I Refused to Step Aside for the Fake Heiress

Claire's POV: My father was a driver for the richest family in the city. My mother cleaned their toilets. Growing up, I wore the clothes their daughter, Vanessa Whitmore, no longer wanted and ate the snacks she left over. Even on exams, I had to score lower than she did. My mother said the Whitmore family put food on our table. I had no right to outshine their daughter. I obeyed for 18 years, until a world-leading research institute offered me the only spot it had for an applicant from Norchester. My parents begged, "Claire, Vanessa's on the waitlist. If you give up your place, she can go." I refused, so my mother tore up the admission confirmation letter. "The Whitmores give you everything. How dare you live better than Vanessa?" Looking at the scraps scattered across the floor, I refused to bow my head for the first time. Back in my room, I sent a message to my teacher, Laura Bennett. Claire: Ms. Bennett, I accept the offer. That was also the day I suddenly realized that when my mother was angry, her eyes and brows looked exactly like Vanessa's. "Claire, I'm only doing this for your own good." After tearing up the letter, my mother crouched beside me and stroked my face. "Just pick an ordinary college and stay close to us. Do you really think your father and I would let you go without?" My gaze settled on the bracelet around her wrist. Last month, she'd spent 6 months' savings on a birthday necklace for Vanessa. The bracelet had been a gift with the purchase at the mall. Meanwhile, I was still using an old computer with a broken keyboard. "The institute waives all tuition and provides a living stipend. You won't have to pay anything," I said. My father's face darkened. "You think this is about money? Why do you insist on competing with Miss Whitmore?" A memory came back to me. When I was 5, Vanessa fell while flying a kite and cut her forehead. My mother made me kneel until dark because I didn't catch her. When I was 10, I placed first in my grade for the first time. I brought my award certificate home, only to be greeted with a slap. "Why did you score 3 points higher than Miss Whitmore? She's cried so much she can't eat. Are you happy now?" After that, I learned to control my scores. I deliberately left questions blank even when I knew the answers. My mother was only pleased with me when Vanessa came first and I came second. Only my teacher noticed that I'd already written the answers to those blank questions on my scratch paper. In my junior year, she signed me up for the institute's young researchers selection program. I spent 2 years preparing in secret. When the acceptance email arrived, I couldn't resist printing it out. I thought that, just once, my parents might be happy for me. Instead, they called Vanessa as soon as they read it. "Enough. Vanessa's waiting for an answer," my father urged. "Contact your teacher now. Tell her you're not going." My mother held out my phone. "Send the message, and I'll make your favorite barbecue ribs." My eyes stung. Vanessa was the one who loved barbecue ribs with their sweet sauce. My teeth were bad, and I couldn't eat anything that sweet. My mother never remembered. "Let me have a minute alone." She glanced at the torn paper on the floor. Apparently convinced I had no options left, she pulled my father out of the room. "Think carefully. Don't make this difficult for us." Once the door closed, I crouched to pick up the scraps. The paper had been torn right through my name. Half the check-in date was missing, and no matter how I tried, I couldn't fit the pieces neatly together. My phone lit up. Ms. Bennett: Claire, the acceptance deadline is almost here. Don't give up so easily. You've worked too hard to get this far. Only my teacher remembered that I'd earned this place myself, through more late nights than I could count. I replied. Claire: Ms. Bennett, I accept the offer. She called almost immediately. "Good. Come to school tomorrow afternoon. I'll help you complete the confirmation." "But the confirmation letter was torn up." "We can print another copy. You're still admitted to the program," she said gently. "You're 18 now. You can make this decision yourself." I bit my lip and murmured my agreement, but the door suddenly swung open. My mother stared at my phone. "Who are you talking to?" "My teacher." "Did you tell her you're not going?" I didn't answer. She reached for the phone, and I gripped it tighter, taking half a step back. Her expression turned cold. "Vanessa's still crying, and here you are, hiding in your room and looking out for yourself!" "I earned my place. Why shouldn't I look out for myself?" Her lips trembled with anger. "Who do you think you are? You're nowhere near her level! How dare you compete with her!" I stared at her. A few tears from Vanessa were enough to send her into a panic. I'd cried until my eyes were swollen, and she hadn't even asked what was wrong. Under the light, the narrow shape of her eyes, the slight upward curve of her brows, even the way she pressed her lips together all looked so much like Vanessa's. Clutching my phone, I asked quietly, "Mom, am I really your daughter?"