The Fake Heiress Cancels Her Engagement

Eleanor's fingers dug into Diana's upper arm like steel claws.

She dragged Diana off the terrace, through the hallway, and shoved her into the heavy mahogany study. Eleanor slammed the carved wooden doors shut and locked them with a sharp click.

The soundproofing in the room was absolute. The silence was deafening.

Eleanor turned around, her chest heaving. Her face was pale, her perfectly applied lipstick looking stark against her skin.

"Are you insane?!" Eleanor screamed, her voice cracking. She paced furiously across the Persian rug. "Do you have any idea what you just did? Do you know what this will do to the company's stock if that idiot Candice opens her mouth?"

Diana stood by the heavy oak desk. She kept her head down, letting Eleanor vent.

When Eleanor's breathing finally started to slow, Diana moved.

She slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were already red. Two perfect, heavy tears spilled over her lashes and rolled down her cheeks.

"Mom," Diana whispered. Her voice was broken, trembling with a raw, agonizing vulnerability. "I haven't slept in days. Every time I close my eyes, I see her."

Diana reached across the desk and picked up a crumpled, faded photograph. It was a picture the private investigators had taken of Harriet in Ohio, washing dishes in a diner.

Diana held the photo up, her hands shaking violently.

"I've spent seventeen years wearing custom dresses and playing on a Steinway piano," Diana sobbed, her voice hitching in her throat. "And she was freezing in Ohio. Her hands are covered in scars, Mom. Because of me."

Suddenly, Diana's knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the floor, her knees hitting the thick rug. She wrapped her arms around Eleanor's legs, burying her face against the expensive fabric of her skirt.

"If I keep pretending this is my place, my conscience is going to rot," Diana cried. "I can't do it anymore."

The textbook emotional manipulation hit its mark with devastating accuracy.

Eleanor's rage instantly evaporated. The rigid tension in her body melted into maternal panic. She quickly bent down, grabbing Diana's shoulders to pull her up from the floor.

"Oh, Diana, stop it," Eleanor sighed, her voice softening as she brushed a stray hair from Diana's wet cheek. "This isn't your fault. It was the hospital's mistake. You didn't do anything wrong."

Diana leaned her weight against Eleanor, resting her head on her shoulder. "But Candice was so cruel to her today. I couldn't just sit there."

Eleanor's eyes hardened, a vicious glint returning. "If Candice breathes a word of this to the press, I will personally see to it that her father's company goes bankrupt."

Eleanor rubbed Diana's back soothingly. "Listen to me. Even if Harriet is back, you are still my daughter. The daughter I raised. Tomorrow, I will have the lawyers set up a separate, irrevocable trust fund just for you. You will always be protected."

Hidden against Eleanor's shoulder, the tears on Diana's face stopped. The corners of her mouth twitched upward into a cold, calculated smirk.

Ten minutes later, Diana walked out of the study. She had washed her face and reapplied her powder. Her mask was flawless.

Candice was waiting for her in the hallway, standing beneath a massive oil painting.

Candice smiled, a nasty, triumphant curl of her lips. She stepped into Diana's personal space, lowering her voice to a venomous whisper.

"You're going to introduce me to Spielberg's casting director," Candice demanded. "Or tomorrow morning, all of New York will know you're just a fake piece of trash."

The fragile vulnerability vanished from Diana's face.

Her expression turned to stone. She stepped closer to Candice, forcing her cousin to lean back against the wall.

"Go ahead," Diana whispered, her voice devoid of any emotion. "Leak it."

Candice blinked, thrown off balance by the lack of fear. "What?"

"Do you really think Eleanor will let you survive if you leak a family secret?" Diana mocked, reaching out to casually flick a piece of lint off Candice's Gucci collar. "She'll crush your family before lunch. Good luck in Hollywood, cousin."

Diana turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Candice trembling with rage against the wall.

At the end of the corridor, Harriet stepped out from the adjoining library. She hadn't been hiding by chance; she had specifically followed Diana's path, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. She watched Diana walk away, her analytical mind carefully dissecting the terrifyingly fast change she had just witnessed in her demeanor, silently calculating the real threat level of this supposed fake heiress.