Chapter 3The True Heiress Who Sees Through Fake Innocence

The next morning, the tension in the Caldwell mansion was suffocating. Mark spent the night on an IV at the hospital. Beatrice, with bloodshot eyes, sat on the sofa sighing.

When I walked downstairs, she glared at me. "You jinxed him! Ever since you came back, there hasn't been a single day of peace!"

I grabbed a glass of warm water. "I warned him about the dead crabs. If a dog insists on eating garbage, you can't blame me for the diarrhea."

"You!" Beatrice threw a throw pillow at me. I tilted my head slightly, and it hit the water dispenser, falling to the floor.

Beth came downstairs and immediately comforted Beatrice. "Mom, don't get upset. It's not worth ruining your health." She looked at me with a sorrowful expression. "Gwen, even if Mark was rude to you, you shouldn't have cursed him."

I pulled out my notebook. Concept switching, logical inversion. Distorting a factual warning into a malicious curse—a classic manipulative tactic to shift narrative focus.

Richard walked in, scowling. "What's all this noise?" He looked at me with disgust. "Tomorrow night, we are hosting a gala to officially introduce you to society. Beatrice, take them to buy some proper clothes today. I don't want people thinking the Caldwells neglect our own."

Beatrice gave a reluctant nod.

In the afternoon, the family driver dropped us off at Copley Place, Boston's premier luxury shopping mall. Beatrice held Beth's hand, completely ignoring me as I walked behind like a stray shadow.

We entered a high-end designer boutique. The associate greeted them warmly. "Mrs. Caldwell, Miss Caldwell, we've reserved the latest seasonal arrivals for you."

Beth pointed to a rack of haute couture. "Mom, that starry-night gown is beautiful. I want to try it."

Beatrice beamed. "Try it, sweetheart. You look gorgeous in everything."

I walked to the other side and picked up a minimalist black evening gown. No flashy ornaments, but the cut and fabric were top-tier. As I prepared to ask for my size, a pale hand reached out and grabbed the fabric.

"Gwen, this dress suits you so well," Beth said, appearing beside me. Her eyes betrayed a flash of envy. "But it's a bit dark. It might make you look a little too mature. Store associate, please pack this one for me instead. I think it would look better on me."

The associate looked between us, hesitant.

Beatrice walked over. "If Beth wants it, let her have it! Why are you fighting over a plain black dress anyway?" She sneers at me. "Associate, find Gwen something cheaper. Just make sure she's covered."

I let go of the fabric. "Sure." I looked at Beth. "This dress is priced at thirty-eight thousand dollars. Since you love it so much, you can pay for it."

Beth froze. "Gwen... Mom is paying for this."

I smiled. "I signed the trust fund waiver last night. Technically, I'm just a penniless girl from the countryside. Since you're the one snatching the dress I chose, you can't expect me or the family trust to pay for you, an outsider. After all, that trust is for your medical care, not your wardrobe."

Beth's face flushed crimson.

The associate, being a seasoned professional in luxury retail, immediately read between the lines.

Beatrice's face darkened. "Gwen, stop causing trouble! The Caldwells can easily afford a dress!"

I pulled out my phone and tapped the voice recorder. "Mrs. Caldwell, please confirm this. Are you currently diverting family funds allocated for Beth's heart condition to purchase a thirty-eight thousand dollar luxury gown? If so, I will forward this audio recording directly to the Caldwell Group's board of trustees."

Beatrice pulled her hand back as if she had touched hot iron. The auditing standards for family medical trusts were incredibly strict. Any violation would force her to face a grilling from the board.

"You... you shameless brat!" Beatrice hisses.

I tucked my phone away. "Complying with the law is hardly shameless. Associate, ring it up on Miss Beth's personal credit card."

Beth bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes, as she reluctantly pulled out her black card. She looked at the dress as if it were a burning coal.

Ignoring them, I walked next door to an independent designer boutique, used my own card, and purchased a sharp, structured white pantsuit.

The welcome gala was about to begin, and the real show was just getting started.