I Begged The Real Heiress To Take My Life Away Chapter 18

I Begged The Real Heiress To Take My Life Away Chapter 18

Reporters showed up. Influencers showed up. The regulars from the old street showed up too.

Someone asked me:

“Miss Sterling, going from a Sterling heiress to a diner owner, does that feel like a step down?”

The reporter looked thrilled, waiting for the answer.

I said:

“Growing up, breakfast was half a bowl of plain oatmeal. Now I eat as many biscuits as I want.”

“Feels like a huge step down, honestly.”

The reporter had no answer

Josie stood next to me and twisted the knife.

“Her personal record’s eight in one sitting. Do not try this at home.”

I glared at her.

She raised an eyebrow.

We stared each other down for three seconds, then both burst out laughing.

Later, that old clip from the Sterling gala resurfaced online.

The one where I clung to Josie’s leg, sobbing:

“Sis, please, save me!”

The comments were all laughing emojis.

Some said I had no shame.

Some said Josie was way too harsh at first.

Some said the Sterlings had it coming.

And some said being switched at birth wasn’t something you could fix overnight.

They were right about that last one.

It wasn’t easy.

We fought. We cried. We hated each other. We nearly broke apart completely.

Josie still has nightmares sometimes, about getting second place and having the whole world abandon her

for it.

I still dream sometimes too, standing backstage at a Sterling gala in heels that tear up my feet, unable to

remember a single line of a speech.

But when I wake up, there are hot biscuits in the kitchen.

Peggy calls out:

“Daisy, honey! Josie! Get up and eat!”

Frank says:

“Made sausage gravy today. Come eat before it gets cold!”

Eleanor texts:

[Come home for dinner this weekend. No lessons.]

Weston adds:

[Built a new steamer. Efficiency’s up twelve percent.]

Sebastian sends:

[Go easy on the food. But you can have some.]

Josie kicks the side of my bed.

“Up, Little Quail. The biscuits are getting cold.”

I moan into the blankets.

“Five more minutes!”

She rips the covers off without mercy.

“You said five more minutes yesterday. That turned into two hours.”

I drag myself up, furious.

Then the two of us squeeze in at the little table for breakfast.

She hands me a sausage biscuit.

I pour her a bowl of grits.

Sometimes sweet.

Sometimes savory.

These days, she eats both without making a face.

I asked her once:

“Sis, do you ever wish we’d never gotten switched at birth?”

She thought about it for a long time.

“I used to.”

“And now?”

She took a bite of her biscuit.

“Now I think… this is fine too.”

I smiled.

Same here.

Fate put the two of us in the wrong places.

Then spent eighteen years knocking us around until we were bruised and battered.

But somehow, Neither of us rotted where we landed.

At that gala, I was the first one to beg the real heiress to save me.

It took me a while to realize.

I ended up saving myself.

And pulled her up along the way, too, without even meaning to.

As for the Sterlings?

They’re still learning how to love people.

Learning slowly.

But at least they’ve started.

And me. Daisy Sterling.

These days, I also go by Daisy Doyle.

A dummy who once got tossed into a house full of geniuses.

Finally figured something out.

Being a dummy isn’t so bad.

As long as somebody’s willing to hand her a hot biscuit.

She can keep living, warm and stubborn and very much alive.