Who Really Is the True Heiress?

Yvette and I were taken to the Grant residence together. While we were on the way there, we both played up our fear.

“What if I’m not really your biological child?”

“Yeah, if I’m not either, won’t you be heartbroken?”

Mr. Grant sat beside us with his eyes closed, pretending to rest, while Mrs. Grant patiently reassured us.

“The private investigator we hired was very expensive. His information can’t be wrong. One of you must be our child. And even if one of you isn’t, it doesn’t matter. Since we’ve taken you in, it means we’re meant to be. The Grant family will raise you both.

“So, stop calling us Mr. and Mrs. Grant. You may call us Mom and Dad.”

She tried hard to put on the image of a kind, loving mother, but just looking at her sent a chill down my spine.

When we arrived at the Grant residence, she had the maids settle us into separate rooms, then left with Mr. Grant.

After confirming there were no cameras or bugs, Yvette and I huddled together, whispering.

She jabbed a finger at me. “Queenie, are you nuts? You pushed me out there earlier! We’ve already died twice, and you’re still like some cursed brat, insisting on fighting me, huh?”

I shot her a look. “Oh please, you dragged me down with you too. Now, we’re both stuck here! But whatever. This is actually what I wanted. Even if you hadn’t said anything, I was going to make sure we both got adopted by the Grant family.”

Yvette’s confusion deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you want to find out the truth behind how we died?”

Yvette nodded immediately when she heard me. “Of course, I do!”

I looked around the room and said slowly, “That truth has to be somewhere in this house… But answer me first, are you absolutely sure you’re not their real daughter?

“Then why did they call me a liar after running the blood test in my first life and strangle me to death?”

Yvette’s face turned pale as she shook her head frantically. “There's no way it's me! I was sent for a DNA test too, but before I even saw the results, someone shoved me from behind. I fell down the hospital stairs and broke my leg.

“Mrs. Grant said I needed surgery…But after I was pushed into the operating room, I never woke up. Thinking back now, I’m pretty sure they pushed me down the stairs!”

I fell silent, deep in thought.

“If you’re not the real heiress, and I’m not either… but the Grant family insists their real daughter must be one of us… Then who exactly are they looking for?”

Yvette wracked her not-so-bright brain and tentatively said, “Maybe we’re both their daughters? I mean, this time, we made it here safely…”

I was annoyed at her incompetence and smacked her on the head. “Seriously, are you an idiot?”

Yvette’s eyes narrowed as she tried to strike back. I grabbed her hand to stop her and spoke in a low, serious tone.

“Enough. We need to figure out what to do if they take us for a DNA test later.”

“Right, the DNA test!”

Yvette seemed to have an idea. She tugged me aside and whispered, “This all started because of that test, so if we don’t go to the hospital, maybe none of this will happen.”

I pondered for a moment and nodded. “That’s possible, but we can’t exactly refuse them...”

Her eyes gleamed. “Then we just stop them from bringing it up in the first place!”

Before she could finish, we heard the maids greeting someone at the door. It seemed like Mr. and Mrs. Grant were back.

I hurried out and saw the faint exhaustion on their faces. Carefully, I stepped forward.

“Mom, Dad, you must be tired coming back so late. I learned some massage techniques from Ms. Hovard at the orphanage. Let me help you relax.”

Mr. Grant waved me off and loosened his tie as he headed straight into the study.

So, I turned to Mrs. Grant instead, looking at her expectantly. I knew she was the softer one.

She let out a sigh but did not refuse. I helped her sit on the couch and began massaging her shoulders from behind.

People would let their guard down when their eyes were closed. As I worked, I casually probed, “Mom, maybe we should do the DNA test soon. Staying here without knowing for sure makes me uneasy.”

She shook her head. “No rush. If you’re my child, you’re my child. Your father’s been busy lately. We’ll do it at a later date.”

She still did not say who, between Yvette and me, was her child. She just referred to us collectively.

“But… why me and Yvette?”

Perhaps my pressure was just right. She was getting drowsy. Her reply came in fragments, “Child… birthday… right…”

Her head tilted, and she fell asleep against the couch.

I slowly withdrew my hands, frowning as I thought it over.

Birthday? Could it be that our shared birthday was the key to determining who the real heiress was?