I Begged The Real Heiress To Take My Life Away Chapter 13

I Begged The Real Heiress To Take My Life Away Chapter 13

Josie moved into the Doyle house for good.

At first, the two of us circled each other like two cats forced into the same cage.

She couldn’t stand the sight of me.

I was tense around her too.

In the mornings, I’d hand customers their biscuits while she stood at the register, running numbers faster

than a scanner with a grudge.

Once I gave someone the wrong change, two dollars short, and she shot me a look.

“Eighteen minus seven is eleven.”

I said quietly, “I know that.”

“Then why’d you give him twelve back?”

“Because that old man looked like he needed an extra dollar today.”

Josie: “…”

Eventually she took over the register full-time.

The diner’s efficiency shot up thirty percent.

I stuck to bagging orders, chatting up customers, and slipping kids an extra half a donut.

Josie couldn’t watch it happen.

“You’re going to run this place into the ground.”

I said, “That kid called me pretty sister today.”

She scoffed. “What happened to your principles?”

“Shattered by the words ‘pretty sister.”

She rolled her eyes.

But the next day, when that same kid came back, she snuck him an extra deviled egg.

I stared at her, stunned.

She said, deadpan:

“He called me the fairy princess sister today.”

Good to know.

Even geniuses have a weakness.

Life at the Doyle house started to fill up.

Eleanor would drop by occasionally.

She learned to wait in line.

Went from radiating “I make more money in a minute than you do in a year” energy to calmly sitting on a

little stool eating savory grits.

The first time she tried savory grits, her whole body locked up.

Peggy asked, “How is it?”

Eleanor was quiet for three seconds.

“Very complex.”

I whispered to Josie:

“Translation: she hates it but won’t admit it.””

Josie nearly choked laughing.

Weston came by too.

He sat in the shop, staring at the steam rack for a solid five minutes.

Frank asked, “Mr. Sterling, what’ll you have?”

Weston said, dead serious:

“Your steam circulation system here is genuinely fascinating.”

Frank: “…What?”

I quickly shoved a tray of biscuits in front of him.

“Dad, eat your food, save the research for later.”

Weston’s chopsticks froze mid-air.

I froze too.

I’d just called him Dad.

The air went a little strange.

Weston bowed his head and ate.

After a moment, he said:

“This is good.”

Frank lit up immediately.

“Then eat plenty.”

Weston actually finished two full trays.

By the end he was slumped in his chair, quietly loosening his belt.

I caught him doing it.

Didn’t say a word.

A man of his stature deserved to keep a little dignity.

Sebastian came around the most.

Always brought food.

First time, Rosa’s shrimp and cheese grits.

Second time, a strawberry shortcake.

Third time, a family-size bucket of fried chicken, the exact thing I’d wanted as a kid and Eleanor had always

banned.

Josie eyed him.

“Trying to bribe your way to forgiveness with junk food?”

Sebastian said, flat: “She likes it.”

I hugged the chicken bucket, so touched I nearly called him bro on the spot.

Josie scoffed. “If she likes it so much, why’d you never let her have it before?”

Sebastian said nothing.

I gnawed on a drumstick, mumbling around a full mouth.

“Sis, quit fighting. You’re ruining the flavor of this chicken.”

Sebastian watched me eat, grease all over my face, and handed me a napkin.

The gesture came out completely natural.

Just like all those times before, when what he handed me wasn’t a graded exam, but a plain paper napkin

instead.

Something in me ached, out of nowhere.

If they’d been like this from the start, would we have turned out different?

But life doesn’t do hypotheticals.

Only finishing this drumstick, and figuring out the rest later.

A month later, the hospital investigation into the birth swap wrapped up.

The nurse on duty back then had falsified records to cover up her mistake.

The hospital agreed to compensation and a públic apology.

The media exploded all over again.

Reporters camped outside the diner.

“Are you satisfied with the compensation amount?”

“How’s the relationship between the two heiresses these days?”

“How will the Sterling family handle the inheritance?”

I was mid-fry on a batch of donuts, blinking hard against the camera flashes.

Josie stepped in front of me, voice cold.

“No interviews.”

The reporters wouldn’t let up.

“Miss Doyle, will you be moving back to the Sterling house?”

“Do you resent Daisy Sterling?”

Josie picked up the long tongs she used for the donuts.

“Ask one more question and I’ll flip you right out that door.”