When I report at Brookley College, I'm told that Deborah Larson has already completed the enrolment. She's also moved into the villa my father bought for me. She and my fiancé have already become a renowned loving couple on campus.

I feel the calluses on my fingers from years of playing the guitar. This is so creepy.

If she's Deborah Larson, then who am I?

And is this contemptuous man before me really my fiancé?

"Deborah Larson has already enrolled."

I froze for a moment and said, "No way! This is my acceptance letter!"

"That letter was sent out over six months ago. If it was yours, why are you only showing up now?"

I gripped the letter tighter as anger rose in my gut.

When Mom had passed away, Dad had insisted I enroll at Brookley College. And as if that hadn't been enough, he'd arranged my marriage with some guy I'd never met.

After we had a huge argument, I'd been escorted onto a plane by his bodyguards.

The moment I'd stepped off that plane, I'd decided to take control of my own life. Before starting college, I'd decided to spend six months traveling the world.

However, Dad had suddenly called the day before and said he was coming to see me.

I'd panicked. I'd known there was no use hiding anymore, so I'd rushed to the campus to sort out my enrollment. But who knew this would be the outcome?

Unable to complete the paperwork, I had no choice but to head to the villa Dad had purchased for me.

On the way there, I kept wondering who had dared to impersonate me to enroll at Brookley College.

When I arrived at the villa and entered the passcode to unlock the door, the screen unexpectedly flashed the words "incorrect password".

I tried multiple times but to no avail. Then, I heard footsteps from inside the villa.

"Who's there?"

I paused, a sinking feeling creeping into my gut.

The door opened to reveal a tall man. At the same time, a woman's curious voice drifted from inside.

"Isaiah, who is it?"

My heart dropped to my stomach.

It was Isaiah Joubert—my so-called fiancé, the one I'd never met.

A moment later, an impeccably dressed woman appeared behind him. She looked to be about my age, and something about her seemed familiar. But I couldn't place where I'd seen her before.

Standing at the doorway, I gathered myself and asked, "You're Isaiah? And who's she?"

Isaiah glanced at me and answered indifferently, "This is my fiancée, Deborah. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

My blood boiled at his words.

So this was the person who had stolen my identity and even my house.

I leveled his cold gaze and stated calmly, "This is my house."

Isaiah laughed. "What nonsense are you spouting? This is the house Mr. Larson bought for Debbie."

"I am Deborah!" I exclaimed frustratedly.

"You?"

Isaiah sized me up, and his eyes lingered on my dusty boots and faded T-shirt. His sneer deepened as he shook his head in disbelief.

"The heiress of the Larson family is a pampered, elegant lady. She's the apple of her family's eye. Look at you. You expect me to believe you're her when you're dressed like that?"

The alleged Deborah arched a brow and smiled sweetly in feigned benevolence.

"Well, since we share the same name, I can spare you some money if you're truly struggling to live by. But lying isn't very becoming of a young lady, you know."

I clenched my fists and took a deep breath to suppress the fury bubbling inside me.

"Are you sure she's Deborah?" I asked Isaiah.

"Of course! Now get lost already. I've never seen anyone so shameless!"

I stared them down before pulling out my phone to log into my dormant Instagram account. Then, I made a new post with the caption, "I'm back."

Immediately, a flood of comments came pouring in.

"Whoa! You're finally back! Where have you been these past months? You promised to jam with us when you got here!"

"Yeah! We've been your online friends for years. Now that you're finally showing up in person, we've got to meet you!"

A smirk played on my lips as I scanned the lively comment section and dropped the villa's address.

"I'll be home tomorrow. Bring your guitars."

With a sly smile, I muttered under my breath, "Let's see how this plays out."

…

The next morning, a group of people gathered outside the villa. Each one carried a guitar case or instrument bag, their faces lighting up with excitement and anticipation as they waited at the front door.

When the fake Deborah opened the door and saw the crowd, she was visibly startled.

"Excuse me, is Deborah home? We're here to see her."

"I'm Deborah."

Someone in the crowd giggled and said, "Wow, it's so great to finally meet you, Debbie! We've been waiting forever. Come on, let's hear you play something!"

"Yeah, don't keep us hanging. We didn't come all this way for nothing!"

I stood in the crowd in disguise, my face obscured by a hat.

"That's right, Debbie. We've all been dying to see you perform. Don't disappoint us."

The fake Deborah's expression faltered. Her lips trembled, and she forced a weak smile. "I… I don't remember telling you guys to come."

Someone pulled out their phone, opened Instagram, and held it up.

"Didn't you post this?" He pointed to a post made by a verified account—DeborahDebbie. "This is Deborah's account. Or are you not her?"

Panic crossed the fake Deborah's face, and she hastily waved her hands to cut him off.

"Yes, I'm the one who posted that! I just… forgot, that's all."

She then gave an awkward chuckle, her gaze darting around nervously as she stepped aside and motioned for everyone to enter.

I scoffed and followed the group inside the villa.

For the first time, I stepped into the house that belonged to me and looked around. The decor was lavish yet excessively gaudy, steeped in a heavy sense of tackiness and no artistic flair.

I smirked inwardly, silently vowing to expose this imposter by the end of the day.

The fake Deborah plastered on a strained smile and stammered, "Um… actually, I'm a bit busy today. Maybe next time—"

Before she could finish, someone interrupted, "We came all this way just to see you today. You can't just send us off without even one song!"

I chimed in, "Exactly. Just play something simple. After all, your technique has always been one of a kind. We're all waiting."

The moment I spoke, I saw her face turn pale and beads of sweat form on her forehead.

She chuckled dryly and said, "Alright… I'll go get some water for everyone."

With that, she turned and headed toward the kitchen.

I was about to stop her, but the others around me smiled and nodded eagerly. "Sure, thank you!"

I snorted inwardly, thinking she wouldn't escape easily.

It wasn't long before the sound of shattering glass echoed from the kitchen, followed by a startled cry from the fake Deborah.

Everyone turned to see her clutching her finger with an apologetic expression.

"I'm so sorry, but… I don't think I'll be able to play today."

I immediately stepped forward and grabbed her hand. A thin cut ran along her finger, with fresh blood trickling out.

"What are the odds of getting hurt now? Is this an excuse to avoid playing for everyone?"

The crowd exchanged uncertain glances, doubt flickering in their eyes.

Someone murmured, "Yeah, why now of all times…"

Just then, Isaiah came rushing down the stairs. His face was stormy as he pushed past me and asked worriedly, "Debbie, what happened? Are you hurt?"

The fake Deborah looked down, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Isaiah, it's nothing really. It was just an accident. Don't blame her…"

I let out a disdainful sneer and said, "Isaiah, don't you find it odd? Deborah is supposed to be a prodigy, a musical genius, especially with the guitar. Have you ever heard her play since you got together?"

Isaiah scowled and shot me a glare. His voice was tense with anger as he bellowed, "That's enough! Stop rubbing salt in Debbie's wound. She got in a car accident when she arrived here. Her fingers were severely injured, and she can't play the guitar anymore."

With her head bowed, the fake Deborah revealed a glimmer of triumph in her eyes.

However, she kept a pitifully demure front and softly added, "I really am sorry. I wish I could play for everyone, but you can't accuse me of lying."

I couldn't help but laugh mockingly. "What a coincidence. You had an accident last time and got hurt today. Your fingers must be made of glass. Is this your go-to excuse whenever someone questions you?"

The murmurs grew louder among the crowd, and their expressions turned skeptical.

Her face paled slightly, then she bit her lip and replied aggrievedly, "How can you say that? The car accident was the most painful experience of my life. Why are you doing this? Do you have some grudge against me?"

Isaiah's expression darkened as he glared at me. "Haven't you had enough? Debbie is the victim here. Stop being so unreasonable!"

After that, he grabbed her hand and held it up in front of me. Pointing to a faint scar on her finger, he continued, "This is proof. I even have the hospital's report. Do you want me to show you?"

The others gasped, and some whispered, "Oh, so that's what happened… It was an accident."

The fake Deborah looked up and shook her head with a sigh.

"No matter what, I'm still sorry for disappointing everyone."

I remarked, "You certainly go all out to sell your lies."

Isaiah suddenly took a step closer to me, and his tone was sharp and menacing as he growled, "What do you mean by that? Are you deliberately targeting Debbie?"

Then, without warning, he yanked the hat off my head.

"So it's you! You made a fuss yesterday and had the guts to return. Are you here to stir up trouble?"

Isaiah's anger boiled over, and he swung his hand toward me.

My heart sank, but I couldn't back down now. I uttered coldly, "I am the real Deborah. If you don't believe me, ask my dad."

"Fine. Call Mr. Larson then."

Gritting my teeth, I pulled out my phone and dialed Dad's number. But the call wouldn't go through, and the screen repeatedly showed "connecting".

Isaiah let out a scornful laugh. "What's the matter? Can't get through? Can't keep up the act anymore?"

I sucked in a deep breath and refused to give in. "Or you could call your dad. He knows the truth."

For a moment, Isaiah's expression froze, but he quickly masked it with a contemptuous smirk. "Stop making up lies. Debbie's been with me all this time. How could she be fake?"

"Alright, then let's put her to the test!" I fixed my gaze on her and interrogated, "In the Larson family's manor, there's a thousand-year-old pine tree in the backyard. Tell me, where exactly is it?"

I searched her face for any hint of hesitation.

To my surprise, she remained composed and answered with a smile, "The manor doesn't have a pine tree but osmanthus trees."

How did she know that? A wave of unease surged through me while Isaiah's fury reignited.

He grabbed me and roared, "So you did plan this. You came here just to pick a fight with Debbie!"

When the others came forth to calm him down, the fake Deborah pretended to intervene by saying, "Isaiah, let it go. It's all a misunderstanding." Her gentle tone was laced with accusation. "She's probably mentally unstable or something."

Her words only stoked Isaiah's anger further.

He shoved me to the ground and said, "You're just jealous of Debbie. You keep causing trouble for her. Since you're so concerned about her fingers, why don't I break yours as well?"

Isaiah grabbed a heavy vase nearby and raised it high. His eyes gleamed with malice, as though he truly intended to shatter my hand.

I became frantic and struggled out of his grasp. My hands were my lifeline—they meant everything to me as a guitarist.

The crowd gasped in shock and rushed to stop Isaiah, but his grip was unrelenting.

Meanwhile, the fake Deborah stood by with a smug smile, as if she couldn't wait to see me injured.

Just as I braced myself for the worst, a stern and commanding voice rang out from the doorway. It carried a weight of authority that made everyone freeze in place.

"What's going on here?"