I finally reached my breaking point. Furious, I raised my hand, ready to slap Zion across the face.
But before I could touch him, the teacher quickly stepped in front of him and ordered the security guards to hold me back.
They shoved me to the ground.
And while I was still on the floor, the teacher crouched beside Zion with concern. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"
Through gritted teeth, I snapped, "This is completely upside down! The son of my housekeeper pretending to be a young master? Do you believe I won't fire your mother and kick your whole family out?"
The teacher scoffed and shot back sarcastically, “Wow. Wearing fake designer labels and still trying to act like a rich madam? You really have delusions of grandeur.”
“You’re accusing your employer’s son of being a servant’s child. Now that’s what's truly upside down. I suggest you take your daughter and leave before Madam Sanchez arrives. Don’t embarrass yourself further.”
At that moment, I honestly couldn’t tell whether Zion or his mother had brainwashed this teacher. No matter what I said, no matter how I tried to prove my identity, she was convinced I was just the housekeeper.
I slowly stood, brushed the dust from my clothes, and pulled my frightened daughter into my arms. My eyes narrowed as I stared coldly at both the teacher and Zion.
“Fine. Didn’t you say Madam Sanchez is on her way? Let’s wait, then. I’d love to see how this ends for you.”
But when “Madam Sanchez” finally arrived, the reality hit me harder than expected.
My housekeeper walked in—draped in my designer clothes, wearing my jewelry, even driving my Lamborghini. She strolled into the school like she was the real lady of a wealthy household.
The teacher’s eyes lit up at the sight of her, grinning like an obedient lapdog.
Zion rushed over, grabbed her hand, and pointed at me. “Mom! That damn maid’s pretending to be someone she’s not. Yell at her for me! Teach her a lesson!”
“And next time, don’t hire someone this uncultured to work in our house!”
The housekeeper froze when she saw me. Her body visibly trembled.
We locked eyes. Her guilt was written all over her face.
She turned to the teacher and said quickly, “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it. You two just wait over there.”
Then she walked up to me, blocking their view behind her, and smiled gently. “Madam, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back? You gave me a fright.”
I glanced at the jade necklace around her neck and let out a cold laugh. “Enjoying my jewelry, are you?”
She gave a sheepish chuckle, trying to brush it off. “This is just a big misunderstanding. My son must’ve offended you. Let’s go home, I’ll deal with him right away.”
I yanked my hand out of hers. I had no intention of playing along with her little charade.
Pointing at her necklace, her outfit, her whole facade, I said icily, “Take everything off—now. Then explain to your precious son and that teacher who the real maid is here.”
Her face flushed crimson with humiliation. “Madam, surely you’re not making a scene over something so trivial?” she said with barely disguised resentment.
“Let’s just go home, okay? I’ll personally apologize once we’re back.”
She was desperate not to be exposed in front of others. Over the years, every time I traveled abroad for business, she would secretly wear my clothes and jewelry, parading around as a wealthy woman. Her vanity had grown unchecked.
She had clearly forgotten who actually owned that house—who the real mistress was.
Without hesitation, I raised my hand, ready to slap her.
But before I could, she went berserk—grabbing my wrist and slapping me across the face instead.
