Chapter 1
Sometimes, fate would write a script so absurd that it caught people completely off guard.
While I was tuning up a custom motorcycle in grease-stained overalls, surrounded by the deafening roar of heavy metal, my birth parents appeared—bringing with them the girl who had taken my place in life.
They all froze and instinctively shielded the graceful girl in the elite private school uniform even more tightly behind them.
Who would've guessed that I, Stella Whitehead—the rebellious girl who always held screws and wrenches in hands in the eyes of my neighbors—would turn out to be the long-lost true heiress of the prestigious Hanora Group?
In the garage, the Hermans instinctively frowned at the sight of me—my hair tied up casually, grease smudges streaking my face, completely absorbed in tightening a screw. They subtly moved to shield the curious girl behind them, as if afraid she might catch a glimpse of someone like me.
At the very front stood an elegantly dressed middle-aged couple. They gazed at me with complicated expressions.
"Are you... Stella Whitehead?" the man asked, his voice trembling slightly.
I set down the piston, wiped my forehead with my hand, and gave a confused nod.
My friends shot each other confused looks, not sure what to make of the situation.
"Stella, who are these people?" one of them asked.
Before I could speak, the well-groomed, bejeweled woman suddenly rushed forward and grabbed my hand tightly, her eyes instantly filled with tears.
"My sweetheart... I am your real mother. I've finally found you," she choked out.
I was completely lost, not sure what was happening. Even the refined middle-aged man who had stayed silent all this time now had tears in his eyes and turned away, trying to hide how shaken he was.
As I was about to pull my hand away, a handsome young man—several years older than I—appeared before me. His thin lips pressed into a line, and his gaze was scrutinizing and curious.
He said, "Stella, glad to see you. I'm your biological brother, Bryce Herman.
"Eighteen years ago, your adoptive mother Meagan Palmer was a distant relative of our family. She came to help care for my pregnant mother, while she herself was also pregnant.
"Who could have imagined she'd harbor such wicked intentions? To give her own child a better life, she secretly switched you with her baby at birth."
I was still reeling from this earth-shattering news about my identity when I sharply noticed something.
The moment Bryce mentioned how my adoptive mother had "harbored wicked intentions", the girl standing behind them turned deathly pale and bit down hard on her lip, with tears welling up in her beautiful eyes.
Bryce seemed to realize he had spoken too bluntly. He quickly turned around and murmured reassurances to the girl in a gentle tone.
Even my so-called biological parents, who had just been holding my hands, instinctively let go and gathered around the girl, speaking to her in gentle tones.
"Carly, relax. This has nothing to do with you. You and Stella are both our princesses. We'll always be your strongest support," they said.
Oh? Their princess? Interesting.
Right in front of me—their newly "reclaimed" biological daughter—they said that so effortlessly.
That day, under the shocked and worried gazes of my friends, I stepped into a jet-black luxury car—worth more than all the houses on our block combined—and left.
Just before I left, my best buddy Lucas Wilson clung to the car window and shouted, "Boss, don't forget us when you make it big. Come back and street race with us when you get the chance."