The Counterfeit Heiress’s Fall

I was nine months pregnant, in the middle of labor, when they burst in.

My fiancé's mistress slapped me. “Drag this shameless bitch off the bed. She doesn’t deserve to have his child.”

“Get a doctor!” I screamed.

“No doctor would dare offend a powerful heir for the bastard in your belly.” She even started a live stream.

My baby was born.

She snatched him up to the camera. “Now for the main event. Let’s watch this little bastard die.”

That’s when my fiancé walked in. He looked at me with disgust, “She’s the one I love. Stop pestering me.”

He has no idea. I'm the real heiress.

————————

1

“Drag that shameless bitch off the delivery bed. She doesn't deserve to have Evander's child.”

I struggled to push myself up from the bed, watching in horror as a group of influencers and thugs swarmed toward me.

I instinctively wrapped my arms around my violently contracting abdomen.

My voice trembled. “Who are you? How did you get in here? Where's my doctor?”

The woman in the lead, Sloane, slapped me across the face. Two other men grabbed my arms, one pulling and one pushing, and roughly yanked me off the delivery bed.

As I fell, I desperately shielded my stomach, letting the back of my head slam hard against the floor.

The impact sent my vision black, and a wave of intense nausea surged up my throat.

Before I could even gag, a tearing contraction made me curl into a ball of pain.

I looked up at Sloane, who towered over me, my voice hoarse with desperation. “I'm about to give birth… Please, call a doctor.”

She crouched down and grabbed my hair, her face twisted in a venomous sneer. “A bitch who slept her way to the top, and you're delusional enough to think you can trap him with a child!”

“Let me tell you: no doctor would dare offend the heir to the Hawthorne family for the bastard in your belly. You and whatever's in your stomach are both going to die today.”

The heir to the Hawthorne family?

I was forced to crane my neck, my eyes landing on a face that bore a slight resemblance to my own. A cold smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

As the sole heir to New York’s legendary Hawthorne family, I was kidnapped from our Hamptons vacation home at the age of eight and nearly lost my life.

After being rescued, I spent a full year recuperating at home.

To protect me, my parents locked down all my information, deleted every photo of me online, and hired several decoys to obscure my identity.

A few years later, in high society, only my immediate family knew what I truly looked like.

To conceal myself more thoroughly, my parents sent me abroad and gave me a new name, Celestia.

Over the years, my parents turned a blind eye to the socialites who impersonated me, as long as they didn't break the law in my name.

But I never imagined their tolerance would allow her to become so brazen she could storm a private delivery room in Lenox Hill Hospital—the most secure hospital in New York.

I glared at her furiously, using all my strength to grab her wrist. “You impersonate me and have the gall to be this arrogant—aren't you afraid of retribution?”

Her expression soured, and she raised her hand to slap me again. “Impersonate?”

She pulled her phone from her Hermès bag and shoved it in my face. “Look closely. This is my billionaire father, and this is my fiancé.”

“Even if you slept with Evander, he'll never marry you. Between the family heir and a bitch, it's not even a choice.”

I stared at the photo, dumbfounded.

The Evander she was talking about… he was my fiancé. I’d never even formally introduced him to my father.

From the intimate posture of Evander Crawford and this woman in the photo, I had to suspect he had betrayed me.

But photo editing is so advanced now. How could I throw away eight years with Evander over a single picture?

I struggled, trying to snatch the phone. “I want to see Evander.”

She pulled the phone back and glanced at her accomplices, her expression turning even more sinister. “Start an Instagram Live stream. I want all of New York to see what happens to a homewrecker.”