Reborn as the Fake Heiress

“What?” Katherine had barely gotten the word out before the crowd of reporters swallowed her whole, none of them waiting for an answer. The world exploded into blinding white flashes.

They swarmed from every shadow, microphones thrust forward like weapons while security guards fought to hold the line.

“Miss Hart!”

“Miss Hart, is it true you’ve been pretending to be the Hart family’s daughter for over thirteen years?”

“Were you aware Joanna Johnson is Richard Hart’s biological daughter?”

“Did you know you were living someone else’s life? Did you plan it?”

Katherine froze mid-step, her heart slamming against her ribs. For one disoriented second she was certain they had the wrong person.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out small, trembling. “I think you’ve confused me with…”

The crowd only pressed closer.

“Why did you hide Joanna Johnson’s identity?”

“Is Mr. Stan ending the engagement because he found out the truth?” Had the reporters already learned about the broken engagement? Or had someone told them before she’d even known herself?

“Is Joanna carrying Mr. Stan’s child?”

“Do you have anything to say to the woman whose family and inheritance you’ve stolen?”

Each question landed like a knife. Katherine’s knees weakened. She had never heard the name Joanna Johnson until tonight, until Soron’s phone, until his voice had gone soft for another woman and her baby.

“What are you talking about?” she whispered, tears already stinging her eyes. “I’ve stolen nothing. This is a mistake…”

A reporter shoved a phone inches from her face. The glowing screen showed a headline in screaming capital letters:

THE REAL HART HEIRESS FOUND

Side by side, two photos stared back at her. One was hers, elegant, smiling at last month’s gala. The other was a stranger who shared her eyes, her jawline, her everything.

“No…” The word broke in her throat. The questions turned into a roar.

“Did you always know you weren’t Richard Hart’s biological daughter? Was it a scheme? Did you plan it alone, or were others involved?”

“When did Mr. Stan discover the truth?”

“Did he leave you because Joanna is pregnant?”

Fraud. Impostor. Stolen life. The words stabbed deeper with every repetition. Katherine’s chest heaved, her whole world crumbling in front of the cameras.

“I don’t know!” she cried, her voice cracking. “I don’t know anything!”

Security finally carved a path through. Her driver caught her arm and shoved her into the back seat. “This way, Miss!”

The car peeled away from the curb, reporters still chasing, camera flashes strobing against the tinted windows.

Inside, Katherine shook so hard her teeth chattered. She grabbed her phone with numb fingers and started dialing.

Amelia. No answer.

Richard. Straight to voicemail.

Soron. His number went dead instantly. Blocked.

The Hart residence, again and again. Nothing.

Dread coiled tighter in her stomach with every failed call.

On the tenth attempt, the line finally clicked.

“Mom?” Relief flooded her voice. But Amelia wasn’t speaking to her.

“Katherine isn’t my daughter?”

The words sliced through the receiver, raw and disbelieving.

Amelia’s voice trembled. “What did you say?”

A pause. “No…”

Then, in a broken whisper that finished what was left of Katherine’s heart: “Where is my daughter? My real daughter…”

The phone slipped from Katherine’s hand and hit the floor.

Everything went quiet. The city lights outside blurred into streaks of color. Soron’s voice echoed in her mind, is the baby okay, followed by his cold, final words to her face. The pieces slammed together with brutal clarity.

He had found her. The real heiress. He had fallen for her, and now she carried his child.

A bitter, broken laugh tore from Katherine’s lips even as hot tears poured down her cheeks.

“So that’s why…”

She had never been enough, because none of it had ever truly been hers. Not the family. Not the love. Not even the name she’d worn so proudly. Her hand reached for the door.

“Miss Katherine!” the driver shouted as the car slowed.

She didn’t hear him. She shoved the door open before the car had fully stopped and stumbled into the street, the night air cold against her wet face. Memories flashed: birthday parties, family portraits, Soron’s rare smiles, all of them belonging to a ghost named Joanna.

She took another stumbling step. A horn blared, deafening. Headlights blinded her, and only then did she realize she had wandered into the street.

The impact was violent. Metal slammed into her side, launching her into the air. She hit the windshield, glass cracking beneath her like brittle ice. For one suspended heartbeat she felt weightless, then she was tumbling over the roof and down onto the pavement.

Pain ripped through every nerve. Warm blood trickled across her forehead and into her eyes.

Footsteps pounded toward her. Was this it? Did the fake heiress meet her end here, in the street?

Then a voice cut through the chaos, deep and raw and desperate.

“Katherine!”

It was a man’s voice she had never heard before, and yet it carried a grief so profound that her shattered heart twisted with an ache deeper than the pain in her body. Who was he? Why did his sorrow feel so familiar?

She wanted to open her eyes. She wanted to reach for that voice.

But the darkness swallowed her whole.