She Billed the Wrong Heiress

I had just finished a facial at the luxury med spa and handed my black VIP card to the front desk. Instead of checking my membership, the manager flung the card straight into my face. "Trying to pull a scam with a fake card?" "I've seen plenty of old hags like you trying to find an excuse to skip the bill." Assuming there was some kind of mix-up, I calmly explained, "The card is real. Would you check my membership again?" After all, my brother handed me this VIP card himself the moment he opened this med spa, telling me I could swipe it whenever I wanted. The manager rolled her eyes dramatically and slapped an invoice across my chest. "Can't you survive for five minutes without depending on a man? Pay up. Right now." I glanced at the itemized receipt. Facial treatment plus an equipment damage fee: a staggering 1.2 million dollars. A dry laugh escaped my throat. Since when did an afternoon facial at my own brother's spa cost 1.2 million dollars? I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. "Tell my brother that if he doesn't deal with the psycho running his spa right this second, he doesn't need to bother coming back." Seeing me make a call, the manager smacked the phone right out of my hand. "Stop wasting everybody's time. Pay the damn bill." Her voice was sharp, dripping with venom. She had already pegged me as a vain freeloader trying to mooch off high-end services with a fake card. Whispers broke out in the lobby. Several clients waiting nearby began pointing and staring. Two women lounging near the front desk put down their phones to watch the spectacle. The aesthetic consultants paused their work, and even the hostesses by the front doors stretched their necks to get a better look. "I'm the owner's sister," I said, picking up my phone from the marble floor. I hung up on my assistant and called Logan directly. "He can explain it to you himself." The manager didn't stop me this time. She just crossed her arms, watching me with a sneer. The phone rang several times, but nobody picked up. I dialed again. He sent it straight to voicemail. Unbelievable. When it really counted, he was utterly useless. I redialed three more times. Still nothing. The manager let out a cold, mocking laugh, her patience wearing thin. "Couldn't scrounge up the cash, so now you're pretending to have personal ties with our CEO, Logan Vance?" I lowered the phone and took a deep, steadying breath. Keeping my voice level, I reiterated, "I really am Logan's younger sister, Avery Vance." "He isn't answering his phone right now, but he handed this card to me personally. My information is registered in your system." Hearing my name didn't prompt her to check the computer. Instead, she burst into hysterical laughter. "Sister? Or side chick?" "Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out you've been seducing my man?" "I wondered what kind of cheap tramp had her claws in him—his camera roll is full of your photos!" "The audacity of you, showing up at his spa thinking you can just swipe your pretty face and walk out." "Did you forget he has an actual girlfriend? Little home-wreckers like you need to be taught a lesson." I froze. She thought I was Logan's mistress? The hushed chatter around us grew louder. Most of the clientele here were wealthy socialites who despised mistresses more than anything in the world. Feeling their disgusted glares burning into me, I almost found it comical. I was his actual sister. We shared the same parents, the same bloodline. I was honestly speechless. Logan had been talking up his precious, secret girlfriend for months, hiding her from the family like she was some crown jewel. Turns out, this was her. I glanced down at her nametag: Chloe Miller, General Manager. His taste in women was truly garbage. Still, the priority was de-escalating this absurd misunderstanding. Before I could get another word out, she completely lost her temper. "Since this woman forged a VIP membership card, destroyed high-end medical equipment, and refuses to pay for damages, detain her until the police arrive!" With a snap of her fingers, two burly security guards flanked me. "This is a misunderstanding. We are not in that kind of relationship," I managed to say. Before I could finish, one of them clamped a sweaty hand over my mouth while the other twisted my arms violently behind my back. I fought back with everything I had, but the sheer physical disparity made my struggles pathetic. Ignoring the terrified gasps of the clients and the fury in my eyes, they dragged me down the hallway like a sack of trash. They hurled me brutally into a dimly lit storage room at the back of the building, the air thick with the stench of bleach and mildewed cardboard. The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off my cries and any hope of help.I hit the concrete floor hard. Before I could catch my breath, Chloe stormed in, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and slapped me across the face. A blinding, stinging pain exploded over my cheek. "Whore! You think you can crawl into my man's bed?!" "Think you can sleep with him and burn through his money?!" Her voice was shrill. Raising her pointed stiletto heel, she kicked me viciously in the stomach. Agony doubled me over. My stomach violently heaved, nausea rushing up my throat. Watching me curl up in pain seemed to give her an intoxicating rush of satisfaction. She turned to the two guards and barked, "Beat her! Beat her within an inch of her life!" Clearly her personal attack dogs, the men didn't hesitate. A relentless barrage of kicks and punches rained down on me. I clenched my teeth, wrapping my arms tightly around my head to shield my skull as much as possible. The searing pain ripped through every nerve in my body. She nudged my swollen cheek with the tip of her shoe. "Learned your lesson yet? You're nothing but a cheap piece of trash he sleeps with!" "I told you, I'm his sister! Call him right now if you don't believe me—let me talk to him!" I gasped out the words, desperate to make her see reason. But she didn't care. She hauled me up by my hair again and slapped me across the face over and over until my vision blurred into black spots. Only then did she finally stop. Resting her foot on my bruised shoulder, she smiled down at me. "That first bill was $1.2 million. Now you're going to pay me even more." "That's the price you pay for touching my man and spending his cash." "This is felony extortion," I wheezed, swallowing the metallic taste of blood. "Aren't you even a little afraid of the law?" "Threatening me? Logan can clean up whatever mess I make with his eyes closed." I closed my eyes. I couldn't believe my brother had indulged this woman to such an insane degree. Curled in a ball, shivering from the pain, I tried one last time. "I explained it... it's a misunderstanding. That card belongs to me." "Still running your mouth?" Her face darkened, and she kicked me hard in the ribs. The guards immediately stepped in again, their boots finding my bruised flesh. I realized then that nothing I said would reach her. If this went on, she was going to kill me in this room. Blood spilled from my mouth onto the cold floor. With the very last ounce of strength in my body, I reached for my phone. "Stop... Stop... I'll pay." Satisfied by my surrender, she waved the guards off. Crouching down, she gave my swollen cheek a patronizing pat. "See? Was that so hard? You just had to do it the painful way." "Two million total. Not a single cent less." Lying flat on the freezing floor, I drew ragged breaths, barely able to twitch a finger. I quickly tapped my assistant's number. She picked up almost instantly. "Rachel. Bring a cashier's check for two million dollars, payable to Chloe Miller, to the back entrance of my brother's med spa." "Right now." On the other end, Rachel paused, instantly sensing the terror in my tone. "Ms. Vance? What's going on? Your voice..." "Don't ask questions. Just get here," I rasped, cutting her off before hanging up. Hearing the figure "two million," Chloe's eyes ignited with pure, unadulterated greed. The triumphant smirk on her face was impossible to hide. "Smart girl."Rachel got the check and came straight to the spa with two of my bodyguards. I'd lost track of time by the time someone forced the storage-room door open. Rachel rushed in, flanked by the two guards. The moment she saw the blood smeared on my face and my crumpled, broken body on the floor, the color drained completely from her face. She hurried over to lift me up. "Ms. Vance, should we—" I shook my head. Rachel handed me the bank envelope, and I slid the cashier's check across the floor to Chloe. Chloe picked up the check and checked the name and amount. Then she waved her guards aside. "All right. Get out of here." "And if you tell anyone about this, I'll beat you to death next time." I let out a faint, cold sneer and didn't bother replying. There wasn't going to be a next time. The good life was officially over for her—and for my dear older brother. Enduring the agonizing, bone-deep throbbing throughout my body, I leaned heavily on Rachel, limping out of that sickening hellhole. Rachel took me straight to the emergency room for a full medical evaluation, documenting every single injury for a forensic report. Reviewing the medical file, Rachel's face looked murderous. "Ms. Vance, what on earth happened back there?" "That's my brother's precious girlfriend," I said with a raspy laugh. "She wanted to put me in my place." "Now, it's my turn to settle the score." I unlocked my phone and dialed the Director of Operations for the med spa. He was the actual executive running the day-to-day business, someone I had personally headhunted and who was fiercely loyal to me. The call connected. I skipped the pleasantries, my voice devoid of warmth. "You have ten minutes to fire a salon manager named Chloe Miller. If she isn't gone, the Vance family pulls every single dime of investment from that facility. Not a penny stays." The director on the other end gasped in shock the moment he heard my tone. He clearly knew better than to ask stupid questions. I hung up, went straight out the hospital doors, and had Rachel drive me to the police precinct. Calmly, logically, and without a trace of hysteria, I detailed every single second of the assault and extortion to the detective handling the case. After my formal statement was signed and filed, I looked at the crisp copy of the police report in my hands. The sight of it chilled whatever warmth remained in my chest. Now, I needed to settle accounts with Logan Vance. Rachel found him at a private lounge downtown. I called the detective with the address and told him Chloe might go to Logan when she learned she'd been fired. Then I took my driver and two bodyguards and headed there. My brother possessed zero business acumen; that private lounge had been funded entirely out of my own pocket so he'd have a playground. Yet when I arrived, thumping bass and drunken laughter blasted through the double doors. He was throwing an all-out party. No wonder he hadn't answered my calls. The entrance doors were slightly ajar, and a familiar voice carried over the music. It was Chloe, sobbing hysterically. She was playing the victim before a room full of people, spinning a sob story about how an arrogant side chick had assaulted her and had her wrongfully fired. "...I just asked her to pay the bill, and she shoved a check for two million dollars at me and got me fired on the spot..." "Logan, she crossed the line! She doesn't respect you at all!" "She's doing this to humiliate me! She wants to break us up!" Inside the lounge, Logan's entourage of trust-fund freeloaders chimed in with performative outrage. Logan had his arms wrapped tightly around Chloe, comforting her with sickening tenderness. "Don't cry, baby. I won't let anyone treat you like this." Then, puffing out his chest to look like a hero, he declared to the entire room, "Once I track that bitch down, I'll make her get on her knees and beg for your forgiveness!" The crowd cheered him on, egging him on to make me pay. "Just say the word, Logan, and the boys will drag her in here right now!" "Yeah! Show her who actually runs this city!" I nodded to my bodyguard. He shoved the lounge doors wide open. The music was cut in an instant. The laughter died. Dozens of stunned eyes snapped toward the doorway. "Logan Vance. Who exactly are you planning to put on their knees?"