The Day a Counterfeit Heiress Ruined My Rise

At the company's annual meeting, my promotion opportunity goes to an intern instead. I confront Mitchell Wilson, a manager, only to be publicly humiliated.

"The industry is in a slump, yet you have the best sales performance in the entire company. Who knows how you get your clients?"

I drank until my stomach bled and ended up in the hospital in the middle of the night. I have forced a smile while serving arrogant, sleazy executives. Yet, none of that feels as humiliating as this moment.

My ex-boyfriend looks at me gloatingly while holding the intern's hand as they plan a celebration party.

Before leaving, he mocks me, "Yvette is the Saccone Group heiress. Once her evaluation period ends, she will go back to inherit the company. Who do you think you are?"

I frown in confusion—I am the Saccone Group heiress.

"Wasn't Annabeth supposed to get promoted? How did a rookie intern who just joined the company leapfrog over her?"

"I thought she had it in the bag when she popped the champagne and treated the whole company to coffee. Turns out she's nothing but a joke!"

The murmurs around me made me want to disappear.

Yvette Saccone glanced my way, holding up a microphone as she spoke.

"I owe my promotion entirely to Annabeth's guidance. If she hadn't made me stay up late writing proposals, run out in the pouring rain to buy coffee, and forced me to apologize to her, I wouldn't be where I am today!"

I ignored her thinly veiled mockery and pushed through the crowd until I reached Mitchell Wilson.

"Yvette is just an intern. She doesn't even know the most basic negotiation techniques. How can she be promoted to team lead all of a sudden? I've been with this company for six years. I have the highest performance record and the most experience. Why is she the one getting promoted?" I argued.

To secure major contracts, I drank until my stomach bled and spent the night in the hospital, only to return the next day with medication in hand, smiling and drinking alongside clients.

I had signed performance-based agreements on my own initiative, working past one in the morning and returning to the office before five, pushing myself to the brink just to close deals.

The relentless grind had left me with chronic health problems.

Now, the project was complete, and every member of the team had received a bonus of 10,000 dollars because of my efforts.

What gave them the right to promote Yvette over me?

Faced with my questions, Mitchell frowned.

"You've been here six years without a promotion. Maybe you should look for problems within yourself. Questioning me won't help, got it? Besides, Yvette never boasts about her contributions. That's the difference between the two of you."

His words left me frozen in place. Before I could respond, he spoke again. His face was filled with disdain.

A malicious smile spread across his lips as he stepped closer, his gaze slithering over me like a cold, slimy serpent.

"Besides, everyone knows your performance comes from your messy private life. You use your body to curry favor with powerful clients. That's common knowledge, isn't it?

"Not long ago, Mr. Wilkins wore you out so badly you couldn't even get out of bed. You took a sick day, and even Preston wanted to break up with you. Our company doesn't condone that kind of behavior."

Preston Linley was my ex-boyfriend. He and I had shared an office romance.

The moment Mitchell mentioned him, he appeared from the sidelines and chimed in, "Annabeth isn't that kind of person. Even if she stays out all night drinking with clients behind my back and gives them her personal lingerie, she's still a decent girl!"

The moment he mentioned lingerie, whispers erupted among the onlookers. His words instantly sparked a chorus of agreement.

Cassandra Cole said it explained the love bites that were always visible on my skin, Mitchell remarked that it was no wonder I consistently secured the most contracts, and Yvette chimed in, saying that was why I had so much experience.

I was drowned in speculation. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I forced myself to explain, "That was because my clothes got soaked in the rain. The client kindly let me change in his office…"

The truth was that I had been set up.

He had taken advantage of the situation to steal my underwear, and I had only managed to retrieve it after calling the police.

I had been too ashamed to tell anyone. I had only cried to Preston for comfort, and now it had turned into a cruel joke.

I tried to defend myself, but no one wanted to listen.

They surrounded me, eagerly discussing my scandal.

Yvette even brought up my recent illness to mock me. "A stomach problem isn't that serious. I bet she had an abortion and didn't dare to admit it. Who knows whose child it was?"

I glared at her, disgusted by the smile on her face.

Not long ago, I had worked through the night to follow up on a project with Hector Group, worsening my stomach condition and landing myself in the hospital. Yet in just one night, Yvette had gone behind my back and pitched herself to the client online.

Harassed beyond endurance, the client eventually withdrew from the deal. Before leaving, he had warned me, "Has your intern been watching too many soap operas? Every time she sees me, she splashes red wine all over me.

"I've ruined more than thirty shirts and over a dozen pairs of pants because of her. Someone who's that unprofessional should be fired immediately."

I relayed his words to Yvette, advising her not to take such underhanded shortcuts. But instead, she had glared at me with tears in her eyes and snapped, "You're just jealous because I'm younger than you! An old hag like you couldn't sell herself even if she wanted to!"

At the time, I had dismissed her behavior as youthful ignorance and quietly cleaned up her messes behind the scenes. Even when she didn't know how to use the printer, I patiently taught her over and over again.

As it turned out, she believed I had slept my way to success and even gotten an abortion.