Chapter 1

I, Fiona, am a D-list actress in Hollywood. The media calls me the "Cheapest Star in the Industry."

I don't have many hobbies; I just love pinching pennies.

Free burgers from craft services on set? Absolutely! And if I can't finish them, I'm boxing them up to take home!

Free sample clothes sent by sponsoring brands? I wear them! Why spend my own money shopping?

After all, I have a massive goal to achieve - one that burns through cash like crazy.

So, when rumors hit the press linking my boyfriend, rising TV star Travis, to both me and the newly found "real heiress" of the Ark Corporation, the tabloids showed no mercy:

"That's Chloe Bennett! The long-lost biological daughter of the Bennett family!! Fiona? That stingy, cheapskate actress? How could she ever compete?"

Travis even released a statement dripping with fake innocence:

[Fiona and I are purely professional colleagues.]

[I have immense admiration for Ms. Chloe Bennett. If given the opportunity, I would be thrilled to take her out to dinner.]

Meanwhile, the CEO of Ark Corporation called me in the middle of the night:

"Fiona! Is this family going bankrupt or something?! That's the eighty-eighth time! You've been photographed snatching free burgers from the craft table for the eighty-eighth time! You might have no shame, but I do! Your mother is personally cooking dinner tonight. You'd better get your butt back home!"

When my phone buzzed, I was staring at this month's acting paycheck with a goofy grin.

Travis's messages were blowing up my screen:

"Fiona, you know my career is just taking off. Going public with a relationship right now is professional suicide."

"My fans will leave, and my brand deals will be pulled. You get it, right?"

I texted back a simple: "Okay."

He replied instantly: "Don't be mad! I'm thinking about our future here! Think about it - if my career tanks and I make less money, how am I going to give you a good life?"

"Besides," he added, "aren't you the queen of pinching pennies? If I start earning less, it'd break your little frugal heart, wouldn't it?"

Staring at that last line, the faint disgust in my chest solidified into raw bitterness.

Yes, I'm cheap.

Everyone in the entertainment industry knows Fiona is a penny-pincher.

And so, he used that exact thing to guilt-trip me.

Did he actually know why, though?

All he knew was how to mock me for taking home boxed leftovers, sneer at me for wearing PR samples, and look down on my coupon-clipping habits. He constantly complained that I was "cheapening myself."

The phone buzzed again.

This time, it was Richard Bennett.

I picked up. "Dad."

"Oh, so you still remember I'm your father?! Eighty-eight times, Fiona! You've been caught stealing burgers off craft services for the eighty-eighth time! It's been trending all day!"

"Get home for dinner tonight! Your mother is cooking personally! Seven o'clock sharp! Don't you dare be late!"

Click. He hung up.

I checked the time. Six-twenty.

Well, no craft table burgers for me tonight.

I sent Travis a quick "Do whatever you want," grabbed my coat, and hurried out the door.

At seven on the dot, I pushed open the front door of the Bennett estate.

"Fiona's home!" Chloe's voice chimed, sweet as honey. "Hurry and wash your hands for dinner! Mom made everything herself tonight!"

Stepping into the dining room, I froze.

The entire table was covered in bright red, chili-heavy dishes.

"What are you standing there for? Sit down," Richard said, gesturing toward an empty chair.

Eleanor pulled me down beside her. "Taste it, sweetie. I made these specially tonight."

"Mom, my stomach can't handle spicy food. You know I have gastritis."

The room fell dead silent.

Chloe's eyes welled with tears instantly. "I'm so sorry! It's all my fault, Fiona! Don't blame Mom!"

"I lived down south for twenty-two years. The winters down there are so damp and bone-chilling cold that you can't survive without eating spicy food. Mom and Dad only made this feast because they felt bad for what I went through."

She hung her head. "I didn't know you couldn't handle spice. I'll go make something else right now!"

She turned toward the kitchen, looking like a kicked puppy.

"Enough, stop," Richard waved his hand. "Everything's already cooked. Don't cause a fuss."

Eleanor chimed in, "Fiona, you can build up a tolerance to spicy food. You're just being too delicate. That's why your stomach is so sensitive."

Throughout the entire dinner, I ended up rinsing the meat in a bowl of plain water, filling up mostly on white rice.

Free food is free food. Might as well eat my fill.

Richard and Eleanor barely looked at me; their eyes never left Chloe.

"Chloe, sweetie, are you settling in okay? Are the maids taking good care of you?"

"If you need anything at all, just tell me. I'll buy it for you."

Chloe answered softly, playing the picture of a meek, obedient angel. Every now and then, she glanced over at me with an unreadable, calculating look in her eyes.

Three months ago, Chloe showed up on their doorstep clutching a DNA test.

She proved there had been a mix-up at the hospital when we were born. She was the biological daughter of the Bennett family.

And I was the fake heiress who had stolen twenty-two years of her lavish life.

Ridiculous, right?

Yet reality is just that absurd.

After dinner, Eleanor guided me over to the living room couch.

"Fiona," she said softly, her voice full of maternal warmth. "Your father gave you a black card. How come we never see you use it?"

I looked down, picking at my nails. "It didn't feel appropriate."

"What's inappropriate about it?!" Richard's voice boomed from across the room. "I raised you for twenty-two years! You're family!"

Eleanor patted my hand gently. "Exactly, sweetie. Don't overthink it. Chloe is back, but you're still our daughter, okay?"

A warm ache swelled in my chest, and my eyes stung with unshed tears.

Maybe they really did still care about me.

Maybe their coldness over the past three months was just because they hadn't figured out how to handle the situation yet.

"Ahem," Richard cleared his throat. "There's actually something we wanted to talk to you about."

His very next sentence, however, extinguished every trace of warmth left inside me.