Am I Not The Only Heiress?

One day, in the school's group chat, I accidentally revealed that I was the daughter of Sanfiric Inc.'s chairman.

Out of nowhere, Sally jumped in with a scathing remark: [Do you have no shame? Clinging to some random man and calling him ‘Dad' just because you're desperate to be an heiress. Have you lost your mind?]

Her accusation left me completely baffled. I didn't even bother responding, but she wasn't about to let it go. She bombarded the chat with photos and videos, all claiming to prove that she was the real heiress.

In a video she shared, she was clinging to my father's arm, acting sweet and coy.

I stared at the screen in shock, my mind reeling. Before I could even process what I was seeing, the school advisor kicked me out of the group chat entirely.

"How could we have such a vain and shameless student? You're a disgrace to the school!"

Furious, I whipped out my phone and called my dad. The moment he picked up, I exploded, "Roger Burberry, do you have another daughter I don't know about?!"

It was a quiet afternoon in the university library, and I was bent over my IELTS prep materials, diligently working toward my dream of studying abroad after graduation. Suddenly, the tranquility was broken by the insistent vibration of my phone.

I picked it up and saw a barrage of messages from our class advisor in the campus group chat.

[@Everyone, a heartfelt thank you to Mr. Roger Burberry for his generous support of our university. Would Mr. Burberry's daughter please contact me? The school extends a warm invitation to you and your father to attend tomorrow's graduation ceremony as honored guests.]

The moment I saw my father's name in the message, I froze for a second, perplexed. Why was the school looking for me and my dad?

Scrolling up, I found a string of photos that the advisor had shared earlier. In the pictures, my father, looking every bit the confident businessman, was shaking hands with the university dean, the two of them standing beside a gleaming ribbon, ready to inaugurate the school's newly built swimming pool.

There was also a forwarded news article:

"A heartfelt thank you to Roger Burberry, Chairman of Sanfiric Inc., for generously donating the swimming pool and supporting our students."

Now, our university was a well-known private institution in the region, and accepting donations from prominent figures was nothing out of the ordinary. My father had always been enthusiastic about philanthropy, so his involvement didn't surprise me too much. But this time, he had gone big—donating an entire swimming pool. That was something else.

Meanwhile, the advisor kept flooding the chat with profuse gratitude.

Feeling a bit self-conscious but wanting to be polite, I finally replied: [Thank you. As a member of this school, I'm honored to contribute in any way I can.]

The group chat exploded in an instant.

[Whoa, I had no idea Roger Burberry's daughter was one of us!]

[No way—so humble! She's never even mentioned it before.]

[This is amazing. Her dad donates a swimming pool, and she's just as impressive!]

Messages of surprise and admiration scrolled relentlessly across the screen.

My cheeks burned as I read them. Regret crept in—I should've thought better and just messaged the advisor privately.

As I hesitated over whether to explain further, a sudden flurry of voice messages popped up in the chat from a user with a cute bunny profile picture. The words were like daggers.

[Some people are just shameless, huh? Chasing after someone else's dad—don't you have your own? You're just like a toad dreaming of turning into a princess, that's what this is. You're ugly and delusional!]

[Crazy for a rich daddy, aren't you? Why don't you try reincarnating instead of pretending to be someone you're not?]

For a long moment, I was stunned, completely blindsided by the venom. When the haze lifted, a storm of emotions surged—anger, humiliation, and confusion all at once.

What kind of nonsense was this? I thought furiously. I was getting scolded for recognizing my own father?

Without hesitation, I fired back: [Excuse me, but you've got this all wrong. How could I possibly mistake my own dad?]

The bunny avatar looked vaguely familiar. Clicking on it, I realized it belonged to someone from my own class—Sally Mitchell. We'd hardly interacted before, so her sudden hostility made no sense.

I tried to keep my cool.

But the chat was already in chaos.

[Is there some kind of misunderstanding here? If there's an issue, let's talk it through calmly.]

[Wait, what's going on? Two people claiming Mr. Burberry as their dad? This is wild.]

[LOL, does this mean one of them is a secret love child? Oooo! Scandalous!]

The comments turned more speculative and absurd by the second.

Clearly frustrated, Sally snapped back: [All of you, shut up!]

She followed her outburst with a series of photos—one of which struck me like a bolt of lightning.

It was a photo of her, arm affectionately linked with my father's, looking every bit like a doting daughter. But the setting was what froze my breath: the front gate of our family villa.