Chapter 1The True Heir Returns: Nights of Passion

For eighteen years, I lived as the Ashford family’s son, the heir apparent. Then the real son came back.

And he set his sights on me.

I looked at Ethan Miller, fresh from some small town upstate. His clothes were simple, plain even, but his face? Anything but ordinary. Those cool, almond-shaped eyes were calm, intelligent. He managed to impress the usual crowd of trust-fund kids with just a few quiet words.

Mr. and Mrs. Ashford – Dad and Mom, as I used to call them – praised him too. Said that even though he grew up poor, he still had that unmistakable Ashford grace.

It was laughable, really. They had no idea their precious biological son snuck into my room every night. Like a stray dog you couldn't shoo away.

* * *

My eighteenth birthday party. That’s when Ethan Miller showed up, stunning everyone. The resemblance to Mr. and Mrs. Ashford was uncanny. And to top it off, he’d scored number one in the country on his SATs, personally recruited by the dean of a top university.

My parents took his hands. Their smiles were warm, satisfied in a way I’d never seen directed at me.

"This is our son, the one who was lost to us," Mrs. Ashford announced. "He didn't have our guidance, but he’s turned out exceptionally well."

The pride in her voice was a stark contrast to the usual বিরক্ত annoyance I received. All eyes turned to me, standing on the staircase. Suddenly, I felt like a pathetic clown. I tried to hold my head high, telling myself it didn't matter.

Ethan didn't look intimidated like I expected. Dressed simply, he carried himself with a quiet confidence. He looked up at me, offered a small smile, and congratulated me on turning eighteen.

But today was his eighteenth birthday too. A birthday he’d spent the last eighteen years in obscurity because I, the imposter, had taken his place.

I tried to force a smile, walk down to him, calmly state that I was the one who belonged, the one raised as their son. But even fate seemed to despise me.

A nearby champagne tower chose that exact moment to crash down. Champagne drenched me, sticking my hair to my face, dripping stickily from my chin. Utterly humiliating.

Ethan offered me a napkin, his hand steady, the overhead lights catching the angles of his face, making him seem almost radiant. I heard the whispers around me.

“No wonder he always acted out, none of the Ashford class.”

“Serves him right.”

“Always knew something was off.”

I looked at his clear eyes, then at the undisguised disgust on my parents' faces. Shoving his hand away, I snarled, "Get lost! I don’t need your fake sympathy!"

The crow had shown its ragged feathers. The swan, by contrast, looked even purer, more noble. Everything was ruined.

My eighteenth birthday.