The Heir in Disguise

Chapter Six Acknowledge.

 

Isla sat curled in the corner of her room, her back pressed against the cold wall. The single headlight on her desk flickered weakly, casting a pale circle of light across her cluttered floor. Her phone rested in her palm, screen glowing as she scrolled through her banking app’s transaction history.

Each line was a memory, a timestamp of generosity from the anonymous donor. She stared at the series of deposits, her eyes lingering on the last one. The entries had stopped abruptly. The rhythm that once offered security was now replaced with a cruel silence.

Tears blurred her vision as she blinked hard, fighting the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. 

She hadn’t realized how deeply she had relied on those donations. Somewhere deep inside, she had convinced herself they’d never end. She hadn’t thought to say thank you, to investigate who the person was. Maybe she thought she deserved the help. Or maybe, in truth, she was just scared of confronting what their generosity really meant: that she hadn’t been doing it all alone.

Now, the halt felt like a death sentence to her dreams.

She swallowed hard, pressing a hand against her chest. The absence of that financial lifeline made her feel… small. Invisible. Powerless.

Still, she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She couldn’t afford to break down, not tonight. Not when her project was on the verge of launch. 

All she concluded now was that she needed one more push. One more miracle. Even if it was just a one-time $50,000 injection to carry her over the finish line. She had sacrificed so much, late nights, missed birthdays, strained relationships. And now? Now it was all hanging by a thread.

Her mind raced through every possible option. She had already reached out to her father, swallowing her pride to ask for help. But he had made his stance clear: “Come back to the family business or figure it out on your own.”

Which left only one name in her heart—Jerome Quinn.

Her sister. Her complicated, proud, and once-loving sister.

Ten years ago, tragedy had bound them tighter than blood ever could. Their mother died in a devastating plane crash on a flight from Velmoria to Australia. The incident had shaken the entire city and taken countless lives, leaving Isla orphaned in spirit, even though she still had a father.

Jerome, just a few years older, had stepped up immediately. She filled their mother’s shoes—too young to be a mother herself, yet mature enough to try. Isla had once clung to her in grief, seeing her sister as her anchor. But life had its way of changing people.

Their bond fractured slowly over time. Isla’s refusal to join the family business had been the final blow. Instead, she chose fashion—her own path, her own brand, and worst of all, her own name.

Still, maybe... just maybe, some of that old love still lingered beneath the surface.

With a deep breath, Isla tapped Jerome’s contact and hit “Call.”

***

Jerome was in bed, resting her head on her husband’s chest. The low hum of the air conditioner filled the room as their children slept peacefully in the adjacent room. Her phone vibrated on the bedside stool. She reached over, expecting her secretary. They had scheduled a call to finalize logistics on a luxury chair and a vase delivery headed to Velmoria’s elite neighborhood. The client had already paid in full, and they couldn’t afford mistakes.

But when she saw the screen, her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Isla?” she whispered.

It had been eight months since they last spoke. Eight long months of silence, bitterness, and unresolved tension.

Jerome’s heart twisted in confusion. She and Isla used to be inseparable until grief, ambition, and pride drove a wedge between them. Jerome had tried to guide her, but Isla never listened. She was always fiercely independent—sometimes recklessly so. Walking away from the family empire had felt like betrayal.

Even worse? Isla had succeeded.

Her fashion brand had made headlines, fashion blogs, and even landed a feature in Velmoria Vogue. Without the Quinn name. Without her father. Without Jerome.

Jealousy crept in like a quiet storm. Jerome would never admit it aloud, but seeing Isla celebrated in spaces she herself had worked years to enter stung deeply. Especially when their father, once distant with her, started boasting proudly about Isla.

So when she saw her name on the screen, she was curious… and guarded.

“Hey,” she answered, her voice tight.

“Hey,” Isla replied softly. Her tone was uncertain, humble even.

The pause that followed stretched long.

Isla’s pride felt like a rock in her throat. It had taken everything in her to dial that number. Now the words were jammed behind her teeth. She paced slowly, willing herself to speak. She knew Jerome had every reason to say no. But she had to try.

“I need your help, sis,” she finally said.

On the other end, Jerome’s lips curled into a slow smile—not of warmth, but of silent satisfaction. There it was. The moment she had imagined for what seemed like forever. 

But even as that long-awaited moment arrived, Jerome hesitated. Just hours ago, their father had called her.

“If she comes asking, say no,” he’d ordered. “If she wants help, she can come back. Otherwise, let her drown.”

Jerome had been conflicted then. She was even more conflicted now.

“I’m sorry, Isla,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. “But I’m going to have to disappoint you. Dad—”

Click.

Isla ended the call instantly.

The moment Jerome mentioned Dad, Isla already knew where the conversation was going. Her heart clenched, but not in surprise. She had expected it. David Quinn always got what he wanted—through pressure, manipulation, or silence.

But she was her father’s daughter in one other way.

“A cat doesn’t give birth to a cockroach,” she muttered under her breath, quoting her grandmother’s favorite saying.

She stood from her bed, rubbing her temples. The room felt colder. She glanced at the 3D wall clock above her desk. “12:45 a.m.”

Her chest rose and fell in a deep, tired sigh.

She picked up her phone from the bed where she had thrown it after the call ended. Her thoughts churned as she began pacing—slow, deliberate steps across the room. Her mind searched for alternatives. Her family had abandoned her out of pride and control.

Fine.

If they wouldn’t help her, she would help herself.

Mid-step, she stopped. Her fingers touched her jaw, as if trying to anchor a floating thought.

An idea struck.

One she had dismissed before. Twice. But now… maybe it was time.

She opened I*******m, her fingers tapping with a new purpose. Her eyes narrowed, and in bold capital letters, she began to type into her text box.

This time, she wasn’t reaching out to family.

She was going to do something she had failed to do before