Reclaiming My Life, The True Heiress Strikes Back

He stepped into the room, dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair slicked back to a gleaming perfection. His looks might’ve passed for charming if the following words hadn’t overturned my stomach.

“Alyssa,” James began with the self-assurance of a man who believed the world revolved around him, “I know you’re acting out because you’re madly in love with me. That’s why you keep insisting you’re the Ashford Family’s true daughter.”

The room fell silent as he continued, each word grating more than the last. “But you’ve gone too far today.”

Seeing Elissa’s pearly appearance, he was heartbroken and immediately stated.

“The only person I love from beginning to end is Elissa and I will only marry Elissa as a wife in this life; I won’t look at you more than once, even if you stalk me.”

Then, with an air of smug righteousness, he added, “I’ve seen women like her, you—insatiable, bullying, wanting to be my wife, don’t you look at yourself as a city slut?”

He turned back to Elissa with a saccharine smile, pulling out a handkerchief to gently dab at her tears. “My wife,” he declared, loud enough for the room to hear, “must be as kind and graceful as Elissa.”

I didn’t miss the glint of triumph in Elissa’s eyes as she leaned into his gesture, though she quickly masked it with her usual air of humility. “James,” she murmured, her voice soft and trembling, “don’t speak so harshly about my sister. Sure, she’s a little jealous, a little mean-spirited, a little shallow and maybe she has a habit of twisting the truth and fantasizing about being the real Ashford daughter—but apart from all that, she doesn’t mean any harm.”

When people were speechless, I almost laughed out loud.

James—a man whose family owed their entire fortune to the crumbs of business my parents had tossed their way—accusing me of scheming to marry up? I’m not poor and crazy and I’m not stupid.

Before I could respond, a few guests who were friends with Elissa jumped at the chance to add their own insults.

“Alyssa, look at that face you’re making—are you that bitter? James has made it crystal clear that he’ll only marry Elissa. You’re a clown, so get lost where you came from.”

Someone else snickered behind a raised hand. “She’s probably still dreaming herself into thinking she’s the real Ashford heiress and even dreaming about marrying The Young Master James Hansley.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, but Elissa raised her hand delicately, silencing them. “Please, everyone,” she said, her tone full of false compassion. “Let’s try to be understanding. I was born lucky, but my sister wasn’t. She grew up in a mountain village without a mother and father. Her relatives even sold her to a man in his sixties to be his wife. She’s just desperate for love. We should show her some compassion. After all, people with psychological trauma need support, not scorn.”

I stared at her, speechless.

In my twenty years, I have never seen a person who can be shameless to such an extent.

Every word she spoke was a twisted version of her own story. If my parents hadn’t intervened in time to adopt her, she’d have been married off to that sixty-something-year-old man years ago. Yet here she was, weaponizing her past as my own, painting herself as a saint while making me the villain.

I stepped forward, my voice cold and sharp. “Elissa, if anyone here has psychological trauma, it’s you. If I had known you’d turn out to be this shameless, I would’ve begged my parents to leave you to rot in that mountain village with that sixty-something-year-old man. The two of you would’ve been perfect for each other.”

Elissa’s face turned red, her eyes brimming with tears as she played her part to perfection. “Sister,” she sobbed, her voice breaking, “why must you twist everything around? Must all the misfortunes of the world be my fault for you to feel better? Fine, blame me. If it’ll make you happy, then go ahead. Just... don’t scare our guests anymore, please.”

My eldest brother couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough, Alyssa!” he barked. “Even a dog would be more grateful than you. The Ashford Family should’ve known better than to take you in.”

After saying that, he let my second brother go to the study to get a document.

When I looked at the equity transfer agreement that was taken out and Elissa’s name written on it, I froze in place like lightning struck me.

It was a transfer of ownership document—sixty percent of the Ashford Family’s shares, signed over to Elissa.

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Sixty percent. Enough to control every major decision within the company.

My mind raced. Before I left the country as an exchange student, my father had shown me this very same document, telling me it was meant to be my birthday gift when I returned.

I knew my father wouldn’t lie to me.

But now, here it was, with Elissa Ashford’s name on it.

The only ones who could’ve orchestrated this betrayal were Theodore Ashford and Gregory Ashford—my so-called brothers.