My Family Chose The Fake Heiress Then Begged For Me Back Chapter 02
I was sleeping soundly in the guest room when Mia knocked on my door again, her eyes red.
“The master bedroom was always supposed to be yours. I’ve had it for eighteen years, and that wasn’t right. “
“You should move in. I’ll take the storage room downstairs.”
I poked my head out and glanced down the hall.
The master suite door was half open. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a walk-in closet, a vanity bigger than any bed I’d ever slept on.
“Sure. Thanks!”
Mia’s mouth twitched before she bit her lip and walked away.
I went back to my room and fell asleep again.
The next morning, I woke up to crying.
Downstairs, the foyer was piled with suitcases. Mia sat by the front door, crying so hard she could barely catch her breath.
“It’s fine… she’s the real daughter… if she wants the room, she should have it…”
Mom was kneeling beside her, eyes red. “Mia, stop. You will always be our girl.”
Callum crouched beside her, trying to comfort her. The second he saw me, his expression turned murderous.
“You’ve been back two days and you’re already trying to throw Mia out?”
Dad looked up. “She’s lived in that room since she was a child. Why do you have to take it from her?”
I opened my mouth.
Mia cut in first, tears in her eyes.
“Don’t blame her. She just came home. Of course she wants a space of her own…”
Callum got angrier. “She has a guest room! Why does she need yours?”
Mom sighed. “You’re really disappointing me.”
I pointed toward Mia’s room. “Why don’t you go take a look?”
Callum scoffed. “Oh, and that’s supposed to make you the good guy?”
He took the stairs two at a time.
Then he stopped in the guest room doorway. Didn’t say a word.
My suitcase was still in the guest room.
The master bedroom door was closed. No sign anyone had set foot inside.
Mr. Hayes cleared his throat. “Miss Nora was in the guest room all night.”
Silence fell downstairs.​
Mia went pale and shot to her feet, glaring at me.
“If you were never going to move in, why did you say yes?!”
The words were out before she could catch them.
She froze. Slowly, her hand drifted up to cover her mouth.
I looked at her.
And my mind went somewhere else.
At my foster dad’s place, I learned fast: say no, get hit. Say yes and get it wrong, get hit too. But saying yes bought me time.
Once, my foster dad stole money from the house and told my foster mom I’d taken it.
I said I hadn’t.
No one believed me.
He beat me while asking if I had any proof.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t get out of bed for two days after that beating.
Eventually, I learned.
After that, I stopped saying no. I learned to do as little as possible, because every move was another chance to get something wrong.
And I remembered everything—what people said, what they asked me to do, what they gave me. I kept track.
…
That night, Mom came to my room.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“Nora… those years out there… you must have been through a lot.”
I didn’t answer.
“Things will be better now. We’ll take it slowly.”
I nodded.
“But Mia’s lived here for eighteen years, and that really has been her room since she was little. You can stay in this room for now, okay?”
“Okay.”
She let out a breath, patted my hand, and left.
I sat on the bed and looked around.
The room was nice enough.
The bed was soft. There was a window.
It was better than anywhere I’d ever lived before.
I took out my phone and photographed the room piece by piece: the painting above the desk, the vase on the side table, every piece of porcelain in the display cabinet.
I numbered each photo and saved everything to a separate album in the cloud.
No particular reason. Just habit.
Document everything. That’s how I’ve stayed alive.
Down the hall, Mia’s door was shut tight.
Something shattered behind it. Louder than last time.