The Real Heiress Only Wanted to Lie Low, Why Provoke Her

01

Growing up, the people I envied most were those trust-fund kids who never had to work for anything.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think that at twenty-three, I'd become one of those enviable heiresses myself.

I figured this was finally my chance to kick back and coast. Reality poured a bucket of ice water over that fast.

The family had already handed all the shares to the fake heiress, Karen Henson.

The only reason they claimed me back was to marry me off in an alliance.

I didn't cry, I didn't make a scene. That same night I walked out of the Henson house without looking back and went right on being a nine-to-nine grunt.

But I didn't expect that after I beat the fake heiress on a multinational partnership deal,

my parents would come storming up and slap me across the face. "Bernice Henson, are you going to keep at this until you drag the whole Henson Group into bankruptcy?"

Looking at my parents shaking with fury and the fake heiress with her fake, pained little face, I couldn't hold it in anymore.

I picked up my phone and dialed my boss, Connor Gilbert. "You bastard, I'll marry you. I have exactly one condition. Bankrupt Henson Group within two weeks."

1

For as long as I can remember, I lived in a pigeon coop in the old part of town.

The place had everything going for it, except the neighbors were a little too warm.

Either the sound of someone mincing dumpling filling was enough to rattle you out of bed, or some young couple's fight became a live broadcast for the entire building.

My favorite pastime as a kid was dragging a little folding stool out to the mouth of the alley and watching the people come and go across the street in the gated estates.

Every time I saw one of those mansion daughters toss out some luxury item I'd never even laid eyes on, without so much as a blink, I'd crouch by the trash can and ache over it, sucking in cold air for ages.

Back then I used to wonder why I couldn't be one of those trust-fund kids who ate, slept, and waited around for nothing.

Why did they get to be born already standing in Rome, while I was born to be a workhorse.

Maybe my undying devotion to that wish moved the heavens.

The year I turned twenty-three, I really did become the wealthy heiress of my dreams.

What I didn't expect was this.

My heiress dream lasted less than a day...

before it came to a miserable, bitter end.