During the third month of my overseas branch assignment, I saw a friend post a photo of an engagement invitation on social media.
The caption read: “Best wishes to Miss Evans and Mr. Hughes—may you be together forever!”
On the red invitation card, the names Sophia Evans and Daniel Hughes were printed side by side.
The wedding banquet was even set to be held at a five-star restaurant under my parents’ company.
I froze. My boyfriend’s name was Daniel Hughes.
But Sophia Evans was not me.
When I checked the restaurant’s official website, it clearly stated:
“In celebration of our beloved daughter’s engagement, the restaurant will be closed for two weeks.”
I was stunned.
I immediately sent a screenshot of the post to Daniel.
“What’s going on? You’re engaged without me? Do my parents have a new daughter now too?”
Half an hour later, he called, his tone earnest.
“How could I possibly get engaged without you? Sophia is just the goddaughter your parents adopted.”
“The invitation was printed wrong. I was just dealing with it, which is why I didn’t reply to you right away.”
I gave a calm “mm,” pretending to believe him.
But after hanging up, I booked the next flight home.
…
Back in New York City, I didn’t go to the office first—I went straight to our mansion.
On the plane, I had already called my father, who was at the rehabilitation center with my mother.
He admitted to adopting a goddaughter.
Since Daniel was at the company, I decided to meet Sophia on my own.
When I arrived at the gate, I almost thought I’d gone to the wrong place.
The garden outside was full of pink lilies—the very flowers I was allergic to.
I couldn’t help but sneeze several times.
The gardener frowned when he saw me and stepped forward to drive me away.
“Who are you? This is the Evans mansion. Without the owners’ invitation, you’re not allowed in!”
I couldn’t believe it—I had to prove my identity just to enter my own home.
As I was about to call my parents, a Rolls-Royce sped past me. The force of the wind knocked me to the ground, scraping my palm and drawing blood.
The car door opened, and a girl stepped out, covered head to toe in luxury brand logos.
The gardener immediately greeted her respectfully as “Miss,” then pointed at me with impatience.
“This woman claims she’s the real owner of the mansion and says she’ll call Mr. and Mrs. Evans!”
So this was Sophia Evans.
At the gardener’s words, a flicker of guilt flashed in her eyes. She bent down and helped me up, her tone carrying faint reproach.
“Sis, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”
As if she were the mistress of the mansion, and I needed her permission to return home.
“Sis? Funny, I thought I was the Evans family’s only daughter.”
I gave a cold laugh, my tone mocking.
Sophia’s eyes widened, her expression all innocence.
“Ah, I was there when Daniel called you yesterday. I thought he’d explained everything clearly.”
“Mom and Dad only adopted me because they were lonely. You haven’t been home once these three months—you can’t blame them!”
Ha.
Just three months, not three years.
Her act of innocence was so thick it was almost suffocating.
Every word implied I shouldn’t have come back.
My gaze swept over Sophia.
When I saw the ancestral gemstone necklace gleaming on her neck, I curved my lips into a cold smile.
“I hear you’re getting married in two days. Who’s the groom?”
Even though she tried desperately to suppress her grin, her eyes betrayed her triumph, brimming with provocation.
