Bride Substitute for the Fake Heiress

Alex pressed on the pocket containing the money, his body tense. I knew what he was afraid of. Now, this money was his only hope. For my sake, he could lose his dignity and even his life.

He gave a bitter laugh, his voice hoarse. "I won't return the money. Since you want to see her, don't regret it later."

After saying that, he ignored the shouts behind him and forcefully turned the wheelchair, wheeling himself deeper into the alley.

My parents exchanged a glance, sneered, and followed him.

Mom tidied up the expensive fur coat, her face full of disdain. "I knew it was just an act. Come on, I want to see just how miserable she's become and how long she plans to keep hiding!"

The alley became narrower as the road became uneven. Mom's high heels stepped on the dirty cobblestones. With each step, she frowned even harder. This place never got sunlight, and the air was filled with a musty smell mixed with the sewer stench.

"How could anyone live here?" Mom tightly covered her mouth and nose with that white handkerchief, muffling her voice. "Naomi asked for it. Instead of staying at the family villa, she insists on suffering here instead."

I followed them and looked at the familiar alley. Yeah, this place was unbearable, but this had been Alex's home for three years. Over the years, he had given everything to find my killer, even having his leg broken.

Finally, Alex stopped in front of a rickety iron door. This was the basement, a foot and a half lower than ground level. It was damp and cold all year round.

"We're here," Alex said flatly. He laboriously bent down from his wheelchair and pulled a rusty key from under the doormat. The door opened. An even stronger musty smell wafted out, and I followed Alex into the house.

My parents took a half-step back in disgust, as if some plague lurked inside.

"Naomi! Get out!" Dad stood in the doorway, unwilling to step inside. He only shouted, "We're here. How long are you going to keep up this act?"

No one answered. Only the wind howled through the empty unit.

Alex wheeled the wheelchair and did not turn on the light, but he skillfully struck a match. The faint light flickered in the darkness, illuminating his ghastly pale face.

He lit two white candles on the table. The candlelight flickered, and the dim yellow light slowly spread, finally illuminating the less than 100-square-foot basement room and the black-and-white photograph placed on the table.

In the photograph, I had my hair in a ponytail, smiling with my eyes crinkling and two shallow dimples showing. Before the portrait lay several shriveled apples.

My parents, who had been yelling to make me come out, fell silent.

Mom's expression of disgust froze. Her eyes widened as she stared at the black-and-white photograph, her pupils contracting sharply. "What... What's the meaning of this?"