The True Heiress Returns: I Inherit a Fortune

It had been ten years since I, Aubrey Harding, was adopted by the Harding family. Now, their biological daughter, Yolanda Harding, was back.

At my adoptive parents' memorial service, my fiancé, Braeden Hewitt, stood right there with Yolanda, demanding I give up my entire inheritance.

"Compared to you, the fake, Yolanda is the true heiress of the Harding family. You don't deserve any of this."

The guests hadn't even all left yet. Tears welled in my eyes. "Today is my foster parents' funeral. Can't we talk about this another day?"

He sneered. "No. It has to be today."

I took a deep breath and nodded in agreement.

What he didn't know was that my biological parents were billionaires.

Later, when Braeden's company faced a financial crisis, I just happened to hold my family reunion banquet that same day.

He knelt outside the banquet hall with Yolanda, begging and crying, "For old times' sake, can't you just help me out?"

I just mimicked his expression from that day, a cold sneer on my face. "Nope."

...

The day after the memorial, I started packing.

The Harding family mansion was huge, almost eerily empty.

I'd lived there for ten years, but it always felt like I was just a long-term guest.

My adoptive parents were good to me. They fed me, clothed me, sent me to the best schools, but there was always this invisible wall between us.

Braeden was the only one in those ten years who ever made me feel truly accepted.

Now, looking back, it was all a joke.

My belongings didn't take up much space. A single suitcase was enough.

At the doorway, I took one last look back.

In the living room, Yolanda was leaning against Braeden, ordering the housekeeper to throw out everything I'd ever used.

"All that junk? So dirty. Get rid of everything. Don't leave a single thing."

Yolanda's voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the room.

I stopped but didn't turn around, just seared that humiliating scene into my memory.

Lupita Wilson, the housekeeper who'd been there all ten years I had, wanted to help me with my suitcase, but Yolanda snapped at her.

"Lupita, get it straight. Who runs this house now?"

Lupita's hand froze mid-air, her face etched with discomfort.

Braeden, his arm around Yolanda's waist, walked over and looked down at me.

"Aubrey, don't make a scene by hanging around. It's pathetic."

His voice dripped with undisguised disgust, like the very carpet beneath my feet would be tainted by my presence.

I lifted my eyes, looking past him to Yolanda.

"Ms. Harding, excuse me."

Yolanda bristled like a cat whose tail got stepped on. She tightened her grip on Braeden's arm, puffing out her chest in a defiant pose.

"Braeden's my fiancé now. You should probably remember that."

Yolanda gloated, a triumphant smirk plastered on her face.

Braeden seemed to dig her act. He pinched her cheek, then coldly held out his hand to me.

"Actually, hand over the ring. It doesn't belong to you."

He meant the engagement ring on my finger.

I looked down and slowly slid the ring off my finger.

The cool metal was gone, leaving just a faint red mark behind.

Just as they probably thought I'd humbly hand it over, I flicked my wrist. The ring spun through the air, a cold, shiny arc, and landed in the garbage bag at Yolanda's feet. The bag was full of "my junk."

"Ding!" The sound was sharp and jarring, like the death knell for my ridiculous past.

"That seems like the right place for it," I said.

Braeden's face turned dark with anger. He stepped forward and grabbed my wrist.

"What the hell is your problem?"

His grip was tight, like he wanted to crush the bones in my arm.

I didn't fight it. I just looked at him calmly, like he was a complete stranger.

The face I once had a crush on was now just twisted and ugly. I barely even felt the pain in my wrist, just a wave of pure disgust.

"Let go. Anything you've touched feels dirty to me too."

He seemed thrown by my reaction, hesitating for a second.

I used the chance to pull my hand free, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out that door that had held me captive for ten years, without a backward glance.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Braeden.

"Leave the key under the doormat. Don't even think about taking anything that isn't yours. You came with nothing, so don't be greedy on your way out."

I read it, deleted it, and blocked his number.

Immediately after, a call came in from an unknown number.

I answered. A respectful, steady male voice spoke on the other end.

"Ms. Harding, the car is waiting for you out front. Your parents have been waiting for you for a very long time."

I took a deep breath, pushing down the tightness in my throat.

"Okay. I'm coming out now."

Settling into the sleek black Bentley, I finally let the tears fall.

After ten years, I finally woke from the dream of living at others' mercy.

I didn't go see my biological parents right away.

The assistant who called himself Zayn Lincoln got me settled in a massive penthouse downtown.

"Your parents know you've been through a lot. They want you to take your time. No pressure."

Then Zayn handed me a black card. "This is your allowance, Ms. Harding. No password, no limit."

I stared at the card, remembering Braeden's text about me not being greedy.

The irony was so thick you could taste it.

Zayn seemed to read my mind. He added, "Some people have no idea what's coming. They'll get what's theirs."

That evening, Zayn sent me an e-invite.

"There's a charity gala and auction tomorrow night. The Harding family and Braeden will be there. Your mother thought you might want to go, just to get out."

I knew better. It wasn't about getting out. It was about scoping out the enemy.

I typed a quick "Got it."

Scrolling through the Facebook, I saw Yolanda's latest post.

She was in a fancy evening gown, with a dazzling sapphire necklace around her neck. The caption read, "Thanks, Mom, for the necklace. I love it."

I recognized that necklace. It was my adoptive mother's most treasured piece. She'd shown it to me on my eighteenth birthday, promising it would be my wedding gift when I got married.

Now, it was draped around Yolanda's neck.

The pain was so sharp it just went numb, leaving nothing but cold emptiness.

I laughed. The sound was echoing in the empty penthouse.

The perfect bride? Marrying Braeden?

It all seemed like a meticulously crafted lie, a decade-long joke.

And I was the punchline, the most pathetic clown on that stage.

They'd not only stolen my life but were now flaunting the last tangible memory of my mother like some war trophy.

Fine. If they loved the spotlight so much, I'd give them an even bigger stage and let them have at it.

Just then, an old high school friend, someone I hadn't heard from in ages, sent me a few screenshots.

It was Braeden's crew, their group chat.

"Braeden, man, you finally dumped that dead weight!"

"Seriously, an adopted kid acting like she's a princess? Yolanda's the real deal!"

"When are you and Yolanda getting engaged, Braeden? We're ready for the wedding!"

Braeden had replied below. "Soon. Once I deal with some trash, I'll send out the invites."

Then a string of "congrats" and ass-kissing.

I shut off my phone, deleting those crappy chat logs for good.

The screen went dark, reflecting my blank face, my eyes glinting with a cold, hard resolve.

The next afternoon, the styling team Zayn sent showed up right on time.

Leading them was an elegant woman who introduced herself as Amy Warren, my mother's personal stylist.

"Ms. Harding, your mother picked out a few gowns for you. See which one you like," Amy said.

A whole rack of couture dresses rolled in, each shimmering with a unique glow. It was the kind of luxury I'd only ever glimpsed in magazines.

I ended up choosing a seemingly understated black velvet gown, adorned only with delicate scattered diamonds at the waist.

Amy styled my hair, then opened a velvet box.

Inside was a ruby set that burned with a fire so intense it hurt to look at.

"Your father had this specially acquired for you. He believes his daughter deserves something with passion."

I stared at the stranger in the mirror. The girl from the Harding house in faded clothes felt like someone from another lifetime.

The dinner party was held on the top floor of the city's most luxurious hotel. Crystal chandeliers glittered with light, and the place buzzed with fancy outfits and clinking glasses.

I walked into the venue on Zayn's arm, instantly drawing a lot of attention.

Soon enough, I spotted Braeden and Yolanda in the crowd.

Yolanda was clinging to Braeden, beaming from ear to ear, and the sapphire necklace around her neck sparkled under the lights.

When she saw me, her smile froze, replaced by a look of judgment and disdain.

Braeden frowned too, his eyes full of scrutiny and annoyance, as if my presence somehow sullied this high-class event.

Yolanda pulled Braeden towards me, then "accidentally" bumped into a socialite right in front of me, splashing her red wine in my direction.

I was ready for it, though. I sidestepped, and the wine ended up all over her own expensive gown.

She shrieked, drawing everyone's attention.

"You!" she snapped, pointing a furious finger at me.

Before I could even open my mouth, a well-dressed man walked over.

He had a calm demeanor. It was Darin Simpson, the Mr. Simpson Zayn had mentioned.

He handed Yolanda a handkerchief, his voice flat. "Ms. Harding, do you need any help? The security cameras here should be pretty clear."

Yolanda's face went from red to white to red again. She just glared daggers at me and stalked off with Braeden.

Darin turned to me, giving a slight nod. "They didn't give you any trouble, did they?"

"No, they didn't."

Not far off, Braeden and Yolanda became the center of attention.

They held hands, accepting congratulations from everyone, and announced their upcoming engagement.

The room erupted in applause.

Yolanda's face was practically radiating smugness.

Next, the host announced the auction was starting.

The first item was brought out.

A small gasp rippled through the crowd.

It was a sapphire necklace called "Blue Dream." The design and the quality of the gem were identical to the one my adoptive mother owned-the one Yolanda was wearing.

Or rather, Yolanda's was a copy of "Blue Dream."

The host explained, "'Blue Dream' is the swansong of designer Roland, with a starting bid of five million."

Yolanda's face immediately fell.

To save face for her, Braeden quickly bid. "Six million."

The room quieted down. No one seemed willing to outbid Braeden just to curry favor.

"Ten million."

A cool, clear female voice cut through the silence. It wasn't loud, but it reached every corner of the room.

It was me.

All eyes snapped to me, including Braeden and Yolanda's faces, twisted in shock.

Braeden looked like he'd heard the funniest joke ever. "Are you insane? Do you even know what ten million means?"

I didn't look at him, just gave the host a faint smile.

"15 million." Braeden gritted out, glaring at me, practically trying to warn me with his eyes not to be an idiot.

"30 million." I raised my paddle again, calm as can be, like I was talking about some random number.

Braeden's face went completely black.

Thirty million was way out of his league.

Yolanda yanked on his arm, her fingernails almost digging into his skin, all the color drained from her face.

"Ding!" The auctioneer brought the hammer down.

"Congratulations to this young lady for winning 'Blue Dream'!"

Under everyone's varied stares, I calmly walked onto the stage.

I took the box holding the necklace, didn't even glance inside, and walked straight over to Yolanda.

Just as Yolanda and Braeden thought I was about to humiliate them, I passed the box to the stunned event organizer standing beside them.

"I'm donating this necklace to tonight's charity auction. I hope it can help more kids in need."

The room fell silent, then exploded into thunderous applause.

Braeden and Yolanda were completely frozen, like two ridiculous statues.