THE IMPOSTER HEIRESS

CHAPTER 1

In Lila's gown, Olivia vanished. The gown was to perfection - like the dress had a mind of its own and knew that she didn't belong in it. In the dressing hall of the Lysander estate- or rather Ashbourne hall, she stood barefoot before the mirror she considered too wide and tall.

Behind her were dozens of gowns hung ranging from emerald silks to champagne chiffons. All tailored for Lila Lysander. All untouched since the accident. Except the person there wasn't Lila Lysander.

Olivia inhaled slowly, trying to keep her mind steady. Her red painted lips curled into the icy smile she had practiced for weeks. Her reflection had high cheekbones, emerald eyes and a straight look; a contrast to her known angelic and innocent face. Her fingers trembled as she touched the pearl necklace. Even her chest could see through those lies as it tightened whenever she turned her head and caught a glimpse of herself again in the mirror. It was like her enemy.

She sat down suddenly, the black strapless gown- that she protested against initially - pooling around her. Her throat ached. The heavy pearl earrings made her ears ache. Her hands curled into her lap as she rocked forward, burying her face in trembling palms.

You can't do this.

But she had to.

She opened her eyes and stared down at her bare feet on the marble floor. They looked like before… like the girl who ate discount noodles on Thursdays and skipped subways until it rained. A gentle smile crept on her face as she remembered. The same girl that had a hopeful smile, a thin resume and wild dreams. Not “Lila Lysander”.

A soft knock on the door made her jolt.

“ Miss Lysander, ten minutes, ” from the shy voice beyond the door.

No one hesitated on her name anymore It seems like it now belongs to her.

Olivia wanted to say okay but she couldn't bring herself to answer.

She pressed her hands flat against her chest, telling herself:

Breathe…In. …Out.

She glanced at the phone resting beside the mirror . A single text message glared up at her in black font:

Celeste: You know what happens if you back out now.

No signature. No evidence and she is gone.

Olivia’s eyes burned. “I hate you,” she whispered. It wasn’t clear if she meant Celeste, Lila or herself.

She stood again, taller this time- thanks to the six inch Louboutin heels, and walked to the mirror with absolute resolution in her mind.

Her reflection was calm now, the tears hidden behind an expensive foundation- thanks to Lysander’s make-up team. She practiced calmness and the smile once again but this time, it was with sheer determination.

And then, the voice in her mind which she hadn’t heard in months.

Her mother’s. Soft and soothing as always.

“No matter who you pretend to be, never forget who you are.” But what if who she was… wasn’t enough?

She took one last breath and reached for the golden clutch. Inside: a black compact mirror, an emergency concealer and a worn photograph folded twice. She didn’t dare to look at it tonight. Not before walking into a room full of wolves as she told herself.

The gala glittered and looked too good to be real.

Chandeliers spilled light over crystal glasses, violin strings everywhere, and the elite of Monaco swirled in couture and wealth like they owned time and price itself. Olivia’s heels clicked loudly across the marble as she stepped into view.

The music faded.

A gasp. An absolute silence.

Lila Lysander has returned.

All heads turned. All eyes clung to her.

Cameras flashed. A wine glass shattered somewhere to her left. Voices rose to confirm:

“Is that—?” “It can’t be—” “She’s supposed to be—” “Dead”.

Olivia walked forward and carefully, every nerve trained to resist the panic at her throat. She smiled like a Lysander: Cold, precise and unbothered. But her stomach screamed and her knees wanted to give in.

And then she saw him.

Sebastian Lysander stood near the edge of the ballroom - the casino section surrounded by players and silent security. He hadn’t noticed her yet. His broad frame was carved in his charcoal black suit, his facial expression locked halfway between fury and disbelief. His mischievous dark-brown eyes found hers and everything else seemed to have disappeared.

“He knows”, she whispered to herself.

Her lungs gave in and she stopped breathing.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t crack. He didn’t blink and remained cold. He remained motionless until he charged towards her.

With long, intimidating strides, he cut through the room towards her.

The crowd sensed his chilly aura as he made his way through the crowd and tension shifted like a tide. Conversations froze mid-sentence : all eyes were on him.

“Lila.” His voice was sharp , dark and cold but had a hint of worry and sadness.

She smiled as if he hadn’t just stabbed her through her heart with that word.

“Seb...” Her voice held steady, but she could feel the sweat between her thighs.

“You’re late,” he said coolly. “For someone who’s been gone a year, I expected a grander entrance.” “I thought I should keep it low key,” she replied.

He took another step closer. Her pulse kicked.

“Low key isn’t your style,” he murmured into her ears. “Or it was.

What happened to you?” So many answers rushed to her tongue. I died… I resurrected... I became someone else to survive. But instead she said, “Grief has its way with people.” He paused. It hit a nerve. He was shocked for a moment.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, just a moment, she saw something apart from his coldness. Doubt, yes obviously. She was even doubting herself, so why can't he do that? But underneath it… was that guilt?

Then he extended his hand.

“Dance with me. Like the old times”.

The ballroom was still.

Every part of her body screamed no, but her harsh training and Celeste’s ugly voice pushed her forward. She placed her gloved fingers in his palm and followed him onto the dance floor.

They danced in silence. The music was slow, mournful- or so she thought. His hand rested lightly against her back, but she feels it was all just fake and calculated, given his cold demeanour . Every step felt like a countdown.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly.

She looked up too fast. His face was emotionless “It’s been long ,” she replied, voice tight.

He leaned closer. His lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“You’re not her, right?” Olivia froze.

The music continued. The world seemed to have stopped moving.

Sebastian pulled back slightly, eyes locked on hers.

“Whatever game you’re playing,” he whispered, “you can't win.” Then he stepped away, releasing her hand like it disgusted him. And he disappeared into the crowd.

Olivia remained alone on the ballroom floor after Sebastian walked away, shaken by his chilling words: “You are not her, right?” Olivia forced herself to breathe. “Maybe he was still in shock ?”she muttered to herself. As if that gave her courage, she stepped out of the dance floor as the music faded . She could feel the weight of every eye watching her like a hawk waiting for its prey, waiting for her to prove herself . The crowd slowly returned to their conversations, but the damage was done. Her mask had cracked—and the man who mattered most had probably seen through the veil of lies.

She turned and walked toward the edge of the room, her back straight, her face composed, though her insides were trembling. Her fingers dug into her clutch as she noticed that cameras still flashed.

She needed to get out.

“Keep walking. Don't fall”,she whispered to herself.

A staff member opened a side door for her. Olivia barely made it into the hallway before her composure loosened. She staggered toward the nearest room—a private lounge—and shut the door behind her with shaking hands.

It was dark, quiet with a whole shelf of old books and velvet chairs.

“This kind of room must be meant for secret deals and brandy”, she said to herself. She collapsed onto a chair, clutching her dress as if holding it together might stop her from completely falling apart.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet. She is way past that stage.

Olivia She whispered her real name to herself like a lifeline. Like it was going to safe her “You’re not her, right?” Sebastian’s words echoed again, cutting deeper this time—not because he saw through her, but because part of her wished he hadn’t. Part of her wanted to believe that she could have played her part better , eventually feeling real.

But he looked at her and didn’t see Lila.

He saw someone else.

That was her biggest fear.

Her hand reached into the clutch. Past the mirror, past the gloss, until her fingertips touched the edge of that picture . She pulled it out —creased, worn, fading from all the times she’d opened and stared at it. A picture of her and her younger sister, before everything went wrong. Before she became Lila Lysander.

A gentle knock sounded at the door. She flinched, quickly hiding the photo away.

“Yes?” Her voice was Lila’s again—smooth, firm and steady.

The door opened a crack, and a butler bowed slightly. “Miss Lysander, your car is waiting.” “Thank you,” she replied without emotion, standing.

As she followed him through the corridor, back towards the façade of Ashbourne hall, Olivia felt something strange stir beneath her.

Not fear.

Not even guilt.

Resolve.

Sebastian had doubts.

But so did she.

And if she was going to survive this game, she’d have to stop reacting like Olivia—and start thinking like Lila.