Chapter 1

I, Willow Sullivan, was the rightful heir to the Sullivan family.

After a car accident, I got swapped with Rosaline Sullivan, the fake heiress.

She'd been stealing everything that should have been mine—my parents, my fiancé, and my very life.

I'd felt like a puppet on strings, watching her take over. Powerless. Not even able to fight back.

At this very moment, my messed-up story finally reached its ending.

*****

The newlyweds were about to make their exit.

I stood up slowly and clapped, slicing through the now-silent ballroom.

Every eye was whipped to me.

Panic flashed in Rosaline Sullivan's eyes. But she quickly covered it with a concerned look. "Willow, are you okay?" she asked.

I smiled, speaking softly so only the three of us on stage to hear, "Congratulations, Rosaline. You finally got exactly what you wanted—everything that was mine."

Zachary's head shot up, his piercing gaze locking onto me.

The tenderness once in his eyes was now nothing but a warning.

My smile never wavered as I raised my voice. "What's the matter, Mr. Groom? Did I say anything wrong?"

"This ring, this bride gig, and even those parents—" I pointed straight at Matthew and Selena in the front row. "Aren't they all supposed to be mine?"

Instantly, a deathly silence fell over the hall.

Rosaline's eyes welled up. "Willow, I know it's hard for you to accept reality, but the doctor said you have delusional disorder—"

I cut her off. "The doctor? You mean Mike Chester, your bestie's uncle?"

"Guess what—I just so happened to find your hotel records with him," yanking a stack of photos from my purse and tossing them into the air.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The photos fluttered down, revealing Rosaline's secret affairs with multiple men—even after she'd started dating Zachary.

"Willow Sullivan!" Matthew exploded. "Have you lost your mind?"

He stormed over and raised his hand to hit me.

I caught his wrist effortlessly, my voice icy. "Dad, remember the car accident fifteen years ago? Your real daughter almost died that day, while the girl you were holding was actually the child of the driver who caused it."

This was like a bombshell in the hall.

Selena's face went white, and she fainted.

Zachary's expression shifted—rage, then disbelief, and finally a wary suspicion.

"Liar!" Rosaline shrieked, flailing toward me. "Mom, Dad, she's insane. Get her out of here."

I stepped aside. She couldn't stop and crashed to the floor, her perfectly styled hair now a total disaster.

I stared down at her and smirked, "This is just the warm-up."

Head held high, I marched out of the ballroom under a hail of stunned, terrified stares.

Behind me echoed Zachary's furious demands, mixed with Rosaline's hysterical wails.

By tomorrow, this mess would be talk in high society.

But I couldn't care less.

The days of being pushed around were over. It was time to take back what was mine.

*****

I slammed the door to my apartment, sagging against it until I slid to the floor.

This tiny place—less than 550 square feet—was the Sullivans' idea of "charity."

Yellowing wallpaper peeled like sunburn, pipes leaked constantly, and my bedroom window faced a noisy street.

Compared to Rosaline's plush suite in the Sullivan manor, this place was a total dump.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed like crazy in my bag.

I pulled it out to find the screen flooded with missed calls.

Twelve were from Matthew, seven from Selena, and four from Zachary.

I scoffed, silenced the phone, and tossed it on the couch.

Neon signs flickered outside, and the faint hum of traffic drifted in.

I glanced around my tiny apartment, my eyes landing on a torn family portrait on the wall.

There, my ten-year-old self stood between Mom and Dad, beaming.

But after Rosaline showed up, that picture was ripped apart—and only my half remained.