Recently, it was my daughter’s birthday. I was overseas negotiating a business deal and couldn’t make it back in time, so I entrusted someone to deliver a limited edition Labubu doll to her as a gift.

But over the past couple of days, I saw something strange on social media. The son of our nanny had been bragging non-stop, posting photos of a Labubu his mother supposedly gave him.

And the doll in those photos—it looked exactly like the one I’d carefully selected for my daughter. Down to the limited edition design, and even the signature on it appeared to match.

Suspicious, I video-called my daughter to ask if she had received my gift.

She hesitated, nodded vaguely—then I overheard something that made my blood run cold. In the background, a teacher at her kindergarten was scolding her harshly.

"A maid’s child has no right to steal Zion’s toy! If you dare to touch it again, I’ll break your hands!"

Terrified, my daughter abruptly hung up.

I tried contacting the teacher to find out what happened, but when I checked the parent group chat, I discovered I had been removed by the teacher a long time ago.

Without hesitation, I called my secretary and told her to book me the next flight to Kyoto.

As soon as I arrived, I snuck into the kindergarten. What I saw made my heart freeze with rage.

That teacher was slapping my daughter across the face—hard—cursing her as a "lowborn brat" and saying she should be grateful to Zion’s mother for even letting her attend such a prestigious kindergarten.

——

I saw the red handprint across my little girl’s cheek and lost all control.

I charged forward and shoved the teacher to the ground.

"Who are you?!" she shrieked, looking up in shock.

My daughter immediately ran into my arms, hugging my leg tightly. "Mommy, you’re finally back!"

Only then did the teacher react. She pointed at me and asked, "You’re Zion’s nanny?"

Nanny?

I froze.

When did I become someone else’s nanny?

I snapped back furiously, "Nanny? I have no idea who this ‘Zion’ even is!"

The teacher sneered, eyes scanning my designer outfit. “Still putting on airs? A nanny wearing knock-offs, huh? Trying too hard.”

I couldn’t understand why this teacher was being so openly hostile. I reached for my phone to call someone—but before I could, she summoned a few security guards who snatched the phone right out of my hand.

"Don’t bother trying to call Madam Sanchez for help," the teacher smirked. "Word is, she’s about to fire you anyway. You’d better take your daughter and withdraw her from the school while you still can."

My brows furrowed in disbelief as I stared at her arrogant face. I raised my hand, my tone cold as I spat, "For the last time—I’m not the Sanchez family’s nanny. Return my phone. Or you’ll regret this."

She laughed mockingly. "Still playing tough, huh? Fine—let’s settle this right now."

She called out to the so-called Zion.

When the boy arrived, the teacher asked, "Is this your nanny?"

Without missing a beat, he said confidently, "Yes. That’s her."

I was completely speechless.

This so-called Zion was actually the son of my nanny. Since when did he start using the Sanchez family name? I could’ve sworn his name was Zion Jones.

Suddenly, a hint of epiphany occurred to me.

The kid showing off the Labubu doll on social media—it was him. He had stolen my daughter’s birthday gift!

I crossed my arms and glared at him coldly. "Zion, care to explain what you’re doing?"

Instead of admitting anything, he clung to the teacher’s arm and whispered, "Teacher, this woman is our maid. My mom says she’s always sneaking around and stealing things."

The teacher let out an exaggerated “Ohhh,” as if she had just solved a mystery. She gave my daughter a scornful look and muttered, "Like mother, like daughter—stealing Zion’s Labubu. Tsk. Disgusting."

I finally reached my breaking point. Furious, I raised my hand, ready to slap Zion across the face.

But before I could touch him, the teacher quickly stepped in front of him and ordered the security guards to hold me back.

They shoved me to the ground.

And while I was still on the floor, the teacher crouched beside Zion with concern. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

Through gritted teeth, I snapped, "This is completely upside down! The son of my housekeeper pretending to be a young master? Do you believe I won't fire your mother and kick your whole family out?"

The teacher scoffed and shot back sarcastically, “Wow. Wearing fake designer labels and still trying to act like a rich madam? You really have delusions of grandeur.”

“You’re accusing your employer’s son of being a servant’s child. Now that’s what's truly upside down. I suggest you take your daughter and leave before Madam Sanchez arrives. Don’t embarrass yourself further.”

At that moment, I honestly couldn’t tell whether Zion or his mother had brainwashed this teacher. No matter what I said, no matter how I tried to prove my identity, she was convinced I was just the housekeeper.

I slowly stood, brushed the dust from my clothes, and pulled my frightened daughter into my arms. My eyes narrowed as I stared coldly at both the teacher and Zion.

“Fine. Didn’t you say Madam Sanchez is on her way? Let’s wait, then. I’d love to see how this ends for you.”

But when “Madam Sanchez” finally arrived, the reality hit me harder than expected.

My housekeeper walked in—draped in my designer clothes, wearing my jewelry, even driving my Lamborghini. She strolled into the school like she was the real lady of a wealthy household.

The teacher’s eyes lit up at the sight of her, grinning like an obedient lapdog.

Zion rushed over, grabbed her hand, and pointed at me. “Mom! That damn maid’s pretending to be someone she’s not. Yell at her for me! Teach her a lesson!”

“And next time, don’t hire someone this uncultured to work in our house!”

The housekeeper froze when she saw me. Her body visibly trembled.

We locked eyes. Her guilt was written all over her face.

She turned to the teacher and said quickly, “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it. You two just wait over there.”

Then she walked up to me, blocking their view behind her, and smiled gently. “Madam, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back? You gave me a fright.”

I glanced at the jade necklace around her neck and let out a cold laugh. “Enjoying my jewelry, are you?”

She gave a sheepish chuckle, trying to brush it off. “This is just a big misunderstanding. My son must’ve offended you. Let’s go home, I’ll deal with him right away.”

I yanked my hand out of hers. I had no intention of playing along with her little charade.

Pointing at her necklace, her outfit, her whole facade, I said icily, “Take everything off—now. Then explain to your precious son and that teacher who the real maid is here.”

Her face flushed crimson with humiliation. “Madam, surely you’re not making a scene over something so trivial?” she said with barely disguised resentment.

“Let’s just go home, okay? I’ll personally apologize once we’re back.”

She was desperate not to be exposed in front of others. Over the years, every time I traveled abroad for business, she would secretly wear my clothes and jewelry, parading around as a wealthy woman. Her vanity had grown unchecked.

She had clearly forgotten who actually owned that house—who the real mistress was.

Without hesitation, I raised my hand, ready to slap her.

But before I could, she went berserk—grabbing my wrist and slapping me across the face instead.

She pointed at me and began shouting like a madwoman.

“You filthy maid! I already said I forgave you—why are you still making a scene?”

“Is your vanity so extreme that you need me to publicly admit the clothes you’re wearing aren’t cheap knockoffs?”

“Get out of my sight right now, or don’t blame me for what happens next.”

I was stunned by how skillfully the housekeeper twisted the narrative. Her viciousness was a far cry from the submissive, meek demeanor she had at home while serving me.

Rage surged through me. I grabbed her hair and yanked her toward me, fists flying.

“You shameless bitch! I’ve been too kind to you!”

I tore the jade necklace around her neck.

The teacher, realizing things were getting out of hand, immediately called for security to break us up.

Within seconds, I was pinned to the ground by two guards.

A crowd of parents gathered while picking up their children. After asking the teacher what had happened, they started whispering among themselves and throwing judgmental looks my way.

“So that’s Mr. Caleb's family maid? I heard that if Madam Sanchez hadn’t been so generous, her daughter wouldn’t even be allowed in this school.”

Hearing that, I nearly lost it.

Caleb—that was my husband’s name.

So now this woman and her son were pretending to be his actual family?

What the hell was going on?

I had been away for business most of the year. But if my housekeeper had really been posing as my husband’s wife, there was no way he wouldn’t know about it.

Unless... unless he was in on it.

A sinking suspicion settled in my gut.

Then I heard murmurs from the parents as they stared at the shattered jade on the ground.

“Oh no... that was top-grade imperial green jade,” one whispered. “That maid is done for. Even if she sold herself, she couldn’t afford to pay for that.”

The housekeeper’s name was Emilia.

My husband, Caleb, had married into my family. He was a live-in son-in-law. Years ago, he told me he had a distant female cousin looking for work. That cousin was Emilia Jones, and I naively agreed to let her work for us as a live-in housekeeper.

Because they claimed to be cousins, I never questioned anything.

Looking back now, that was my biggest mistake.

Outsiders always assumed Aetherion International Holdings was my husband’s empire. But the truth? I was the one behind the company. I was the real chairwoman. Only our close partners knew the truth.

Now I was being restrained on the ground, my dignity in ruins, staring up at Emilia—her hair in disarray, face smug and triumphant. I was about to demand how my husband could possibly become her man, but before I could speak, she seemed to sense danger. Her expression turned fierce as she jabbed a finger in my face.

“Therese , I’ve held back long enough! Even after you shamelessly seduced my husband, I stayed quiet because I didn’t want to cause a scene!”

“But now you’re forcing me to expose you, just so you can prove you’re not some maid?”

“If I don’t say anything, you act like some madwoman. But if I do... are you really prepared to air this kind of dirty laundry in public?”

“You just want to make a fool out of me, don’t you?!”

Her words hit me like a bomb exploding in my head.

From beginning to end, she had been deliberately faking her identity. Because if the public believed I was the maid—no matter how well-dressed I looked or how arrogant I acted—there was no way I’d dare break a priceless jade necklace. I wouldn’t be able to pay for it.

So to avoid suspicion, she flipped the script completely—painting me as a homewrecker, a mistress trying to pass herself off as the real wife.

And in doing so, even if people found out she had an affair with my husband, she could still cast herself as the victim.

The audacity... the manipulation... it was beyond anything I’d ever imagined.

Grinding my teeth, I hissed, “Which one of us is really the mistress here?”