The True Heiress's Revenge

I stood outside the Johns' villa's ornate iron gates, my fingertips clenched white with tension. Black wrought iron entwined with gilded floral patterns, like a cold net, smothering my last flicker of hope for my biological parents. When the butler opened the door, his gaze swept over my threadbare coat, that appraising look like one sizing up a cheap commodity. I should have known long ago that they had already been investigating me. A few days ago, I received the kinship acknowledgment letter; it made no mention of my disappearance twenty years ago, only saying "found estranged distant relatives." Now, it seems even "distant relatives" was a carefully chosen euphemism. As I stepped into the living room, the crystal chandelier's light stabbed into my eyes, leaving me unable to look up. Simon Johns, my biological father, sat on a genuine leather sofa, smoking a cigar; the diamond cufflinks on his suit were worth more than all my possessions combined. He didn't look at me, merely nodding his chin toward the man beside him. That was Michael Johns, my half-brother. He frowned at me as if I were a stranger who had invaded his territory. "This is Noelle Scott," Simon finally said, his voice as flat as if reading a shopping list, "a distant relative of mine. There was some trouble at her home, so she's staying here temporarily." The phrase"distant relative" stabbed at my throat, tightening it painfully. I opened my mouth to argue, but a delicate voice cut me off. Sherilyn Johns descended the spiral staircase, her pink princess dress making her skin look porcelain white, the emerald necklace around her neck dazzling the eye. She deliberately stopped in front of me, lifted her hand, and brushed the necklace: "Dad bought this in S Country last month. It cost eight million dollars. It's said to be the only one in the whole N city." Her nails painted in pearly polish gently scraped the surface of the gem: "Some people might never see something this expensive in their whole lives, and do not dare to even touch it." I took a half step back and accidentally bumped into the tea table. The glass wobbled.Sherilyn suddenly screamed, "What are you doing? Do you want to break Dad's collection? Can you afford to pay for it?" Michael immediately rushed over and shoved me. "Keep your hands to yourself! Apologize to Sherilyn right now!" I staggered and crashed into the corner of the wall; a dull pain radiated through my back. Is this truly my biological father and elder brother? In their eyes, there was only Sherilyn, the adopted daughter who usurped my identity for twenty years. I bit my lip, saying nothing. My father Simon frowned and said, "Nanny Mueller, take her upstairs to the small room. Don't let her come down unless necessary." The small room was in the farthest corner of the villa, its window facing the trash heap in the backyard. I sat on the hard single bed, gazing at the gray, overcast sky beyond the window. Recognition by my biological family wasn't salvation—it was throwing me from the warm nest of my foster parents into an even colder abyss.