The Imposter at Home

After following my grandfather abroad for five years of training, he finally entrusted me with the family authority—something he had given me with complete satisfaction.

But my stepmother and my three younger stepbrothers were anything but pleased.

Ever since I returned home, they had been blasting those ridiculous "real heiress versus fake heiress" dramas throughout the house, day after day. Sometimes openly, sometimes in veiled remarks, they hinted that I didn't resemble my father at all.

On the day of my twentieth birthday—my official debut before the public—they even brought in a complete stranger and tried to brand me as the impostor.

My stepmother looked at me, the corner of her lips curling in disdain. "Where did this counterfeit come from? Even if you're wearing a stolen gown, you can't hide that cheap, shabby air about you."

My three younger stepbrothers shoved me to the ground, shielding the girl beside them—the one wearing my family's heirloom necklace.

"We only have one sister, and that's Camellia! Wherever you came from, go back there!"

In an instant, the guests' mocking gazes all converged on me.

And in the very next second, I stepped forward and slapped my stepmother across the face.

"If anyone should be leaving, it's you. Take a good look at what this is!"

Then, the moment they saw what I was holding in my hand, the entire room fell into stunned silence.

My stepmother, Rosie Shand, clutched her cheek and shrieked, "You dare hit me? Guard, get in here! Drag this wretch out at once!"

But the bodyguards only stared warily at the object in my hand, none of them daring to move.

The entire room erupted in an uproar, whispers spreading like wildfire.

"If I'm not mistaken, that's the Thompson family's authority token, isn't it?"

"But didn't Mrs. Thompson just say she's a fake? How could she possibly have something that important?"

My three younger stepbrothers immediately stepped in front of Rosie, anger blazing in their eyes. "What exactly are you trying to do? Not only are you impersonating our sister, you even hit our mom!"

I raised an eyebrow at them. It had only been five years—had they really forgotten what I was capable of?

I was just about to give each of them a slap when the unfamiliar girl, Camellia Thompson, suddenly stepped forward.

Like a hen shielding her chicks, she pulled my three stepbrothers behind her. Frowning, she spoke with clear displeasure, "Why are you impersonating me? And judging by your attitude, are you planning to hit my brothers next?

"Where did this barbaric woman come from? Solving everything with fists and violence!"

Just like that, with a few careless words, she painted me as some crude country bumpkin—and for a moment, I was genuinely stunned.

Yet, the surrounding guests began to praise her in unison.

"Now that's the bearing of a true heiress! I knew Mrs. Thompson would never find someone to impersonate the real one."

"And Camellia clearly cares for her brothers—she's a good sister. That authority token in that woman's hand must be fake!"

Hearing them, I actually paused to reflect—for a full two minutes. Was it possible that I truly lacked the composure expected of the Thompson family's head?

But in the very next second, I lifted my hand and struck Camellia hard across the face.

Grandpa had once told me: as the one in power, you must settle scores when wronged—only then can you protect the entire family.

Now that they were openly trampling over me and calling me a fraud, was I supposed to stand there politely and let them continue?

"Mrs. Thompson? She's nothing more than a mistress who clawed her way up. And you all believe everything she says?"

At that, Rosie's face flushed red with rage.

"Every family matter goes through Gregory. He's Camellia's biological father. I may be the stepmother, but would I dare bring in a fake to impersonate his own daughter?"

The veins in my stepbrothers' arms bulged as they shielded Camellia behind them, shouting at me, "How dare you insult Mom and hit Camellia? Aren't you afraid of what Dad will do to you when he gets here?!"

That was exactly what puzzled me.

My father, Gregory Thompson, would never skip my birthday party. How could they possibly dare to replace me—his daughter—right under his nose?

Once that thought settled, the guests all turned to look at me with open contempt, murmuring among themselves.

"An authority token can be forged, but Mr. Thompson and his wife have been together for eighteen years. Wouldn't they know who their own daughter is?"

"A fake is still a fake. Even in such an expensive gown, she only knows how to use her fists—crude and unreasonable!"

Running a company overseas meant navigating a chaotic environment. If I hadn't learned how to fight, I would've been bullied to death long ago—how could I have possibly built anything from scratch?

As the crowd became convinced the authority token was fake, the bodyguards began to close in around me, waiting for Rosie's command to throw me out.

Unhurried, I took out my phone and dialed a number.

"Excuse me, how many daughters do you actually have?"

"Only you. I swear! Who's been feeding you nonsense again? I'll be done with work soon. I'll be at your birthday party within an hour!"

The moment that familiar voice rang out, the bodyguards instinctively stepped back.

And the guests' gazes shifted, one by one, toward Rosie and the others—now tinged with scrutiny.