Call Me Fake Heiress? Now I Bought My Ex's Company

Mirena Sterling had always dreamed of the spotlight-of loving and being loved in return.

But she never imagined the universe would grant that dream in such a cruel way.

Now, standing at the center of what should have been her birthday celebration, Mirena felt the world tilt. Reporters swarmed, thrusting microphones and recorders toward her from every direction.

"Mrs. Ashton, is it true you're not the Sterlings' real daughter?"

"Did you steal Camille Sterling's life all these years?"

"Did you deceive George Ashton into marrying you by pretending to be the Sterling heiress?"

Questions hammered at her from all sides. Mirena parted her lips, but the words stuck in her throat, choked by confusion and disbelief.

Not their real daughter? Stolen someone else's life?

Her mind spun. With trembling fingers, she reached for her phone, tucked into the small of her back. She had to know what was happening-had to hear the truth from her parents.

But as she pressed the phone to her ear, her composure shattered.

"The number you have dialed is not available at this time."

The automated voice echoed like a death knell.

Not available?

Her heart hammered. Frantic, she dialed her husband's number.

One ring-then straight to voicemail.

A cold knot tightened in her throat. She stared at the screen, disbelief washing over her.

This couldn't be happening. Not her parents. Not George.

They had planned this birthday together. Just this morning, George had promised-finally-to celebrate with her publicly, for the first time since they'd married. There was no way he would.

A burst of static cut through the noise. Mirena turned as the grand screen at the front of the hall flickered to life, flashing to a news broadcast.

Her breath caught.

There they were-her parents-smiling warmly beside the young woman who had appeared at their doorstep just a week earlier.

Camille.

Her father's voice filled the now-silent hall, crisp and clear.

"Today, after years of searching, Griselda and I are overjoyed to announce that we have finally found our true daughter-Camille Sterling!" He beamed, interlacing his fingers with Camille's and raising their joined hands high.

Mirena's vision sharpened. A bitter taste rose in her throat.

Their true daughter?

Then what did that make her?

Years ago, they had come to the orphanage where she lived and claimed her as their own. Now, they stood on live television, declaring a stranger who had appeared out of nowhere just a week ago as their real child-while she was nothing but an impostor?

How?

Her heart pounded wildly. She tried her parents' number again. When it went unanswered, something inside her cracked.

Clenching her jaw, she held what was left of her composure together and pushed through the crowd. Ignoring the reporters, the flashing cameras, and the mocking stares burning into her back, she flagged a taxi and rushed to the news station.

Less than twenty minutes later, the cab pulled up. Mirena hurried inside.

She spotted her parents at once. But just as she opened her mouth to call out, her mother drew a familiar velvet case. When she opened it, Mirena's breath caught.

Inside lay the 70-carat floral diamond choker-the family heirloom.

The very gift her parents had promised her today.

Now, they were fastening it around Camille's neck.

Betrayal cut deep, but confusion and anger burned hotter.

She needed answers.

She took one step forward-

A hand seized her from behind, yanking her back violently.

Stumbling, she barely caught her balance. Whirling around, she glared at whoever dared manhandle her-

But the fire in her eyes died the moment she met her husband's cold gaze.

"George-" she began, relief trembling in her voice.

"What are you doing here?" His icy tone froze her in place, shattering the fragile hope that he had come to offer comfort.

"George," she tried again, her chest tight with pain as she searched his face. Not a trace of warmth looked back.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "If you're here to ruin Camille's moment, I swear I'll make you regret it."

His words cut deeper than any blade. How could her own husband defend that. that impostor-instead of her?

Tears welled, but she forced them down. "George, how can you say that to me?"

"If you hadn't stolen Camille's life, she and I would never have been forced apart," he shot back, his gaze pure disgust. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? We could have been happy-if not for your scheming."

The accusation struck a raw nerve. Camille. turned out to be the shadow he could never let go. Mirena had believed it was just a part of his past, something that wouldn't touch their marriage. Now she saw the truth: he had always thought her deceitful. Unworthy.

"What's going on here?" Her father's voice cut in, cold and unfamiliar. The warmth he'd once reserved for her was gone-replaced by clear revulsion.

Mirena stood there, painfully aware of her faded dress, greasy hair, and bare face-the very picture of a worn-out housewife. Facing her, Camille glowed in a designer gown, her rich brown hair shining, her makeup flawless.

There was no question who looked like the true Sterling.

"Dad-" Mirena began, but he cut her off sharply.

"You have no right to call me that."

His cruel rejection pierced like a blade. "But before. you were the ones who-"

"Did you truly believe we would never discover how you falsified the DNA results?" Her mother's voice was sharp, unforgiving. "You illegally took her place!"

The words only left Mirena more bewildered. They had been the ones to come to the orphanage-they had insisted she was the daughter they'd spent years searching for.

Now they were rewriting history without a second thought?

"I illegally took her place?" She stared at these strangers who had once been her parents, disbelief hardening into anger. "I never wanted any of this. You begged me to come home."

"That was before we knew the depths of your deceit," Duncan Sterling cut in, his voice like ice. "You should consider yourself fortunate we aren't pressing charges."

"Do you have any idea how much pain your greed has caused our real daughter?" Griselda snapped, her gaze shifting to Camille and softening at once. "Oh, my poor darling."

"It's alright, Mom and Dad." Camille's voice was smooth as silk, sweetly innocent-a sound that grated on Mirena's nerves.

"Now that Camille has returned to where she belongs," her father declared, "it's time for you to crawl back to whatever shadow you came from."

"Out of respect for these past years-and at Camille's generous request-we will not pursue legal action. But don't you dare expect another cent from this family."

A bitter laugh nearly escaped Mirena. All these years, she had borne the Sterling name yet never truly enjoyed its privileges. Instead, she had sacrificed her own freedom-marrying a man she barely knew for the sake of their so-called "family legacy." Had they been blind to everything she'd given up?

As if the humiliation wasn't enough, George spoke again, cold and final. "I'll have the divorce papers drawn up immediately. Don't make this difficult, Mirena. You were never meant to be my wife."

Then, in front of everyone, he took Camille's hand and led her away. As Camille passed, she "accidentally" bumped into Mirena, still reeling from the shock. Mirena stumbled and fell hard onto the floor.

No one looked back.

Only the echo of laughter and the relentless flash of cameras surrounded her.

Clenching her fists until her nails bit into her palms, she refused to let a single tear fall.

She pushed through the crowd of vultures, fleeing the hall-alone, exposed, but unbroken.

The sky had turned heavy and gray as Mirena stepped out of the station. A moment later, the clouds broke, and rain poured down, drenching her completely.

Each drop felt like ice against her skin-tiny, sharp reminders of the betrayal she had just faced. She ignored the chill, forcing herself toward the taxi stand, when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out, wiping raindrops from the screen with a trembling hand. One glance at the sender soured her mood further-Iris, George's younger sister, the other haunting troublemaker in her marriage.

Her finger hovered a moment before she tapped to open the message.

[In the Ashton house, there's no room for a fake like you! Don't bother coming back!]

A second later, another notification lit up her screen-a photo. Her belongings, piled carelessly in front of the Ashton manor, were drenched just like her.

Mirena's chest tightened. Her lips parted, but no words came out-only a hollow, broken laugh.

'So this is how it ends,' she thought, swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat.

Five years. Five years of walking on eggshells, bending over backward to meet their every demand-to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. And in return?

They treated her like trash.

If only they knew how much that "trash" had sacrificed for them. All for a family that was never hers, and a marriage doomed from the start.

But they were blind. And she-she had been the biggest fool of all for not seeing it sooner.

With a stiff, cold finger, she navigated to the top of the screen, tapped the three dots, and blocked Iris's number without another thought.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket and took an unsteady step forward. Suddenly, the world tilted at the edges. Her vision blurred. She staggered, blinking back a swarm of black dots clouding her sight.

Gripping her composure tightly, she scanned the rain-swept street for shelter-any refuge from the storm.

Her eyes landed on a café awning not far away. But just as she moved toward it, a sleek luxury car sliced through the rain, pulling to a sharp stop right before her. Muddy water splashed up, soaking her feet and the hem of her already ruined dress.

She froze, staring down at the dirty water, then back at the car-just as the driver's door opened and a man in a uniform hurried to open the rear passenger door.

First, a sleek black umbrella emerged. Then, long legs in impeccably tailored trousers and polished dress shoes. And finally-the man himself stepped out.

Recognition flashed through Mirena as her gaze locked with a pair of cool, ashen eyes.

Eyes belonging to the last person she ever wanted to see in this state.

Alexander Pierce.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. She stood motionless, rain plastering her hair to her cheeks, as his gaze swept over her-cold, assessing, leaving no detail unnoticed.

In several long strides, he closed the distance between them. He stopped just before her, his eyes traveling from her drenched hair to her mud-splashed shoes with a scrutiny that felt like a violation.

Then came the scoff. Sharp, derisive-it pierced what little dignity she had left.

"So this is what you've become, Mirena." His voice was velvet wrapped in ice, each word deliberate. "Who would have guessed the woman they hailed as the queen of investments could be brought so low-and for what? Love? How utterly pathetic."

The words stung, but she refused to let them show. A faint, defiant smile touched her lips, though her voice wavered as she replied, "Pathetic?" She gave him a slow, deliberate once-over. He looked impeccable-not that she'd ever admit it. "Then what does that make you?"

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his ash-gray eyes. A silent challenge hung between them in the rain-heavy air.

She took a step forward-into the dry space beneath his umbrella, boldly invading his sanctuary.

"It took me five years to fall this far," she said, her voice gaining strength. "Yet in all that time, you never once managed to surpass me. Tell me, Alexander-who's the real disappointment here?"

A crack formed in his carefully crafted composure, so rare that the very air seemed to still around them. His driver shivered involuntarily-even after all these years, only Ms. Mirena could unravel the Boss so completely.

"You still have no sense of self-preservation, Mirena," Alexander bit out, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. But she didn't flinch. After years of rivalry, she knew every one of his weaknesses.

"Am I wrong, Xander?" She tilted her head, deliberately using the nickname he despised. "I stepped away for five years-gave you every opportunity. And yet, you still couldn't swallow the empire I built."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He seized her chin, his grip unyielding. "Be careful. I'm not the man I was five years ago. Even if you come back now, you may not be able to keep up."

"So what you're saying is. you only caught up because I was gone?" She laughed softly, stretching her neck like a proud swan, even as her pulse fluttered under his thumb. "You could say thank you. I'd accept it graciously."

Rage simmered in his eyes. He drew a slow breath, then released her. She took a half-step back but didn't leave the shelter of his umbrella.

"You've always been sharp with that tongue of yours. Pity you never used it on that family of yours." His tone was mocking, and Mirena went still. He had struck a nerve-and the flicker of satisfaction in his chest was edged with something darker, something like anger.

"That's none of your concern," she said coldly, her hands curling into fists.

"Oh, but it is," Alexander countered smoothly. "When my greatest rival takes a fall, of course I'll come to watch the show."

"Then let's see if you've earned the right to watch," she shot back-and this time, it was her hand that closed around his throat. He didn't look startled. If anything, a trace of approval flashed in his gaze. Good. Five years wasted, but she hasn't gone soft.

He waited, watching her, challenging her next move.

But before she could speak again, her steps faltered. She swayed-and collapsed against his chest.

He stiffened at the sudden contact, glancing down with a furrowed brow. "What are you-"

Before he could finish, her body went limp against his, slipping downward. His arms closed around her just before she hit the ground.

"Mirena?"

No response.

He reached out, the back of his gloved hand pressing against her forehead. Even through the leather, her skin burned.

He pulled back with a low, irritated click of his tongue. His gaze swept the rain-drenched street before settling again on her unconscious form. A heavy sigh escaped him.

Effortlessly, he scooped her into his arms with one swift motion while retrieving his phone from his coat pocket. His fingers moved across the screen, and within seconds, he was speaking into the receiver, his voice low and commanding.

"Be at the Pierce Estate in thirty minutes or forget your job."

He ended the call without waiting for a reply and turned toward the car, Mirena held securely against his chest.

"Drive fast," he ordered the driver as he settled into the backseat, his voice tight with an unfamiliar tension.

~~*~~

Upon getting home, Michael House, his personal doctor, was already waiting by the door.

He stared at Alexander like he'd suddenly grown two heads as he watched him carry a limp woman into his personal bedroom.

Once he'd set her on the bed, Alexander took a step back. "Are you waiting for an invitation to do your job?"

That was all it took. Michael moved swiftly, his practiced hands checking vitals, assessing her condition with quiet efficiency.

Half an hour later, he stepped away, shaking his head slightly.

"Well?" Alexander's voice was clipped. He stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his back to the light.

"Severe mental strain, prolonged reliance on antidepressants, and physical exhaustion," Michael reported, then added under his breath, "It's a miracle she's lasted this long. She must have incredible resilience-"

"Resilience?" Alexander cut him off, the word dripping with irony. "She held an empire in her hands and traded it for people who never valued her. Does that sound like strength to you-or profound foolishness?"

Michael studied him for a moment, then ventured carefully, "You don't seem particularly pleased, Mr. Pierce."

Alexander's gaze slid toward him, cold and assessing. "Taking up psychology now, Michael? Enjoy analyzing people?" His tone was deceptively smooth, edged with warning. "Keep it up, and I'll withdraw all medical equipment funding next year."

That shut Michael up. With a nervous chuckle, he added, "Her condition is stable. Call me if there's any change." He gathered his belongings with a respectful nod and left without another word.

The door clicked shut, leaving a heavy, weighted silence in its wake.

Alexander turned toward the bed, his gaze lingering on Mirena's still form.

Against the stark sheets, her face looked unnaturally pale. Her brow was furrowed, lashes trembling as if wrestling with some unseen torment. A single tear traced a path from the corner of her eye, followed by a soft, broken whimper.

He moved to her side with silent grace and rested his hand against her forehead. Almost instantly, the tension in her features eased, her breathing deepening into something more peaceful.

He watched her, unmoving, for a long moment. But as he began to withdraw his touch, the room's stillness was shattered by the shrill ring of her phone.

His eyes cut to the nightstand. The name flashing on the screen-George-darkened his expression in an instant.

In one fluid motion, he snatched the device, powered it off without a second thought, and tossed it carelessly onto the bed.

A nuisance like George had caused enough damage.

Let him wait. His reckoning will come.

Mirena woke to a dull throbbing in her temples. She blinked slowly, her vision hazy as she scanned the unfamiliar room.

As her surroundings sharpened into focus-the elegant furnishings, the subtle scent of sandalwood, and something distinctly masculine-she bolted upright.

This wasn't her room. Nor any place she recognized.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the sound of running water cut off. The bathroom door swung open.

Out stepped Alexander, wearing nothing but a loosely tied robe, water still glistening along the lines of his chest.

For a moment, Mirena froze. Then, the memories of the previous day washed over her-the humiliation, the rain, his voice.

She was about to curse herself for showing such weakness in front of the one man who least deserved to see it, when instinct took over. Her eyes darted across the sheets, checking her clothes, searching for any sign she'd been touched.

Finding herself fully dressed, she released a quiet breath.

A low, knowing chuckle cut through the silence.

"Relax," Alexander drawled, running a towel through his damp hair. "In your current state, you're hardly in any condition to tempt a man."

Mirena's eyes narrowed. What Alexander didn't know was that throughout her five-year marriage, her mother-in-law and sister-in-law had constantly taunted her for lacking the charm to keep George's attention. Having her appeal questioned had become a raw nerve-and Xander was now dancing all over it.

She kicked off the covers and strode toward him without a word.

Alexander turned, expecting a sharp retort. What he didn't expect was for her to reach out without hesitation and tug hard on the tie of his robe.

In an instant, the fabric fell open, pooling at his feet. Mirena tilted her head, letting her gaze travel over him with deliberate, unhurried scrutiny.

"Hmm," she hummed, feigning disappointment. "Seems we're in the same boat. From the look of things, you don't have much to tempt a woman either, do you?"

A vein throbbed at Alexander's temple. His composure shattered. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, pinning her firmly but not painfully to the bed.

"Careful, Mirena," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't forget who picked you up off the streets yesterday when you were nothing but a drenched, helpless puppy."

His face was dangerously close, the fury in his eyes unmistakable-yet Mirena didn't flinch. She met his gaze steadily, her breath even, her composure unshaken.

"Is that so?" She arched a brow, a sly curve playing on her lips. "I don't recall asking for your help. Wasn't it your own choice to bring me here?"

For a moment, Alexander looked as if he wanted to strangle the ungrateful woman. "If it weren't for me, you'd be lying dead in some alley."

"And?" She tilted her head. "What do you want, then? For me to repay you with my body?"

He stiffened, then released her abruptly as if she'd burned him. "Did five years as a housewife rot your brain? A stubborn woman like you holds no appeal. Even if you were the last woman on earth, I'd rather die than share a bed with you."

Mirena's smile only sweetened. "Are you sure?" In one fluid move, she caught his wrist as he tried to turn away. In the next heartbeat, their positions reversed-she was above him, pinning him down.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

"You'd rather die than sleep with me," she murmured, leaning in until her lips hovered just a breath from his. Her gaze, however, remained cool and clear. Alexander clenched his fists, fighting to steady the sudden wild rhythm in his chest.

She held him there, suspended in tension, watching him closely. Just as he began to sway toward her, she pulled away.

"Not bad," she remarked, her tone regaining its familiar pride as she released him. "It seems you do have some self-control. And just so we're clear-the feeling is entirely mutual. So it's good to know I'm perfectly safe around you."

Without looking back to see the storm on his face, she slid off the bed and walked calmly toward the bathroom. As she went, she let her dress slip carelessly from her shoulders and pool on the floor. Now that she had confirmed his lack of interest, she felt secure in her own skin.

As longtime rivals, they knew each other too well to ever cross that line.

The moment she stepped into the bathroom, a loud crash echoed behind her-the bedroom door slamming shut with enough force to shake the walls.

Mirena refused to let that bother her. What she needed now was the solace of a hot bath.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the steam, the faint, lingering scent of Alexander's cologne still hanging in the air. As she faced her reflection in the mirror, a memory surfaced-sharp and unbidden.

Five years ago, just before her wedding to George, she had made a wager with Alexander. If she could make George fall in love with her within five years, she would win thirty percent of Nexus Global-the crown jewel of New York's investment scene, and one of Alexander's most prized companies. If she lost, she would owe him thirty percent of Octa Investments, the firm she had built from nothing.

Like every challenge before it, Mirena had thrown herself into the bet, determined not to lose.

But now, with a quiet sigh of defeat, she picked up her phone and initiated the transfer.

She had lost to Alexander. Again.

The truth left a bitter taste in her mouth. She clicked her tongue, studying her own face in the glass. As much as she hated to admit it, the woman staring back was no longer the one people once respected without question. Years of playing the subdued housewife, the placeholder, had dulled her edges-had made her someone she barely recognized.

But that chapter was over. No more clipping her own wings for a family that didn't value her, a husband who didn't see her worth.

It was time to reclaim the throne she'd left behind.

With renewed resolve flashing in her eyes, she dressed quickly and threw one of Alexander's long coats over her shoulders.

Then she strode out of the room, ignoring the stunned stares of the household staff as an unfamiliar woman emerged confidently from their master's private suite.

Once outside, she dialed George's number and pressed the phone to her ear.

He picked up on the fifth ring. "Mirena, do you have any idea how many times I've-"

She cut him off cleanly, her tone icy and controlled. "You want a divorce, don't you? Then meet me at the Hills. Let's settle this now."