Who Is the Real Heiress Now?

My mother, fearing I might find a foreign boyfriend abroad, hastily arranged a marriage for me in New York.

My fiancé, Ethan Roscente, was said to be both talented and handsome, with a prestigious family background.

I was ordered to return home for the engagement.

At a high-end boutique, I selected an ivory sweetheart neckline gown.

Just as my fingertips grazed the hem, someone else reached for it.

"I want to try this on," the woman beside me said, signaling to the sales assistant.

The assistant unceremoniously snatched the dress from my hands.

"Isn't there a first-come, first-served rule?" I asked, trying to keep my temper in check.

The woman gave me a disdainful glance.

"Can you even afford 188,000?" she sneered. "I'm Ethan Roscente's god-sister. In New York, the Roscente family makes the rules."

Ethan Roscente? My fiancé? What a coincidence.

I immediately dialed Ethan's number.

"Your god-sister is trying to take my dress. What should I do?"

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"Who is this?" His voice was icy. "Matters between Isabella and me are none of your concern."

He didn't even wait for me to introduce myself before hanging up.

Isabella Lowell laughed gleefully.

"Trying to climb the social ladder? Take a look in the mirror. Even the Roscente family's janitors dress better than you."

I was wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans today. I hadn't expected that to be a reason for humiliation.

"Judging by appearances?" I raised an eyebrow. "Ethan must have poor taste to acknowledge you as his sister."

My interest in the dress was gone. I picked it up and headed to the cashier.

"Miss, we prioritize our members," the sales assistant said hesitantly.

Isabella slapped down a gold card.

"Ever seen a card with a million-dollar limit?" she boasted. "Don't pretend to be rich if you're not."

I pulled out my Black Card and handed it over.

"Sign me up for membership. Wrap it up."