The Imposter at Home

My relationship with my father had never been good—not after he cheated while my mother was pregnant.

But no matter what, he would never tarnish the Thompson family's reputation by recklessly claiming another daughter in public.

Thinking back to the past few days—my stepmother constantly playing those "real heiress versus fake heiress" dramas out loud on her phone—it all started to make sense.

They couldn't accept that Grandpa had entrusted the family authority token to me. So they brought in Camellia, trying to brand me as the fake heiress—using the pressure of the guests to strip me of my legitimacy as the family's head.

I looked at them as if they were fools. "Do you really think the Thompson family's authority token is so easy to forge? If you all claim you don't know me, then how would I even know what it looks like?"

My eldest younger stepbrother, Anthony Thompson, let out a cold laugh. "Who knows? Maybe that token of yours is just some random fake. Has anyone here actually seen the real one?"

Camellia covered her face pitifully. "Besides, Dad is still alive. How could the authority token skip a generation? If anything, it should belong with Dad!"

I looked at her, a mocking smile tugging at my lips.

What they didn't know was that even if Grandpa gave the token to some distant relative, he would never hand it to my father.

Sensing the ridicule in my gaze, my second stepbrother lifted his leg, ready to kick me.

I was just about to throw him over my shoulder when a commotion suddenly rippled through the crowd.

"Mr. Thompson is here!"

I thought the truth would finally come to light. But the moment I turned, a sharp slap landed across my face without warning.

"What are you supposed to be?" he barked. "Daring to cause trouble at my daughter's birthday party!"

I frowned, studying the man in front of me. It was my father, Gregory Thompson. And yet, he looked at me as if I were a complete stranger.

He stepped protectively in front of Camellia, his expression impatient. "Holding a fake authority token, and you dare come here to show off?"

With that, he sealed my identity as an impostor.

"I was late today because of work," he continued, "and I never expected my daughter to suffer such humiliation. I've made a spectacle of us all."

He was already about to have someone gag me and throw me out when a voice cut through the tension.

"That token doesn't look fake to me. I once had the honor of attending a Thompson family gathering and saw it with my own eyes. The real authority token is made from a special kind of wood. It reflects light differently depending on the angle. If this young lady, who says her name is Diana Thompson, were truly a fake, she couldn't possibly afford such rare material."

The woman who spoke was likely Elizabeth Kingston, the one Grandpa had mentioned before. She was a close friend of my late grandmother; she had only recently returned to Aussia City from abroad.

My father clearly recognized her. He knew she hadn't been in Aussia City since my grandmother passed away—and that she had never met my mother or me. His eyes flickered, and he quickly turned around, clearing his throat as he composed himself.

"Elizabeth, I was too anxious protecting my daughter just now and didn't take a proper look at what this imposter was holding. But now that I have… I see that it is indeed our family's authority token."

That only deepened everyone's confusion.

If this entire family claimed they didn't know me, how was the token in my hand real?

My gaze swept between my father and my stepmother. The two of them were exchanging subtle looks.

In that instant, I understood. Today's scheme to frame me wasn't orchestrated by my stepmother—it was my father. It seemed he, too, coveted the power of the family head enough to lie.

"The truth is," he went on, "my father told me earlier that he intended to give the authority token to Camellia as a birthday gift. This girl is probably one of his employees from abroad. She came to deliver it, but let greed get the better of her."

So that was it. He had no intention of acknowledging me as his daughter.

I let out a cold laugh and pulled out my phone, bringing up a family photo.

Pointing to the birthmark on the little girl's arm in the picture, I rolled up my own sleeve.

"Can this family photo be faked too?" I said. "Gregory Thompson, are you going to acknowledge me as your daughter or not?"