The Fake Heiress Cancels Her Engagement

Two NYPD detectives and a woman wearing a CPS badge stepped onto the thick Persian rug of the living room.

Eleanor stood in the center of the room. She had already adjusted her posture, slipping into the impenetrable, arrogant armor of a New York socialite.

"I don't care who called you," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with condescension. "You do not enter my home without my legal counsel present. My husband's lawyers are already on their way."

The lead detective, a heavy-set man in a cheap suit, didn't flinch.

"Mrs. McConnell, we received an anonymous tip regarding the intentional assault of a minor on these premises. We don't need your lawyers to ask a few preliminary questions."

The butler walked into the room, leading a girl behind him.

Harriet.

She wore an oversized, faded gray hoodie and cheap denim jeans. She stood near the edge of the room, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Her face was completely blank. She looked at the police, then at Eleanor, with the detached boredom of someone watching a bad play.

A man stepped out from the shadows of the hallway corridor. Alistair Finch. He wore a tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses, looking every bit the high-end private physician.

Alistair pushed his glasses up his nose and looked directly at the detectives.

"Officers," Alistair said smoothly. "As the family's attending physician, I can confirm Miss Diana suffered a severe concussion from a fall. And she..." He pointed a manicured finger at Harriet. "...was the only one standing at the top of the stairs with her."

Eleanor's head snapped toward Harriet. Her eyes widened with pure, unfiltered hatred.

"You," Eleanor hissed, taking a step toward her biological daughter. "You dragged your filthy, barbaric habits straight from that Ohio trailer park into my home. You tried to kill my daughter!"

The detective pulled out a small notepad and clicked his pen. He turned to Harriet.

"Miss, we need you to answer some questions about the incident."

Harriet didn't defend herself. She didn't even look at the detective. Her dark, penetrating eyes simply shifted, glancing up toward the second-floor staircase landing.

Diana stood there.

She gripped the polished mahogany railing. She wore a white silk robe, the white gauze bandage stark against her forehead.

The entire room went dead silent. Every eye turned to her.

Alistair immediately walked toward the base of the stairs, holding out a hand.

"Miss Diana, please, you shouldn't be out of bed. Tell the officers what happened. Tell them how she pushed you."

Diana ignored his hand. She walked down the remaining steps, her bare feet making no sound on the wood. She walked straight past Alistair and stopped right in front of the two detectives.

She took a deep breath. She dug her nails into her palms.

"There was no assault," Diana said. Her voice was clear, cutting through the tension in the room.

The air in the living room froze.

"Diana, what are you saying?" Eleanor gasped, rushing forward to grab her arm. "Don't be afraid of her! Tell them the truth!"

Diana turned to Eleanor. She let her shoulders drop, softening her expression into one of deep guilt.

"Mom, I can't lie to the police," Diana said softly. She looked back at the detectives. "I was wearing new heels. I misjudged the distance and slipped on the marble edge. It was entirely my fault."

Alistair's face tightened. The smooth, confident mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of intense irritation. His trap was perfectly set, and the victim had just dismantled it herself.

Diana continued, her voice steady. "Harriet was at least five feet away from me. She didn't touch me. She couldn't have."

Harriet finally moved. She tilted her head slightly. For the first time, a flicker of genuine curiosity broke through the cold indifference in her eyes as she stared at Diana.

The detective stopped writing. He looked at Diana, then at Harriet, and finally snapped his notepad shut.

"Well," the detective grumbled. "If the victim states it was an accident, there's no crime here."

The CPS worker stepped forward, her brow furrowed. "What about the boy? The tip mentioned a minor being subjected to unauthorized medical procedures."

Diana didn't miss a beat. She looked at the butler. "Show them the medical proxy."

The butler quickly retrieved a thick leather binder from the side table and handed it to the CPS worker.

"As you can see right there in the highlighted clauses," the butler stated smoothly, picking up the slack as Diana leaned back against the banister, feigning exhaustion. "Jorden Watson is under a legally binding medical guardianship. All procedures are meticulously overseen by licensed professionals. Furthermore, per page four, his independent trust fund receives a monthly compensation of twenty thousand dollars for his... donations. It is an entirely legal, mutually beneficial arrangement."

The CPS worker scanned the documents. Her lips thinned in disgust, but she handed the binder back. In New York, money and ironclad contracts beat morality every time.

"We're done here," the detective muttered.

The moment the heavy front doors clicked shut behind the police, Eleanor exploded.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Eleanor screamed, grabbing Diana by the shoulders. "Why did you protect that little savage? We could have sent her to juvenile detention!"

Diana didn't answer Eleanor.

She gently pulled out of her mother's grip. She turned around and faced Harriet.

The two girls looked at each other across the expanse of the Persian rug.

"I'm sorry," Diana said quietly.