Mistaken for a Gold Digger, I Am the Actual Billionaire Heiress

The second the guards hear “over a million dollars,” they move. The sales associate points at me. “She broke it and tried to leave. Stop her.” “What the hell?” Before I can move, one of the guards shoves a restraint pole into me and knocks me to the floor. Pain shoots through my hand. “Get this off me. Now.” “She destroyed a million-dollar piece!” the sales associate snaps. I look up at her. “You dropped it.” She laughs. “Sure.” I glance at the guards. “Check the cameras.” The sales associate’s face shifts. “They’re down.” “Since when?” “Yesterday.” Of course they are. Then she points at me. “You knew it, didn’t you?” “Knew what?” “That the cameras were down. That’s why you came here.” I laugh. “You think I came here to steal a necklace?” “It’s worth over a million dollars.” “And?” She goes quiet. I look at the guard holding me down. “Get off me.” He hesitates. “My attorney bills more than that necklace is worth. Get off.” He backs away. I get up and pull out my phone. “I recorded the whole thing.” I open the video. “There. Watch.” The sales associate barely looks at it before scoffing. “You can’t see anything.” “Yes, you can.” Someone nearby leans in. “It’s blurry.” “The part where it broke isn’t there.” I look down at the screen. The footage is crystal clear. What the hell? “You could’ve filmed this earlier,” the sales associate says. “Oh, please.” “Just call the cops,” someone says. The guards start toward me again. I hold up a hand. “Don’t you dare.” They stop. “If either of you touches me again, I’m buying this store just to fire everyone involved.” The sales associate rolls her eyes. “Right. Like you can, you slut.” I reach into my bag and pull out my black card. Her expression changes instantly. “Wait.” I look at her. “What?” She stares at the card. “That’s Mr. Calloway’s supplementary card.” “So?” Her eyes snap to my face. “Oh my God. You’re his mistress.” I blink. “What?” “Don’t play dumb. Everyone knows Mr. Calloway is married.” I stare at her. “He is.” She gives me a smug look. “Exactly.” “He’s married to me.” Her smile disappears. Then she laughs. “You?” “Yes.” “You seriously expect me to believe you’re Mrs. Calloway?” “I’ve been Mrs. Calloway for ten years.” She pulls out her phone. “Oh, please. This, is the actual Mrs. Calloway, okay?” She shoves the screen toward me. I look down. And freeze. Grant is in the photo. With another woman in his arms. The sales associate smirks. “Still wanna say you’re his wife?” I stare at the picture. Then my eyes drop to the black card in my hand. So this is what Grant’s been doing with my money. Wonderful.

I grab the phone and zoom in. No mistake. That’s Grant. My husband. The guards see my face and apparently take that as a confession. One pins me down again while the other grabs my arms. “Still wanna keep lying?” Then he kicks me in the side. Pain shoots through me. I grit my teeth and look straight at the sales associate. “Call Grant Calloway.” She laughs. “Seriously?” “Tell him to get down here. Now.” She crouches in front of me and grabs my chin. “You’re just his mistress. You really think dragging Mr. Calloway into this is gonna help you?” Then she looks me over. “Oh my God.” “What?” “You even got plastic surgery done to look like his wife.” I stare at her. “His wife?” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t act shocked. Everyone knows what Mrs. Calloway looks like.” I almost laugh. Apparently everyone except me. “Grant ordered the jewelry,” I say. “The pickup is under my name. Go check.” She stands. “Give it up.” The guards pull me to my feet. I yank my arm back. “Take your hands off me.” One of them scoffs. “Or what?” I look at him. “Or you’re gonna find out what you'll have to pay.” “I will. And I dare you.” A woman’s voice cuts through the crowd. Everyone turns. And there she is. The woman from the photo. She walks straight toward us. The closer she gets, the more obvious it becomes. She looks like me. Not exactly. But close enough. Like someone handed Grant a picture of me from ten years ago and told him to go find another one. Before I can say anything, she walks up and slaps me. I turn back slowly. “Who the hell are you?” She laughs. “Who am I?” She points at my face. “You got plastic surgery done just to look like me, stole my husband’s card, and you’re asking who I am?” I stare at her. “So you’re Grant Calloway’s 'wife'?” “Obviously.” She looks me up and down. The sales associate jumps in. “Mrs. Calloway, thank God. She’s been here claiming Mr. Calloway is her husband.” Then she points at my black card. “And she has his card.” The woman’s face changes. She turns to me. “You stole Grant’s card?” “It’s mine.” She laughs. “Wow.” Then she holds out her hand. “Give it to me.” I look at her hand. “No.” Her eyes widen. “You’re sleeping with a married man, spending his money, and you still have an attitude?” Around us, the crowd starts whispering again. “Right in front of his wife?” “That’s insane.” “And she’s still saying she’s Mrs. Calloway.” The woman smiles at me. “You wanna keep this going?” She pulls out her phone. “Fine. I’ll call my husband.” I say nothing. Please do. She dials. The second Grant picks up, her whole voice changes. “Babe,” she says, all sweet and whiny. “I’m at the Calloway Mall. There’s some crazy woman here saying she’s your wife. Can you come deal with her?” A pause. Then Grant asks, “My wife? What does she look like?” I look up. She gives me another once-over. “Old. Ugly. Trust me, nobody you’d want.” Grant goes quiet. Then his voice relaxes. Right then, my phone buzzes. I look down. Honey, where are you? I miss you. Grant. I almost laugh. He’s on the phone with his “wife” while texting his actual wife. Cute. Still in Europe. I’ll be home next week. A few seconds later, the woman’s face lights up. She hangs up. “My husband’s on his way.” She points at me with a smug smile. “You’re so screwed, honey.” I slip my phone back into my bag. “No.” I look toward the entrance. “Pretty sure Grant is.”