My Family Regretted Choosing the Fake Heiress

They approached slowly, grinning wickedly.

“I wonder how it feels to play with this rich young lady. With that body, it must be fun.”

One lunged forward, pinning me down.

“Brother, you go first. I’ll follow after.” The man in front of me was already unbuckling his belt. Terror surged through me.

“Touch me and you’ll regret it! I’m the Hart family’s second young lady!”

“Hart family? Don’t make me laugh. Mr. and Mrs. Hart treat you like a dog.”

“You think you’re their daughter just because you share their blood? Only Clara is the real Hart daughter. You’re nothing!”

“Clara sent us to handle you tonight!”

I bit the man restraining me—hard.

“Ah! You bitch!” He let go in pain, and I scrambled to the window.

“Stay back or I’ll jump!”

“This is the third floor! You’ll be crippled if not dead!”

They lunged toward me, and I had no choice—I jumped.

The ground was tiled. Miraculously, I survived, though my leg was shattered.

Bleeding and shaking, I dragged myself toward the noise of a crowd.

“Ethan! Ethan!” I screamed, but no one answered. Then I heard familiar, muffled sounds from a nearby room.

I pushed the door open—and froze. My husband and my sister, clothes half-off, tangled together.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

Ethan straightened, expressing calm. “I drank too much. Mistook her for someone else.”

“I look nothing like Clara. Was she drunk too—mistaking someone else?”

“Enough! I said it was a mistake!” He snapped, then noticed the blood. “What happened to you?”

“I jumped from the third floor.”

“Are you insane?!”

“Clara sent men to attack me! I had no choice but to jump!” My voice broke into sobs.

Clara began crying, eyes full of fake innocence. “Iris, I know you’ve always hated me, but how could you accuse me like this?”

“I’d never hurt my own sister!” Ethan pulled her into his arms. “Iris, you’ve gone too far. How can you frame Clara?”

Before I could respond, my parents and brother arrived.

Without warning, my father slapped me hard.

My head spun. “Dad—why?”

“We heard everything. You used vile lies to frame your sister. Don’t you deserve that slap?”

“I’m not lying! Look—my leg’s broken!”

My brother glared. “Still acting? You’ll do anything to frame Clara, won’t you?”

I stared at them—my husband, my parents, my brother.

All wore the same look of disgust.

“So you all think I framed her?” My voice trembled. “Fine. I have proof. Come with me.”