I'm the Real Heiress They Bullied

The spotlight hit my face, and in that exact moment, someone gave me a hard shove from behind.

I lost my balance completely and fell straight off the stage. My ankle slammed against the edge of the steps, and the pain made everything go black. The music USB drive in my hand flew out and shattered into two pieces.

"Oops, sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

[Serena stands on stage, looking down at me with just the right amount of apology on her lips. She's wearing the latest Chanel dress, and her Cartier watch catches the light, glaring.]

"Are you okay, Cecilia?" someone nearby whispers.

I shake my head and push myself up off the floor. The sharp pain in my ankle makes me gasp.

"I really am so sorry," Serena jumps down from the stage and bends to pick up the broken USB pieces, her voice as soft as if she's comforting a child. "I turned around too quickly and didn't see you behind me. You're not mad at me, are you?"

I don't say anything. I just stare at her limited-edition high heels. Those shoes definitely kicked back at me on purpose.

[This is the university's contemporary dance studio, third day of the semester.]

I, Cecilia, the only daughter of the Sterling family—one of the wealthiest families in the world—am standing awkwardly in the corner, watching Serena surrounded by a crowd of freshmen asking her questions. She's half a head taller than me, with perfect makeup, speaking softly and gracefully like a real princess.

Nobody knows who I really am.

Before coming to this university, I made a deal with my dad: no chauffeur, no special treatment from the school, no one allowed to interfere with my "normal college life." I wanted to dance, make friends, and live like a regular eighteen-year-old girl.

My dad frowned at me for a long time, then finally sighed. "Fine. But I'm sending two people to follow you secretly, just to keep you safe."

I thought I could pull it off.

On the first day, I joined the contemporary dance club. During the audition, I danced a random piece, and Oliver, the club president, immediately made me the lead dancer for the arts festival. He said my dance sense was "genius-level." I smiled and didn't think much of it.

But from that day on, Serena's look toward me changed.

On the third day of rehearsal, my music was suddenly replaced with a version twice as fast. I danced until I was out of breath, stopped and demanded who did it. Everyone shook their heads—only Serena leaned against the mirror and smiled. "Did you grab the wrong one by mistake?"

On the fourth day, my dance shoes disappeared. After searching for half an hour, I found them in the trash, laces tied in impossible knots.

On the fifth day, someone posted anonymously in the club group chat: "Some people dance like a plank. No idea how Oliver picked them."

Three replies immediately followed, from Serena's closest friends—Chloe, Mandy, Cynthia.

"Probably knows how to kiss ass."

"Some people's shoes look like they came straight from the dumpster."

"The lead dancer position will be Serena's soon enough."

I read every message, then flipped my phone face down on the table.

I had to endure it.

I told myself I was just here to experience life, not to fight with people. No matter how much they acted out, they couldn't actually hurt me.

One day after rehearsal, I accidentally overheard Serena talking to a group of freshmen at the club room door. "Actually, I'm the Sterling family heiress. I just don't like being too flashy. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

The students around her gasped and immediately started complimenting her.

One student looked confused. "But Serena, the Sterling family's last name is Sterling, right? Your last name is Hart."

Serena's face flashed with embarrassment, but she quickly recovered. "I take my mother's last name. Big families, you know how complicated it gets."

I stood there frozen, thinking how absurd and funny this was.

I wanted to expose her right then and there, but remembering my promise to "keep a low profile through college," I held back.

What really made me suspicious was something else.

My boyfriend, Ethan Crawford, studies finance here.

We've known each other since high school, but I hadn't told him my identity yet. Half the reason I chose this school was its strong dance program. The other half was him.

But lately, he'd been taking longer and longer to reply to my messages.

It used to be instant. Then ten minutes. Then an hour. I'd text "Rehearsal was so tiring today" and get back a single "Yeah." I'd ask "Want to get dinner this weekend?" and he'd say "I'm not sure."

I thought he was just busy with schoolwork. I didn't think much of it.

Until that day after rehearsal.

I was changing my shoes alone in the locker room when Serena's phone, left on the bench, suddenly lit up.

I shouldn't have looked.

But the contact name was impossible to miss—"Ethy."

The message read: "Baby, see you tonight. Miss you."

I froze completely.

My dance shoes slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a soft thud.

Serena walked out from the adjacent changing stall, picked up her phone, saw the message, and smiled. She looked up and our eyes met.

In that glance, there was no panic at all—only a deeper, more triumphant smile.

"Cecilia, you're still here?" Her voice was as warm as greeting an old friend. "I'm heading out now. Someone's picking me up."

Then she grabbed her Dior handbag, clicked her heels, and walked gracefully out of the locker room.

I stood there, my fingers ice-cold.

Was that "Ethy" on her phone the same Ethan I knew? The same person?

I pulled out my phone and texted Ethan: "Are you free tonight? I need to see you."