The Double ( or More ?) Life of The Fake Heiress

Mr. Hammond watched Mirabella, who wore a veil of modesty on her face that was betrayed by the confidence in her voice. He shook his head, picked up his mug, and took a sip of his chilled

iced coffee.

An afterthought struck him, and he added. “The city finals results won’t be out for another couple of days, but I’m pretty sure you’re a shoo–in. Next up is the nationals. I checked the schedule: they’re likely next weekend. Prestige College is spearheading the event in collaboration with the Education Association, so the national competition will be right here in Riverdale. The prelims and finals will take place over two days, with results announced on the spot. You’d better start getting ready.”

Mirabella’s eyes sparkled at the mention of Riverdale, but then she rose from her seat.

“Understood. I’ll head back to class now.”

“Alright, go hit the books,” Mr. Hammond waved her off, then added as an afterthought. “And don’t forget about the French oral exam. I have no doubt your spoken skills are up to par.”

Mirabella paused mid–stride and glanced at Mr. Hammond, who was grinning knowingly. She felt a mix of emotions and wanted to ask how he could be so sure, but decided to let it slide.

A $100,000 scholarship was at stake. Her father, that gold–gobbling dragon, had just splurged on a new luxury car worth millions. Surely, Mirabella should celebrate his new acquisition with a gift, right?

Mirabella thought of the new car and lamented her shattered dream of experiencing poverty. Alas, it seemed she was the one who had picked up the wrong script in the play of life.

Leo had planned to recuperate at home for a while, but for some unknown reason, the higher–ups got wind of his injury, and he was summoned to the company.

Inside Collins‘ office, the atmosphere was tense.

Collins‘ face was a stormy shade of grey. “Who the hell leaked the news about your injury? I had everything locked down tight!”

As an artist with a physical injury, even with his voice intact, he could no longer deliver the thrilling stage performances of the past. This clearly meant a full stop to his career prospects. No agency would continue to back

an artist who couldn’t generate greater profits, even if Leo

was at the pinnacle of his career.

Leo sat in the chair, his face pale, a hint of sickness in his eyes. His gaze was icy as he fixed it on the desk, and after a while, he spoke, “Just tell them the truth. There’s no point in hiding it.” Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“Are you out of your mind?” Collins‘ voice dropped to a whisper. “If you admit to being injured, how will you ever sing again?” The executives had already approached Collins, and he had vehemently denied any issues with Leo, insisting Leo was merely exhausted and would be

11:35

taking a break from all commercial engagements for a short while.

Leo lifted his head to meet Collins‘ gaze, a self–deprecating sneer on his lips. “Do you really think I can keep singing?”

“Why can’t you?” Collins shot back. “You’re in good health right now. You just can’t dance, your voice is unaffected, and your songwriting and composition talent is unmatched.”

Leo turned away.

Collins, frustrated, slammed his fist on the desk. “Can’t you let go of your pride at a time like this? Do you really want to be replaced by someone else from the company?”

A knock on the office door interrupted them.

Collins wanted to continue, but the knock signaled a pause in the conversation. He composed himself and walked to the door, and before opening it, he turned back to Leo.

“Leo, I want you to keep quiet during this meeting. I’ll handle everything with the company,” he said firmly.

With that, he opened the door.