My Daughter Is Actually the Fake Heiress

: The Real Daughter

4.

"Come here."

I pushed my thoughts aside and beckoned for Anya Morley. She stared at me for a few seconds before walking over, her expression cold. "Why did you make me stay?"

"Didn't you say you're my real daughter?"

I smiled and instructed the butler to immediately arrange for Anya's food, clothing, and accommodations, all to the same standard as Jasmine Quinn's. "Since you're my daughter, it's only right that you live with me."

By keeping Anya here, I could shake things up and force certain people to reveal their true colors.

Still, I looked at Anya with pity. The young girl was so thin and frail, her clothes plain. She must have suffered a great deal out on her own.

My heart ached, and I took her hand. "Mom will make it up to you from now on."

'My poor daughter, how did you end up lost out there?'

'I have to find out the truth!'

"Mom!"

Jasmine Quinn burst into tears. "By accepting her as your biological daughter, you're basically saying I'm a fake!"

"Since you clearly don't care about me, I'll just leave!"

"Oh? Then go ahead."

I gently patted Anya's hand and shook my head slightly before saying in a calm, unhurried tone, "I am certain that I gave birth to only one daughter all those years ago. As for who that daughter truly is, I imagine we'll find out soon enough."

Before the words were even out of my mouth, both Quentin Quinn and Jasmine Quinn's expressions became strained.

A playful smirk touched my lips.

'Look at the "good daughter" I've raised for seventeen years. Is she actually feeling guilty?'

'What does she have to feel guilty about?'

"I already told you, Jasmine is our daughter!"

Quentin Quinn suddenly flew into a rage, angrily sweeping everything off the stone table.

Anya flinched, her hand twitching in mine. I patted it reassuringly, my expression placid as I looked at Quentin Quinn—a man who hadn't lost his temper with me in eighteen years. "You seem rather tense."

"Celeste Sterling, you're the one being unreasonable!"

"Does Anya not look like me?"

Genetics truly are something. Anya had inherited my features; she was a spitting image of me. It was like I had given birth to a miniature version of myself.

Quentin Quinn ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Lots of people in the world look alike!"

"And there aren't that many coincidences in the world, either."

I pulled Anya to her feet and tossed a parting shot over my shoulder as we headed for the main house. "Anya was right. You truly are shameless."

'I'm certain Anya is my biological daughter, which means Quentin has to be her biological father.'

'But Quentin's behavior was a disgrace to the title of 'father'.'