Chapter 2
992 Words
"Huh?" Katherine was confused by the statement. But the crowd of reporters was so agitated and thirsty for news that they barely cared about her. The world exploded in blinding white flashes.
Reporters swarmed from every shadow, microphones thrusting forward like weapons while security guards fought to hold them back.
“Miss Hart!”
“Miss Hart, is it true you’ve been pretending to be the Hart family’s daughter for over 13 years?” one accused.
“Were you aware Joanna Johnson is Richard Hart’s biological daughter?” Another chimed in.
“Did you know you were living someone else’s life? Is it true you had planned it out?”
Katherine froze mid-step, heart slamming against her ribs. For one disoriented second, she was sure they had the wrong person.
“I’m sorry…” Her voice came out small, trembling. “I think you’ve confused me with—” She tried to reason with the crowd.
The crowd only pressed closer.
“Why did you hide Joanna Johnson’s identity?”
“Is Mr. Stan ending the engagement because he found out the truth?” Had the reporters already found out about the broken engagement? No, did someone tell them before she even knew?
“Is Joanna carrying Mr. Stan’s child?”
“Do you have anything to say to the woman whose family and inheritance you’ve stolen?”
Each question landed like a knife. Katherine’s knees weakened. She had never heard the name Joanna Johnson until tonight, until Soron’s phone. Until the way his voice softened for another woman and her baby.
“What are you talking about?” she whispered, tears already stinging her eyes. “I’ve stolen nothing. This is a mistake—”
A reporter shoved a phone inches from her face. The glowing screen showed the headline in screaming capital letters:
THE REAL HART HEIRESS FOUND
Side-by-side photos stared back at her. One was hers—elegant, smiling at last month’s gala. The other was a stranger who shared her eyes, her jawline, her everything. Joanna Johnson. She looked very similar to her.
“No…” The word broke in her throat. The questions turned into a roar.
“Did you always know you weren’t Richard Hart’s biological daughter? Was it a well-thought-out scheme? Did you do it all alone or were other people involved?”
“When did Mr. Stan discover the truth?”
“Did he leave you because Joanna is pregnant?”
Fraud. Impostor. Stolen life. The words stabbed deeper with every repetition. Katherine’s chest heaved, her perfect world crumbling in front of flashing cameras.
“I don’t know!” she cried, voice cracking. “I don’t know anything!”
Security finally carved a desperate path. Her driver grabbed her arm and practically shoved her into the back seat. “This way, Miss!”
The car peeled away from the curb, reporters still chasing, cameras flashing against the tinted windows like gunfire.
Inside, Katherine shook so hard her teeth chattered. She grabbed her phone with numb fingers and started dialing.
Amelia. No answer.
Richard. Straight to voicemail.
Soron—his number went dead instantly. Blocked.
The Hart residence. Again and again. Nothing.
Dread coiled tighter in her stomach with every failed call.
Finally, on the tenth desperate attempt, the line clicked.
“Mom—” Relief flooded her voice. But Amelia wasn’t speaking to her.
“Katherine isn’t my daughter?”
The words sliced through the receiver, raw and disbelieving.
Amelia’s voice trembled on the other end. “What did you say?”
Silence. “No…”
Then, in a broken whisper that destroyed what was left of Katherine’s heart: “Where is my daughter? My real daughter…”
The phone slipped from Katherine’s hand and thudded onto the floor.
Everything went quiet. The city lights outside the window blurred into streaks of color. Soron’s urgent voice echoed in her mind—“Is the baby okay?”—followed by his cold, final words to her face. The pieces slammed together with brutal clarity.
He had found her. The real heiress. He had chosen Joanna… fallen in love with her… and now she carried his child.
A bitter, broken laugh tore from Katherine’s lips even as hot tears poured down her cheeks.
“So that’s why…”
She had never been enough. Because none of it had ever truly been hers. Not the family. Not the love. Not even the name she’d worn so proudly. Her hand instinctively reached to the door.
“Miss Katherine!” the driver shouted as the car slowed.
She didn’t hear him. She shoved the door open before the vehicle had fully stopped and stumbled into the street, the night air cold against her wet face. Memories flashed—birthday parties, family portraits, Soron’s rare smiles—all of them belonging to a ghost named Joanna.
She took another stumbling step. A horn blared, deafening. Headlights blinded her. She barely made it out that she had walked into the fast trafic.
The impact was violent. Metal slammed into her side with crushing force, launching her into the air. She crashed onto the windshield, glass cracking beneath her body like brittle ice. For one suspended heartbeat she felt weightless—then she was tumbling over the roof, hitting the pavement hard.
Pain ripped through every nerve. Warm blood trickled across her forehead and into her eyes.
Footsteps pounded toward her. 'Was this her end? The fake heiress met her miserable end?'
Then a voice—deep, raw, desperate—cut through the chaos.
“Katherine!”
It was a man’s voice she had never heard before, yet it carried a sorrow so profound, so full of remorse, that her shattered heart twisted with an ache far deeper than the physical pain. Who was he? Why did his grief feel so familiar?
She wanted to open her eyes. She wanted to reach for that voice.
But the darkness swallowed her whole.
- Writer
