He Proposed to the Fake Heiress , But I Was Never the Real One Either

Mia leaned in close. "Do rich people actually have functioning brains?"

"Evidence suggests not," I said with a shrug.

I headed straight home. I'd more than earned my paycheck from this gig. Whether they believed me or not, I was packing my things and quitting.

But the moment I stepped through the door of the Winfield mansion, the servants grabbed me by both arms.

"Mr. and Mrs. Winfield heard about you making the younger miss cry. They've ordered us to lock you in the attic for three days to reflect on what you've done."

"What? Wait! I'm not Doreen! I'm really not her! Let go of me!"

The attic door slammed shut.

I pounded on it, screaming until my throat was raw. No one came.

I slid to the floor and stopped struggling.

Fine. Three days. I'll leave after three days.

But then I noticed a problem.

No one had been assigned to bring me food.

I lost track of how long I'd been starving. Eventually I didn't even have the strength to call out anymore.

Three days. Not even water.

I'm going to die in here, aren't I?

A piece of bread slid through the gap beneath the door. I snatched it up and bit into it before I'd even fully torn the wrapper open.

"It's me."

The voice on the other side made me freeze.

"Althea?"

I frowned.

Althea's voice dropped to a whisper. "I believe you. You're not Doreen. I can get you out of here, but you have to promise you'll never come back."

That was exactly what I wanted.

"Swear it!"

"I swear. I'll never set foot in this house again. I'll never show my face in front of anyone in this family."

"Then wait here. I'll go get the key."

I never expected Althea, of all people, to be the one who got me out. She wasn't a good person. But she'd helped me, and that was what mattered.

She drove me to a hotel. She even carried my luggage upstairs for me.

But when I opened the door, I realized I wasn't alone in the room.

Seven or eight hulking men stood inside with their arms crossed, eyes locked on us like wolves sizing up prey.

Before I could say a word, Althea shoved a baseball bat into my hands, ripped her own clothes apart in a few quick jerks, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

"I'm sorry, sis! Please don't let them touch me!"

I stood there, stunned.

The men dragged Althea toward them in seconds. Before I could even move to stop them, the sound of footsteps thundered down the hallway, growing louder and louder.

"Althea!"

"My baby!"

Kevin and Patricia Winfield burst through the door. Solomon was right behind them.

"Althea!" Solomon's eyes went red instantly. He shoved me hard, then drove his fist into the face of the nearest thug. "You want to die?"

Kevin and Patricia stared at the fresh red marks smeared across Althea's face and body. Their hands were shaking.

"Doreen!" Patricia screamed. "She's your sister! How can you be this vicious? This heartless?"

"I didn't—"

I dropped the bat immediately.

Althea curled into Solomon's arms, the picture of fragile innocence. Her voice trembled.

"Sis, if you want Solomon, I'll step aside. I know you're the real Winfield daughter. Everything here is yours. Just say the word, and I won't fight you on a single thing." Her lip quivered. "But why did you have to do it like this? Ruin me? Make Solomon hate me? Make Mom and Dad despise me?"

She dissolved into sobs.

I stared at her.

I genuinely hadn't seen this one coming. Althea had another card up her sleeve, and she'd played it flawlessly.

Kevin and Patricia pulled her into their arms, tears streaming down their faces, and turned on me with raw fury.

"How did we give birth to a monster like you? Hiring thugs to destroy Althea's innocence? Are you even human?"