Heiress Rejects the Loser

As the heiress of a prominent family, I fell in love with Kyle Ford, a man from modest beginnings. My parents proposed a challenge: if I hid my true identity and Kyle proposed before my 25th birthday, they would bless our marriage; otherwise, I had to agree to their arranged dates.

On the last day of our agreement, I eagerly waited for Kyle's proposal.

"Hattie, will you marry me?"

Tears filled my eyes as I was about to extend my hand, only for him to place the ring on another woman’s finger, sparking laughter all around us.

With a sneer, he jeered, “How could someone as broke as you think you could land me? It's a pipe dream! Unlike my Ayra, who's classy and sophisticated—we’re a perfect fit.”

What he didn't know was that Ayra Castro, who pretended to be the Griffin heiress, was nothing more than a fraud. I was the real heiress.

Pointing to the enormous billboard of superstar Alistair White outside the window, I declared, “Sorry, I'm already engaged to him.”

At my words, everyone froze in disbelief. They only saw me as the clueless girl hopelessly chasing after Kyle Ford. Moments later, laughter echoed through the hall.

Mocking glances were thrown my way, someone jeering, “Has she lost it? Does she actually think someone like Alistair White would be engaged to her? What a joke!”

“Right? Pointing at an ad to inflate her status? She should take a good look at herself; even being his housekeeper would be a stretch!”

Ayra, fiddling with her hair, flaunted the diamond ring on her finger and feigned concern: “Sister, I know you're upset, but making up stories just gives people more to laugh about.”

Kyle interjected, “Alright, it’s Hattie’s birthday today. Let’s not hold it against her for my sake.”

“She’s just lying to get back at me.”

With my fists clenched, waves of humiliation and sorrow crashed over me. Once, I might have tried to justify myself to him, but now I just looked at him with icy detachment and said, “Kyle Ford, it's over between us.”

I turned to leave, but he blocked my way.

“What’s this? Can’t handle a bit of criticism?”

“Playing hard to get just to grab my attention, huh? Don’t think I don’t see through your little games. That reverse psychology stuff doesn’t work on me.”

Ayra, clinging to his arm, cooed softly, “Kyle, sister is already upset, don’t rile her up more.”

Then she turned to me, “Sister, you can’t force love. Acting like this only makes you look worse.”

The crowd's gaze grew even more disdainful, and their false sympathy was bitterly ironic.

Three days earlier, I had taken Ayra shopping, intending to buy her some clothes, only to accidentally uncover her true nature. Her father was our family chauffeur, who had always driven me to and from school. I regarded Aurelio Castro as family and naturally treated Ayra like a sister. I was generous with her in both life and