Murder the Real Heir

In the fitting room, Megan held my gown, her silence speaking volumes.

The deep blue chiffon sparkled faintly, inspired by Van Gogh's "Starry Night." The layers of the skirt cascaded dramatically, creating a breathtaking effect.

I unfastened my clothes and slipped into the gown.

Megan, gazing at my back, suddenly exclaimed, "Your back…"

My back was crisscrossed with scars, a disturbing sight.

I calmly tied the sash of the gown and asked, "Curious about where these scars come from?"

The fitting room was spacious and soundproof, so there was no worry about eavesdroppers.

I let go of any pretense of gentleness, my demeanor turning icy. The click of my heels on the floor was sharp and imposing.

"A few years ago, Grandpa and I were out when we were involved in a car accident. I shielded him from the impact, and the shattered glass cut through my back.

"I was in critical condition and spent over a week in the ICU. Grandpa had only a few scratches—so few that even the doctors called it a miracle.

"There was no miracle. Someone took the hit for him," I said, stepping closer to Megan and savoring the disbelief on her face. "Do you think saving a life is less significant than being of his bloodline?"

Megan's voice was raw with rage. "Are you threatening me?! Do you think Grandpa's support makes you untouchable? He's going to die someday, and then all the inheritance will go to my dad!"

I shrugged. "We'll see about that."

I actually welcomed Megan's return.

The Parker family's intrigues and dangers were like a pit of vipers, and I needed a foolish yet useful scapegoat to help me reach the top.

Megan was perfect for the role.

In the end, the heir to the Parker family could only ever be me.