The Fake Daughter Took Everything, So I Destroyed Them

It had been exactly four years since I was dragged out of these very gates in the dead of night.

Back then, I was shivering, poisoned, and branded a permanent disgrace to the Mercer family name.

They had dumped me in a remote mountain village to rot and die. They thought I would just disappear. They thought the poison running through my veins would finish the job.

But I didn't die.

Now, I stood before the grand entrance once more.

In the sunken living room, my biological parents, Richard and Evelyn Mercer, sat stiffly on a tufted velvet sofa.

Beside them sat Candice. The "Fake Daughter."

The girl my parents had adopted before miraculously finding me, their biological child.

But they quickly realized they preferred the polished, obedient fake over the rough-around-the-edges real one.

"You're late," Evelyn snapped.

I walked forward, my expression completely blank. "Traffic."

"We didn't bring you back from that backwater village to catch up, Lorraine," he said coldly. "The Mercer Corporation is facing a severe liquidity crisis. The Sinclair family has offered us a massive capital injection, but it comes with a non-negotiable condition."

He paused, his eyes locking onto mine. "A marriage."

Candice immediately dabbed her perfectly dry eyes with a lace handkerchief.

"Lorraine, I'm so sorry," her soft, fragile voice rang out. "I wanted to fulfill the contract, I really did, but my health... the doctors say my heart simply couldn't take the stress."

"The groom is Brandon Sinclair," Richard interrupted.

My eyes flickered, though my expression remained entirely placid.

The ruthless, untouchable tyrant of the capital’s business world. Or, at least, he was—until a horrific car accident a month ago left him paralyzed from the waist down.

Rumors whispered that his face had been horribly disfigured by the ensuing fire. The chronic pain had allegedly reduced his temperament to that of a violent, dying beast.

The doctors had given him less than six months to live.

The Sinclair elders were desperate. They were demanding a bride to ward off the bad luck—a superstitious, traditional marriage meant to cheat death.

"Candice is far too frail to endure a man like that," Evelyn said coldly, lifting her chin. "And she is already happily engaged to Ashton."

She looked at me like I was a piece of trash on the side of the road.

"You, on the other hand, have ruined your reputation. No decent family in this city would ever take you in after the scandal you caused four years ago. This is your chance to finally be useful. To repay the family that gave you life."

Just then, footsteps echoed sharply from the grand marble staircase.

Ashton descended, looking every bit the arrogant, golden-boy heir.

He bypassed me entirely, walking straight to Candice and wrapping a fiercely protective arm around her delicate waist.

Then, he turned his gaze to me.

He was my childhood fiancé. The man who was supposed to marry me.

We had grown up together. I had once looked at him with stars in my eyes.

But the moment Candice framed me, he didn't even hesitate. He threw me away like garbage.

"Don't try to play the victim here, Lorraine," Ashton sneered, his lip curling. "You should be on your knees thanking us. With your tainted history, marrying into the Sinclair family—even to a dying cripple—is a massive step up for a country bumpkin like you. You'll be a widow in a year with a fat settlement."

He actually had the nerve to say that to me!

"Just sign the papers, keep your head down, and stay out of Candice's way," Ashton warned, his voice dripping with malice. "Don't think for a second you can use this tragic little arrangement to get back at me or ruin our happiness. You and I are finished."

The room fell silent.

They expected tears. They expected me to fall to my knees, to scream about the unfairness of it all, to beg them not to send me to the bed of a disfigured monster.

Instead, I let out a soft, breathy chuckle.

"Where are the papers?" I asked.

Richard frowned, visibly taken aback by my eerie calm. Hesitantly, he pushed a thick, leather-bound folder across the glass coffee table.

I leaned over, picked up the gold Montblanc pen lying next to the folder, and flipped to the last page.

I didn't read the terms. I simply signed my name with a sharp, elegant flourish.

I tossed the pen back onto the table. It clattered loudly, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the stunned silence of the living room.

"There," I said, my lips curving into a faint, mocking smile.

I shifted my gaze directly to Ashton. His smug, arrogant expression was rapidly beginning to falter into confusion.

"Though, Ashton, you really should watch your tone from now on."

Ashton bristled. "Excuse me?"

"I signed the papers," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, silken purr. "Which means I am now officially married to your older brother Brandon who owns your company. That makes me your sister in law and boss."

Ashton’s face drained of color, then flooded with a mottled, ugly shade of red.

I tilted my head, my eyes flashing with a dark, predatory amusement.

"I expect you to greet me with proper respect at the next family dinner, brother in law."

"You—!" Ashton stepped forward, his fists clenching.

But I had already turned my back on him.

"Goodbye, Mother, Father," I said over my shoulder, my voice echoing in the grand hall. "Take care of your health. You're going to need it."