He Cheats with the Fake Heiress

This deep autumn, the Convention Center in the Capital City was bathed in golden lights that wrapped the entire hall in a searing glow. Because Mary Scott has returned—she, the adopted daughter who claimed my place as the eldest daughter of the Scott Family for twenty years; the one who, upon my recognition at eighteen, wept, saying, "She stole my everything." She held a jewelry exhibition titled 'The Journey Home'; the promotional leaflet featured her dressed in white, accompanied by the phrase, 'Dedicated to the irreplaceable ones in life.' When Yale Gabriel took my hand and led me into the exhibition hall, I caught the faint scent of her habitual lily of the valley perfume—delicate as a veil, yet tightly wrapping the heaviness in my chest. At the center of the exhibition hall, inside a glass case, a diamond necklace sparkled so brilliantly it was almost blinding; the label read, 'Inspired by First Love.' The media swarmed around Mary Scott. She lifted her champagne glass, her smile tender and strikingly reminiscent of when she used to coquettishly nestle in our parents' arms all those years ago: "This time I have returned to leave my finest designs on my homeland." Suddenly, her gaze swept through the crowd and fixed unwaveringly upon me. "Older Sister," she spoke softly, yet her voice was enough to silence the camera shutters around us, "long time no see. You still dislike the bustling crowd as much as ever." Before I could reply, she turned to Yale Gabriel, her eyes immediately welling with tears: "Yale, there is something I have hidden from you for five years." The spotlight suddenly swung sharply, and I could feel Yale Gabriel's hand stiffen. Mary Scott took a deep breath, as if summoning all her strength: "Our son, Simon, will turn five years old next week." Those words exploded like a thunderclap throughout the showroom. "So Mary Scott went abroad to have a child?" "Blair Scott is truly ruthless—stealing someone's fiance and then driving her away!" The murmurs pricked me like needles; I clenched Yale Gabriel's hand tightly but noticed his fingertips were cold. "Mary Scott, what game are you playing this time?" Yale Gabriel's voice was as cold as ice as he shielded me behind him. Mary Scott was stunned, tears streaming down her face: "Yale Gabriel, how could you say that? Simon is your child. Look into his eyes—they are exactly like yours when you were young!" Some began accusing Yale Gabriel of being "irresponsible," while others pointed fingers at me. Yale Gabriel took out his phone and displayed the call records: "I have had no contact with you for nearly five years; how could there be a child?" "To all members of the media, Mary Scott and I have long severed all ties. Please do not believe any rumors." After speaking, he shielded me as he walked toward the door. As she passed by Mary Scott, she leaned close to my ear, her voice brimming with triumph: "Older Sister, do you really think Yale Gabriel believes you? A man always remembers his first love." I sat inside the car; the silence within the cabin was terrifying. Yale Gabriel looked at me and said, "Don't listen to her nonsense; my heart belongs to you alone." I nodded, yet my thoughts drifted back to those days eight years ago, when I had just returned to the Scott Family. At that time, Mary Scott was the apple of our parents' eyes, and Yale Gabriel was her loyal knight. The sight of them walking hand in hand through the garden was a landscape I dared not approach. I felt like an intruder, needing even to gauge the servant's expression before using a cup in the living room—until the day I saw Yale Gabriel standing on the rooftop. He had just caught Mary Scott entangled with his best friend Howard in a hotel, his hand clenched around the ring he had prepared to propose. "Let me go down," he said with a trembling voice. "Life feels utterly meaningless." I rushed to him and embraced him, tears falling on his shoulder. "Don't be foolish; those unworthy of you do not deserve your life." From that day forward, I accompanied him daily to the park, listening as he recounted his college days with Mary Scott, watching him slowly emerge from the shadows. On the day Mary Scott left the country, Yale Gabriel stood outside my house all through the night. The next morning, he knelt on one knee, holding a simple band: "Blair, thank you for pulling me through. For the rest of my life, I want to protect you." We had been married for three years; he remembered that I disliked cilantro and would drive to the studio early on rainy days just to pick me up. I believed those days would last forever. Yet, the moment Mary Scott returned, everything collapsed like a toppled stack of blocks, descending into utter chaos.