Am I Not The Only Heiress?

Sally: [Surely, y'all have heard of Sanfiric Villa—the most famous estate in the city? Well, that's my home.]

Her tone dripping with smugness and laced with mockery.

Sally: [Rachel Murphy, if you're going to impersonate someone's daughter, at least try harder! Your last name is Murphy, not Burberry. How do you even have the nerve to spin such an outrageous lie?]

The moment Sally posted those damning words alongside her glittering photos, the group chat turned into a maelstrom of judgment and gossip.

[Oh my gosh, someone's actually shameless enough to pretend to be a rich kid, get called out, and still refuse to admit it!]

[Different last names, yet claiming to be Mr. Burberry's daughter? She must be desperate to climb the social ladder!]

[This is beyond embarrassing. People wrapped up in their vanity like this deserve to be exposed.]

The tide shifted fully in Sally's favor, and the flattery began to pour in, tagging her in post after post.

[Princess Sally, can we be friends?]

[Wow, is that Sanfiric Villa? It looks like a palace! That yard alone is bigger than my whole neighborhood. Can I come visit sometime?]

[Sally, please share more about your life at the villa! Let us dream a little with you!]

[You're officially my gateway to the high life now. You're the best, sis!]

The chat exploded with praise for her and jeers aimed at me. A handful of voices urging calm were drowned out by the flood of gossip and scorn.

Buoyed by the attention, Sally became even more brazen. She replied with mock modesty: [Oh, come on, everyone, you're too kind! I'm just an ordinary person, really. I like to keep a low profile most of the time. It's just that today, I couldn't stand someone's shameless attempt to climb the social ladder, so I had to call her out.]

Then, as if she were a judge handing down a sentence, she added: [But, since we're all classmates, I'll let it go if she gives me a proper apology today. Oh, and writes a 5,000-word reflection and posts it on the campus forum for everyone to see.]

Sometimes, when the absurdity of a situation surpasses the boundaries of reason, all you can do is laugh. I stared at her pompous declaration, feeling a wave of disbelief and hilarity crashing over me.

Who would've thought, just as I was about to graduate, that I'd stumble into such a ridiculous melodrama?

The truth? My father married into my mother's family. She's the one who's the real power behind Sanfiric Inc.. I've carried my mother's last name since birth.

And this—this insignificant detail—was somehow twisted into evidence that I was impersonating my own father's daughter?

Explaining myself to someone like her felt beneath me.

Every word I typed in response would be a waste of my time.

I locked my phone screen and tried to refocus on the IELTS book in front of me. But the phone just wouldn't give up—it buzzed relentlessly, tugging at my patience and utterly destroying any chance of studying in peace.

With no choice, I unlocked the screen again to glance at the group chat. As I had expected, Sally was still at it. Seeing that I hadn't responded, she seemed to have taken my silence as an admission of guilt.

Her smugness practically leaped off the screen as she tagged the advisor, demanding that the school deal with me for being "vain" and "pretending to be someone I'm not."

I could feel my anger rising, fast and sharp. That Sally was going too far!

Rachel: [Sally, you know better than anyone whether or not Roger Burberry is your father! I've been sparing you out of courtesy, but don't push your luck!]

She replied almost instantly, her words soaked in mockery.

Sally: [Oh, that's rich! Why don't you prove it right now by calling him? Or wait, let me guess—you don't even have his number, do you?]

Then, as if to hammer the nail in deeper, she sent a recorded screen video to the group.

The video showed her dialing a video call. The moment the other side picked up, the camera revealed a face I knew all too well—my father, Roger Burberry, chairman of Sanfiric Inc..

"Daddy!" she chirped sweetly.

To my shock, my father responded with a cheerful, "Yes, my dear?"

The video cut off there, but it left a storm raging in my mind.

What in the world was going on?

Why was my father responding to her like that?

Why was she calling him Daddy?

A million questions whirled in my head, each one louder than the last.

The group chat, predictably, erupted into chaos.

[Well, there you have it! That's solid proof if I've ever seen it. See? Sally really is Mr. Burberry's daughter. Someone's run out of excuses now!]

[Rachel, got anything else to say? Look at you getting slapped in the face and still trying to argue.]

[Ha! Talk about hoisting yourself with your own petard. How will she even show her face on campus now?]

[Apologize! Or we'll demand the school take action. This kind of behavior is way over the line!]

The chat flooded with sneers, accusations, and jeers, each one piling on like stones meant to bury me alive.

Finally, when things seemed on the verge of spinning completely out of control, the advisor chimed in: [Rachel, I can understand a moment of vanity, something most students experience at some point. It's not the mistake itself that's the issue—it's your refusal to own up to it. Our school holds honesty and integrity in the highest regard, and I sincerely hope you'll apologize to Sally. Her father has made significant contributions to our institution, and for someone to impersonate his daughter? That's simply unacceptable.]

She turned to comfort Sally: [Don't worry, the school will handle this properly. You won't have to endure this kind of humiliation without some form of justice.]

Her bias was as blatant as it was infuriating. My frustration and sense of injustice reached their boiling point.

Rachel: [I am not pretending to be someone else! Why should I apologize?]

The advisor's tone turned icy: [Rachel! If this is your attitude, be prepared to face disciplinary action from the school!]

I hadn't even had the chance to present any evidence, hadn't even started tearing down Sally's lies, when—

In the next instant, the advisor kicked me out of the group chat.