That night, long ago—when I thought Jaxon didn’t know I was watching. He took off his shirt, and there it was.

Ivy. Tattooed over his heart.

I froze then. Pretended I didn’t see. Lied to myself. But standing here, hearing her speak those exact words—while he stood in the crowd, silent, watching her with soft eyes—

It hit me. They were always meant to be. I was the villain.

“I also want someone who would dive into the sea to find me the most precious pearl—and turn it into a necklace.”