The Real Son Returned—The Fake Heir Panicke

'What a bunch of fools.'

'They'd rather trust an adopted son of unknown origin—and even a nanny—than me.'

'I'm a son who just returned to acknowledge my family. Even an outsider wouldn't be beaten by a nanny in someone else's house, right?'

Calling this a room arrangement was a joke.

This was no different from a prison cell.

A urinal in the room, and I had to carry it to the yard to clean it every morning?

Even rural homes weren't like this anymore.

My mother looked embarrassed and helpless, instinctively turning to my father for guidance.

A flicker of doubt crossed my father's face. He frowned and fell silent, clearly thinking.

Before he could speak, Cedrick cut in.

"Brother, I heard you're from the Loess Plateau," he said casually.

"Don't people there live in cave dwellings? Isn't it normal to empty a urinal every morning?"

"Aunt Millie is honest and hardworking. Why did you bully her?"

"Mom and Dad work so hard every day. Can you stop causing trouble?"

"If you're angry, come at me instead. Why don't you just hit me?"

He looked at me with disdain, as if he had already seen through my so-called ‘schemes.'

My mother immediately pulled him into her arms, heart aching.

"Cedrick, you don't need to endure this. You're the treasure we cherish the most. How could we ever let someone hit you?"

"Try touching him again and I'll make you pay!" Adeline pointed at me and shouted, her voice sharp and vicious like a street thug's.

I sighed.

"Our research institute chose the Loess Plateau to ensure environmental stability for experiments," I said calmly.

"This isn't the 1980s. Who still lives in cave dwellings now?"

"If you didn't want me to come back, you didn't have to go this far."

"Putting a urinal in a villa—has the Zamora family really fallen into such bizarre habits?"

The moment Cedrick realized he had been publicly exposed and was clearly in the wrong, he threw himself into my mother's arms and started crying loudly, like a spoiled child.

And my mother... actually cried along with him.

I pushed the door open.

A cloud of dust surged out, making me cough repeatedly.

The room looked like an unfinished construction site.

The walls were scarred with shovel marks, chunks of plaster peeling off. One of the windows was broken, cold air whistling in.

"Ahem... you're really impressive," I said helplessly, covering my mouth as I coughed.

My father finally saw the room clearly. His face darkened.

"Why hasn't this room been renovated yet?"

"I ordered it a long time ago."

"Dad, it's winter," Cedrick replied awkwardly under my father's gaze.

"No workers are willing to come."

I nearly laughed.

[Is he actually brainless, or just pretending?]

[Do renovation workers choose seasons now? Did he do it himself?]

[No. I have to contact the research institute today.]

[Staying in this dump any longer might actually lower my intelligence. That would be a loss to the country.]

My father was so furious that he immediately arranged for me to stay temporarily in the guest room.

—

News of the Zamora Group's biological son returning home quickly spread.

Some competitors, well aware of the Zamora family's blatant favoritism toward Cedrick, deliberately fanned the flames online, waiting to see the real and fake young masters fight for power and profit.

True to expectations, the Zamora family soon announced a formal recognition banquet.

But I knew very well—this so-called banquet was nothing more than a superficial move to placate the shareholders.

The banquet was scheduled for the evening, yet as the supposed protagonist, I received almost no attention.

Instead, Cedrick bounced around like an overexcited dog—shopping for clothes, contacting clients, acting as though he were the star of the night.