: Switched at Birth

The daughter I'd doted on for over twenty years turned out to be a fake—switched at birth.

My biological daughter showed up at our door, so stubbornly fragile it made my heart ache.

The fake heiress declared that if the real one stayed, she would leave.

My husband threatened me, "If you insist on keeping her, then you can get out of this house."

I laughed.

You must have misunderstood something. This house is mine, and so is the company.

You're the ones who should get out.

1

It was a rare weekend off. My darling daughter had been begging me to spend time with her every day, so I finally cleared my schedule for her.

I sat on a lounge chair in the front garden, my gaze soft as I watched my darling daughter beside me, as well as my husband, who was well into middle age and developing a potbelly...

'No need to look at him for now.'

'He's truly an offense to my appreciation for beautiful things.'

I subtly shifted my gaze away, only to suddenly spot a frail, pale young girl standing outside the villa's iron gate.

The distance was a bit too far for me to see her face clearly.

But the instant I saw her silhouette, a sharp pain, like a knife to the heart, shot through me.

It was as if a long-lost treasure had finally returned to me.

I shot to my feet, losing my composure as I called for the housekeeper.

"Housekeeper! The girl at the gate—let her in, quickly!"

The housekeeper, who had been standing by, heard me and walked straight out to escort the person in without a single question.

"Mom?"

Jasmine Quinn looked at me in confusion, a hint of anxiety hidden in her eyes.

Quentin Quinn also turned to look at me, a strange light flickering in the depths of his eyes.

Neither of them could understand my sudden outburst.

But I ignored them, my gaze fixed on the girl the housekeeper was leading in.

She had a frail figure and was dressed simply. Her face was pale, her lips even paler. She looked as if a gust of wind could blow her over.

But her striking features, and the mix of calm and ferocity in her eyes, were exactly like mine when I was young.

A lump formed in my throat. Staring at the face that was an eighty-percent match to my own, my heart trembled.

"What's your name?"

"Anya Morley."

The girl's voice was detached. After her quiet reply, her icy gaze zeroed in on Jasmine Quinn, who was standing beside me.

"I assume you've already guessed. I'm your biological daughter, and this one beside you is nothing but an imposter."

Her tone was icy and full of hostility.

Her words instantly stunned everyone present.

My first reaction was that she was lying. But looking at her—her words, her actions, her appearance—I couldn't find a single thing about her that wasn't like me.

Jasmine Quinn, on the other hand... perhaps because she'd been coddled her whole life, had grown into an incredibly spoiled young woman. She would burst into tears over the slightest thing and expect me to handle it.

She wasn't like me in the slightest.

After a long moment, everyone finally snapped out of their stupor.

As expected, Jasmine Quinn was the first to react, throwing herself into my arms, sobbing pitifully.

"Mom! She's lying! I'm your real daughter, I am!"

My husband was the second to speak up.

"Jasmine, don't cry. You'll always be our child. No one else will ever take your place."

I raised an eyebrow slightly. There was something in his words, a hidden meaning I couldn't quite place.

But before I had a chance to think about it, Quentin Quinn suddenly waved his hand.

"Someone! Get her out of here!"

Quentin Quinn was pointing, of course, at Anya Morley, who stood before us.

: A Good Idea

2.

Anya Morley's pale lips were pressed into a thin line, her cold, hostile gaze fixed on me.

"What are you looking at? This is my mom!"

Jasmine Quinn snapped viciously, like a small beast guarding its food.

The scorn in Anya Morley's eyes deepened.

She seemed to know who really called the shots in this family, so she kept her eyes fixed on me without saying a word.

Quentin Quinn sneered. "Trying to extort money, are you? Name your price. I'll pay it."

"You. Are. So. Shameless."

I heard Anya Morley enunciate every word, and I sized her up, a bit surprised.

'So young, yet so sharp-tongued, huh?'

'I actually admired her spirit.'

Then my pot-bellied husband's face flushed with anger, and he began to shout, "Butler, are you dead?! Get her out of here this instant!"

The butler gave me a troubled look. "Madam, what are your instructions...?"

"She stays."

I beckoned to Anya Morley. "Come here. Keep me company for a bit, and tell me how you've been."

"Mom, are you out of your mind?!"

I saw the defiance and disdain in Anya Morley's eyes, but before she could voice her scorn, Jasmine Quinn was the first to fly off the handle, starting to wail, "If you let her stay, then what does that make me?!"

"Throw her out this instant!"

Quentin Quinn chimed in, his face twisted into a snarl, looking for all the world like he was ready for a fight.

I found it almost laughable and raised a meaningful eyebrow. "Quentin, I just want her to stay and chat. Why are you getting so worked up?"

Quentin Quinn's expression stiffened.

I smiled at him. "Or could it be that Anya Morley is telling the truth, and it's hitting a little too close to home?"

"That's nonsense!"

He retorted, his voice tight. He shot a dark look at Anya Morley and me, but at least he stopped shrieking and shouting like a buffoon.

Jasmine Quinn wiped away her tears, sobbing her heart out. "Mom, how could you believe an outsider over me?"

"I'm your real daughter..."

"If you doubt me, you can get a DNA test!"

"Mm."

I nodded. "An excellent idea. We'll do it."

At that, the wailing Jasmine Quinn froze in place, staring at me in disbelief.

On her face, which bore no resemblance to me but looked a good deal like Quentin Quinn, a trace of venom and cruelty far beyond her years began to show.

It was Anya Morley, however, who stared at me in shock. "Celeste Sterling, are you insane?"

3.

'I know perfectly well whether I've gone crazy or not.'

If some blood ties need a DNA test for proof, then for me, recognizing Anya Morley as my biological daughter only took a single glance.

She's the spitting image of me.

It's just that there are still some connections I haven't figured out.

I'm certain I only gave birth to one daughter back then, and Anya Morley's very existence has already proven who my real child is.

But the similar looks between Jasmine Quinn and Quentin Quinn made some seemingly impossible theories surface in my mind.

After all, in eighteen years, Quentin Quinn and I had rarely ever argued.

His family was not as well-off as mine back then. He married into my family, and while our union wasn't based on love, we had always been respectful to one another.

After we married, Quentin Quinn kept to himself. Citing his own professional shortcomings, he volunteered to be a stay-at-home husband while I dove into the business world to support the company and provide for our family.

'If he has been plotting against me, doesn't that mean this conspiracy has been going on for eighteen long years?'

My heart went cold.

Some answers seemed obvious, but they still required verification.

Jasmine Quinn was still sniffling and crying. Quentin Quinn was patiently consoling her, occasionally shooting me a hostile glare.

I simply ignored them.

This whole affair reminded me of Quentin Quinn's strange behavior over the past two years.

My work kept me busy, and my hours at home were irregular. Sometimes, business trips would keep me away for ten days, even half a month. But over the past two years, I've deliberately trained my subordinates and delegated many of my responsibilities, so I haven't been quite as busy.

That's when I found out that on the days I wasn't home, Quentin Quinn wasn't home either.

I asked him about it, and he said he was out with friends.

'Back then, I thought it was normal for him to find ways to pass the time with friends since I wasn't around. But looking at it now, it probably wasn't that simple, was it?'

Besides, I've raised Jasmine Quinn for seventeen years.

Setting aside the venom I just saw in her eyes, she was usually very clingy with me, always calling me "Mom" so affectionately.

'I wonder if she knows anything about all this.'