Ten Years as the Fake Sister

1 Online, a burning question once popped up: "What do you do when you've played the fake sister to a top-tier billionaire for ten years, and the real heir finally comes home?" The top-voted answer was a succinct two words: "Run. Fast." My finger hovered over that reply on the screen for a long time before I finally hit ‘like’. But I couldn’t run. Because I wasn't just Robert Marston's fake sister; I was his dog, his blade, and the only tranquilizer in the rotten, opulent world of the Marstons that allowed him a moment of peaceful sleep. Just moments ago, I’d personally destroyed a priceless hard drive with concentrated aqua regia. It was Robert’s final ticket to send a competitor straight to hell. And ten minutes after I’d dealt with that “trash,” the anonymous exposé hit my phone’s homepage: The Real Marston Heiress Is Returning. Luella Vance's Days Are Numbered. I sniffed the faint, acrid scent lingering on my fingertips and smiled. My days are numbered? Maybe. … I’d lived in the Marston mansion for ten years. The outside world whispered that Robert doted on his sister. But I knew it wasn't doting. It was... tending. Like livestock. It was three in the morning, in the private lab on the top floor of Marston Industries’ corporate tower. The exhaust fan hummed, its drone barely masking the pungent chemical smell with a special air freshener system. I peeled off my goggles, then the ill-fitting hazmat suit, revealing a custom evening gown that felt completely out of place. "Cleaned up?" Robert sat on a leather sofa nearby, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His voice was hoarse, carrying a post-coital languor and a chilling edge. Robert Marston. The ruthless head of the Marston dynasty in Sterling City, a man who’d clawed his way out of the slums, a madman, and for the past decade, my “brother.” "Hydrofluoric acid and hydrogen peroxide. Not a trace left," I said, scrubbing my unblemished fingers under the faucet again and again. "The data on that hard drive? Not even a miracle could bring it back." Robert gestured. "Come here." I obeyed, walking over. He pulled me into his lap, burying his head in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. "Smells like chemicals," he grumbled, though his arms tightened around me. "Disgusting, Luella." "That's the smell of your power, Robert," I corrected him, my face a blank mask. Robert chuckled, the vibration in his chest sending a shiver up my spine. "These past ten years, without your hands, how many nights of sleep would I have lost?" I said nothing. I’d been the most inconspicuous child in the orphanage. Robert took me home when I was ten. He’d just taken power then, besieged on all sides. He didn't need a sniveling sister; he needed a confidante, someone utterly clean, utterly loyal, a "shadow" who could handle his dirtiest work. I had a knack for chemistry. He got me the best tutors, built me the best lab. I didn't disappoint. I learned to concoct hallucinogens that could drive someone insane with a single breath, how to assemble powerful explosives from common household items, and how to make bodies and evidence disappear completely. I was the Marston heiress, and Robert’s personal "cleaner." Until that post appeared. On the drive back to the mansion, I sat in the passenger seat, my phone screen glowing. The anonymous forum post had exploded. Poster: [INSIDER INFO! The real heiress has been found! Rumor has it she was kidnapped to the borderlands back then, has a crescent-shaped birthmark on her neck! Mr. Marston has already sent people to pick her up!] 1st Comment: [Is Luella Vance screwed? Squatting for so many years, Mr. Marston is a ruthless man, won't he flay her alive when he finds out the truth?] 2nd Comment: [Heard Luella was from an orphanage too, tsk tsk, time for the country bumpkin’s Cinderella dream to end.] ... 188th Comment: [Bet you a bag of chips Luella gets tossed into the ocean for the fish.] I switched off the screen and gazed out at the blurring city lights. "Robert," I said suddenly. He was resting his eyes, but didn't open them. "Speak." "I want to study abroad." The air in the car instantly solidified. Old Robert, the driver in the front, visibly flinched, and the car swerved slightly. Robert slowly opened his eyes, his gaze, black as midnight, locking onto me. The warmth in them vanished, replaced by an arctic chill. "What did you say? Say it again." "I want to study abroad." I forced the words out, my nails digging into my palms. "My chemical research has hit a wall. There's a professor overseas..." "Screech—!" The Maybach slammed to a halt at the roadside. The privacy partition rose, leaving just him and me in the confined space. Robert’s fingers clamped around my chin, his grip so tight I thought my bones might shatter. He leaned close, his eyes as menacing as a territorial beast. "Luella, who put that idea in your head? Hmm?" "That forum post? You saw it?" My pupils contracted. He knew. "You think the real one's back, and you need to clear out?" Robert scoffed, his thumb tracing my lower lip, his voice dangerously intimate. "You're my property. As long as I don't let go, no one can replace you. Study abroad? Don't even think about it. For your entire life, you'll stay in the Marston mansion, by my side. Nowhere else." His kiss descended, a punishing bite laced with the acrid taste of stale cigarette smoke. I closed my eyes, a cold dread seeping into my heart. He was lying. If he truly didn't care about the real heir, why had he been frequently deploying private jets to the borderlands these past few days? Why was there a detailed investigation report titled Jenny in his study? He was soothing me. Or rather, he was keeping me stable. After all, I knew too many of the Marston family's secrets. Until that "real sister" fully took over, I, the "fake sister," couldn't be allowed to cause trouble. 2 The day the "real heiress" returned was a lavish charity gala. Robert Marston never went into battle unprepared. If he dared to present that girl in such a setting, it meant he'd made exhaustive preparations. I wore the black velvet gown Robert had personally chosen, clinging to his arm, playing the part of the demure, aloof, and untouchable Marston heiress. Until the grand doors swung open, and all the spotlights in the room converged on that girl. Her name was Jenny. She stood there, timid and uncertain, in a faded white dress, like a delicate wildflower swaying in a storm. But the moment she raised her head, I heard gasps ripple through the room. The resemblance. It was uncanny. Not to me, but to Robert in his youth. The same innate coolness and stubbornness in her eyes, as if carved from the same mold. More importantly, when she tilted her head slightly out of nervousness, a crescent-shaped red birthmark on her neck stood out glaringly under the lights. It was the unique mark of the Marston family's long-lost daughter. And it was something I, the "imposter," absolutely did not possess. Robert's arm stiffened for a fraction of a second. Just a fraction, but he still pushed me away, striding towards the girl. "What's your name?" Silence descended, Robert's voice echoing through the ballroom. The girl’s eyes were red-rimmed, her voice trembling. "Jenny... Jenny Vance." In that moment, I became the biggest joke in the room. The whispers of the socialites surged like a tide. "Look at Luella, her face is white as a sheet." "A fake is always a fake. The real one shows up, and the imposter's true colors are revealed." "How do you think Mr. Marston will deal with her? All these years, the money spent on a fake must be staggering." I stood my ground, picked up a glass of champagne, and drained it in one gulp. The sharp, burning liquid slid down my throat, suppressing the stinging in my eyes. I didn't envy Jenny. I was just afraid. I knew how Robert treated traitors and the useless. Those hard drives I’d destroyed, those people who’d simply vanished from the face of the earth, were all grim precedents. That night, Jenny moved into the Marston mansion. And, more strikingly, into the master bedroom next to Robert’s – a forbidden zone even for me. I was relegated to a guest room. The staff, masters of opportunism, immediately diverted the bird's nest soup originally meant for my room to the master suite. "Miss Vance, I'm so sorry, but the young lady just returned and is a bit frail. This is the only bowl of bird's nest we have." I looked at Martha's smirking face. "It's fine, I don't care for sweets." Closing the door, I pulled a prepared black backpack from under the bed. Cash, a fake passport, several high-concentration anesthetics disguised as lipstick, and a miniature smoke bomb I'd concocted myself. This was my escape route. I’d hoped I wouldn't need it, but now, it seemed I had no choice but to use it. Late that night, as I opened my door, I bumped into someone. Jenny. She was wearing silk pajamas, holding a glass of warm milk, standing in the dim light of the hallway. There was no trace of the timidity she'd displayed at the gala. She looked at me, a strange, twisted smile playing on her lips. "Going somewhere so soon, big sister?" Her voice was soft, yet it carried an indescribable chill. I frowned. "Move." Jenny took a step closer, her gaze falling on my backpack, her eyes greedy and malicious. "How could someone like Robert Marston have kept a fool like you for ten years? You think you can just run away?" She reached out, her long fingers lightly tracing my cheek, her nails sharp. "If I were you, I'd get on my knees and beg for mercy. Maybe I'd be merciful enough to leave you a whole body, considering you've worn the Marston name for a decade." I grabbed her wrist, twisting it sharply. "Ah!" Jenny screamed, the milk spilling to the floor. "What are you doing?!" A furious roar echoed from the staircase. Robert strode up, pushing me aside and shielding Jenny behind him. "Robert... she... she called me a wildling, said I didn't belong..." Jenny clutched her wrist, tears instantly welling up, a picture of delicate sorrow. I watched the scene coldly. It was a cliché, a tired old trick. But in this house, cliché tricks often worked best, because the judge was already biased. Robert turned, his eyes fixed on me as if I were already dead. "Luella, apologize." I stood tall. "I did nothing wrong." "I told you to apologize!" Robert's voice rose a few octaves, laced with unquestionable authority. I looked at the man I’d called brother for ten years. The last sliver of hope in my heart was extinguished. "I'm sorry." I lowered my head, my voice so calm it surprised even me. "I shouldn't have soiled the young lady's dress." With that, I turned and went back to my room, slamming the door shut. From outside, I could faintly hear Robert's low murmurs, soothing Jenny. I leaned against the door, slowly sliding to the floor. It wasn't sadness. It was clarity. Luella, wake up. This was never your home.