Chapter 1Honestly? I always knew I wasn't a real Vance daughter.
So when the girl showed up with her DNA results, I grabbed my suitcase and left before anyone could tell me to go.
My adoptive dad warned me my real family was broke. Three brothers. A vineyard in the middle of nowhere.
I went anyway.
Turns out "broke" means a thousand acres of prime wine country.
Oldest brother's a lawyer who never loses. Second's a surgeon with magic hands. Third's my twin—hated me on sight. Whatever.
That girl got the mansion and the Vance name. I got three legends for brothers. Plus the brother from my old life who chose me over her.
Cool.
This ISN'T a FALL from grace.
It's an UPGRADE.
Thanks for clearing the way, sis.
--
I always knew I wasn't a real Vance.
Like, from the time I was seven. I looked in the mirror, then at my father Richard Vance, and thought—nope, nothing matches.
I even told him once. Said we didn't look alike at all.
He laughed it off. Blamed it on "bad genetics."
So when Isabella showed up with her DNA test and her waterworks, I wasn't shocked. I was already packing.
The whole mansion went dead quiet when I grabbed my suitcase.
Everyone just stared. Isabella crying into her sleeve. Richard looking awkward. My brother Ethan standing off to the side with this weird expression—jaw tight, eyes on the floor.
Whatever. Not my problem.
"Make yourself at home, Isabella," Richard said. "Lisa can get you anything."
Then he turned to me.
I just nodded. "Cool. I'll head out now."
He frowned. "That's not what I meant. Elena, I looked into your real family. Three brothers. They're not well-off. You'll struggle there. Just stay—"
"No." I shook my head. "I'm going home."
Honestly? I never clicked with Richard anyway. My adoptive mom died young, and he was always working. And Ethan...
I glanced at him. He wouldn't meet my eyes. Staring out the window like he'd rather be anywhere else.
We'd fought a few days ago. He was probably still mad.
Fine. Walking away was easy.
"You sure?" Richard asked.
I nodded without hesitating.
Elena Vance—no, Elena Moreau now. I was headed home.
I'd never taken a bus before. Rich girl problems.
But I could read signs. When the Route 7 pulled up, I hauled my suitcase on board.
"Cash or card," the driver said.
I fumbled through my wallet. Looked up. "Uh... do you take Amex?"
Dead silence. Everyone staring. Even the driver blinked.
Right. Stupid question.
I pulled out a hundred, ready to toss it in.
Before I could, a hand reached past me—
Tan, muscular, veins running down the forearm. Two coins clinked into the slot.
I looked up. White T-shirt. Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders.
Damn.
He gave me a once-over and scoffed. "I got you. Keep your cash."
"Thanks, I—"
He was already walking past me, hands in his pockets, heading to the back.
I stumbled after him with my suitcase. "Hey. Seriously. Thank you."
He waved without turning. "Don't pay me back. And don't ask for my number."
I rolled my eyes. Cocky much?
I dropped into a seat nearby, pulled out my phone, and texted the brother I'd just met for the first time.
...
Veridian Bay's downtown was always buzzing. Glass towers, tech shuttles, people in blazers grabbing overpriced lattes.
South of the city, there was this massive golf course where CEOs closed deals.
West side? Gated communities with infinity pools and ocean views.
East had all the tourist traps—museums, piers, overpriced seafood joints.
But north?
North was a ghost town.
No developments. No investment. Just empty roads and trees that got thicker the farther you went.
I rested my chin on my hand and watched the scenery change through the window.
City gave way to suburbs, suburbs gave way to nothing.
And honestly? I didn't hate it.
Less noise. Less pretending. Maybe I could finally do that whole retirement thing early—you know, gardening, reading, doing absolutely nothing.
Slacking off was basically my life's goal.
"Last stop. You getting off or what?"
I snapped out of it. Turned around.
It was him. The white T-shirt guy. Leaning against the back of the bus with his arms crossed, giving me that same impatient look.
I grabbed my suitcase and climbed down after him.
He shot me a glare. "Are you following me?"
"No." I dragged my suitcase onto the gravel. "I'm going home."
He laughed—short, sarcastic. "Home? This place is literally nowhere."
"What's a designer-clad princess like you doing out here? Slumming it for content?"
"I'm not slumming anything." I straightened up. "This is my home."
"Elena?"
A voice cut through the quiet. I turned.
Two guys were walking toward me.
One in a black suit, gold-rimmed glasses, easy smile. The other in a crisp button-down, sleeves cuffed perfectly, giving off major "don't talk to me" vibes.
I recognized them immediately. Julian—the lawyer. Sebastian—the doctor.
And damn. The Moreau genes were seriously something else.
I plastered on my warmest smile. First impressions mattered.
"Hi, Julian. Hi, Sebastian."
"Hi, Julian. Hi, Sebastian."
I blinked. Turned.
White T-shirt guy was standing right next to me, saying the exact same thing.
Wait.
Chapter 2
He met my eyes. His face went through about five different emotions in two seconds before settling on pure annoyance.
"Oh." He let out this cold laugh. "It's you. Just my luck."
Great. My twin brother Tristan. And he already hated me.
He brushed past me and walked straight to Julian, completely ignoring me.
I knew it wouldn't be easy. New family, new rules. I'd have to earn my place.
I followed behind them, keeping my distance, suitcase wheels rattling over the gravel.
Julian glanced at Tristan. "You're really going to let our sister carry her own bag?"
Sebastian said nothing. Just shot Tristan a cool look.
The air went stiff. Tristan hesitated, then stomped back toward me, muttering something under his breath.
"Give me that." He grabbed for my suitcase, his expression like I'd personally offended him.
Okay then.
I glanced at Julian. He nodded, a soft smile on his face.
"Welcome home, Elena."
Beside him, Sebastian gave a small nod too. His eyes were warmer than I expected.
"Thanks, guys." I kept my voice sweet.
Tristan yanked the handle and tried to swing the suitcase onto his shoulder.
I winced. "Uh, Tristan? That's really heavy."
"How heavy could it possibly—"
The suitcase flipped him clean over. He hit the ground with a thud, suitcase landing on top of him.
I pressed my lips together. "I told you it was heavy..."
He scrambled up, face red. "What the hell is in there? BRICKS?"
"Just... girl stuff."
He didn't look convinced.
"You could just roll it," I said, watching his eye twitch. "You know, on the wheels."
Behind me, Julian chuckled. He patted my shoulder. "Ignore him. Mom and Dad are waiting."
I nodded and fell into step behind them.
The house was farther out than I expected. Big, but kinda ugly—those weird patterned tiles that looked like they belonged in a 90s diner.
Apparently Richard had rushed to bring Isabella back after some fire at the Moreau property.
But the place looked freshly renovated now.
I spotted rows of grapevines stretching behind the house. Not huge, maybe a few acres. Guess they sold wine locally or something.
I looked at my mom—gorgeous, elegant, like she stepped out of a magazine.
Then at Julian, refined and sharp.
Sebastian, cool and striking.
Even Tristan, with his whole "I don't care" thing going on.
And then there was me. Round face, soft cheeks, nothing like any of them.
Maybe I really was switched at birth?
"Oh, my baby girl!"
A big shadow barreled toward me.
Before I could react, a man with a face identical to mine—round, warm, teary—was sobbing into my shoulder.
Okay. Case closed. Definitely a Moreau.
He pulled back, wiping his eyes, checking me over like I might break.
"My poor girl. You've suffered so much. It's all my fault. I took the wrong baby home."
I cleared my throat. "It wasn't really that bad."
Tristan snorted from somewhere behind me. "Suffered? Please. The Vances spoiled her rotten. She probably only came back here because she had nowhere else to go."
Dad froze. Turned to look at me, voice shaky. "Sweetheart... is that true? You don't really want to be here?"
Mom's worried eyes locked onto mine.
I shot Tristan a look. My own twin brother, and he was already making this ten times harder.
"No." I shook my head firmly. "No matter how nice other places are, home is home."
Dad started crying again. Mom had to drag him to the kitchen just to get dinner started.
I stood there with my three brothers. Awkward silence stretched between us.
Tristan finally spoke, leaning back in his chair with this lazy, judgmental stare.
"Enough with the act. Isabella said you refused to come back, that you kicked her out. So what? The Vances dumped you, and now you're crawling back?"
"Tristan." Sebastian's voice was quiet but sharp.
Tristan kept going. "It's true. Elena Vance is just playing nice. You two can't seriously buy this act?"
I met his eyes. "My name is Elena Moreau."
He laughed. "Don't kid yourself—"
"Tristan." Julian's smile vanished. "Problem? You can leave."
Dead silence. Tristan shut his mouth.
I blinked at Julian. Okay. He's the one in charge.
"Thanks, Julian," I said softly.
"Don't mention it. We're family." His hand landed on my head, ruffling my hair gently. Behind his glasses, his eyes were warm.
"School starts soon, right?" Sebastian asked.
I froze. That was the real problem.
I was supposed to start freshman year. But the Vances had enrolled me in this exclusive private university—the kind only elites got into. A training ground for heirs and heiresses.
Now that I wasn't a Vance anymore, I probably couldn't afford tuition. Worse, they might not even let me in.
Sebastian handed me a glass of water. His nails were perfectly clean, cut neat.
I took a sip and hesitated. "Julian, Sebastian... can you help me with school transfer stuff?"
"Why transfer?" Julian adjusted his glasses. "That university is decent."
They both stared at me like I'd said something crazy.
"I know, but..." I scrambled for words. "It's just... I got in through connections, not exactly on my own—"
Julian and Sebastian exchanged a look.
"And... tuition is insane," I added.
Julian caught on. His smile came back. "Tristan goes there too."
I glanced at Tristan. He gave me his usual dismissive side-eye.
I sighed, burying my face in my hands. I needed to start making money. Fast.
Sebastian patted my shoulder. "Don't worry. We can sell a few barrels. That'll cover tuition."
I frowned. "But there are only like a dozen barrels in the shed..."
Surely they weren't planning to sell everything.
Julian laughed—a real one, warm and amused. "Those aren't for sale."
I blinked. Completely lost.
He sighed, took my hand gently, and led me to the window. "See those hills over there?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"They're ours."
I stared.
"See those rows stretching all the way up?"
"Yeah."
"Those are all grapevines. Also ours."
I didn't say a word. Couldn't.
Because apparently, the Moreaus weren't just quietly wealthy.
They were loaded.
Chapter 3
The past few days had been a total blur.
I kept going back and forth in my head—who was actually richer?
The Vances with their tech empire, or the Moreaus with their vineyards and who even knew how many acres of prime wine country?
Was I the real deal? Or just another fake?
It didn't matter. I was Elena Moreau now. Period.
On my first day of school, Julian and Sebastian walked me to the gate. I stopped them before they could go further.
My whole situation had already turned into the hottest gossip in Veridian Bay.
If my new family got dragged into it, it could hurt their reputations. Lawyers and doctors cared about that stuff, right?
Julian handed me my suitcase. "I transferred some money to your account. Let me know if you need more."
I checked my balance on the way over. Seven figures.
I just nodded.
Sebastian added, "If you run into any trouble, find Tristan. And if he gives you attitude, tell us."
I nodded again, like a bobblehead.
Julian smiled, all polished and put-together. "We'll leave you here, then."
I'd only known them for a few days, but I already didn't want to say goodbye. I bit my lip, blinking fast.
A soft laugh came from above. I looked up.
Sebastian's eyes were actually kind of warm. He reached out and gently pinched my cheek.
"I'll pick you up this weekend. Bring you home."
"Okay," I managed.
Veridian University was one of those elite schools—all old brick buildings and manicured lawns.
But the dorms were still shared rooms. Just bigger. Nicer.
Fate had a twisted sense of humor.
I glanced at the girl across the room and gave a small smile. "Isabella. What a coincidence."
The real heiress and the fake one, sharing a dorm. Like something out of a bad reality show.
Isabella looked exactly like she always did—timid, harmless, eyes downcast. She mumbled a greeting and shuffled away.
"Elena Vance—oh wait, I guess it's Elena Moreau now."
The girl from the next bed, Raven, strutted over with her nose in the air. She looked me up and down like I was something stuck to her shoe.
"So you're at Veridian? What's the plan? Graduate and inherit your family's little vineyard?"
Right. Raven. My former sidekick from high school.
Her family had leeched off the Vances for years. She'd used me for whatever she could get, and now she was the first one to kick me while I was down.
I shot her a cold look. A vineyard? Someone had been talking.
"Raven, don't." Isabella stepped forward, tugging at Raven's sleeve, eyes all wide and worried.
"Elena's already been through so much. It's my fault."
I waved her off. "Don't call me by my nickname. We're not that close."
I almost felt bad for her. Almost.
The Moreaus lived by one rule: raise the kids frugal, enjoy the wealth yourself.
So before any of the sons came of age, they lived pretty modestly.
No wonder Isabella thought they were broke, growing a few scrappy vines out in the sticks.
She'd been right on the edge of living large—and she traded it all away, scheming her way back to the Vances. Now she'd missed out on everything.
I sighed quietly and started making my bed.
Raven looked me over again. "Seriously? Look at those cheap rags. Aren't you embarrassed?"
I glanced at my closet.
My dad had commissioned every piece from some exclusive studio. No logos, but the fabric alone probably cost more than Raven's entire wardrobe.
I didn't bother arguing. Just kept unpacking.
"Raven, please." Isabella shot me this uneasy look. "Elena, you can borrow my clothes if you want."
"No, thanks."
"Isabella, don't bother with her." Raven turned away with a scoff. "She's probably drowning in guilt for stealing your life all those years."
"Enough." The voice cut through like a blade.
Heels clicked across the floor. Vivienne Cross walked in, sharp and polished, designer bag swinging from her arm.
Her family made the Vances look small-time.
The room went dead quiet.
I hung my clothes in the closet, keeping my head down.
The welcome party started at six. It was already five-thirty, and I was just standing there staring at a closet full of jeans and sweaters.
Why didn't Dad ever think of custom-making me a few evening dresses?
I was this close to skipping the whole thing.
The door swung open. Vivienne's heels clicked in. She stopped right next to me.
"Party's about to start. You're not going?" She flicked her hair, eyeing me.
"Just... give me a minute."
She glanced at my closet and let out this little scoff under her breath. "Why would someone like you even bother coming here?"
Back when I was still with the Vances, I'd see Vivienne at parties.
She always acted like she was better than everyone—and honestly, I'd done the same. We'd pointedly ignore each other.
She walked back to her desk, grabbed her bag.
I didn't say anything. Just watched her in that fitted black dress. She had the kind of figure that made everything look good.
"Stop staring at me like a lost puppy," she said suddenly, meeting my eyes.
I blinked at her.
She sighed. "Fine. Come here."
She crooked her finger, opened her wardrobe, and pulled out a dress.
White, short, spaghetti straps. Sheer fabric that fell soft and delicate. Cute. Ethereal.
"What are you waiting for?" She frowned, glancing away awkwardly. "I don't want people saying I'm isolating you."
I couldn't help it. "More like mutual isolation."
She shot me a look. But she helped me into the dress anyway, fastening the straps in the back.
"Didn't Richard want you to stay?" she asked, voice flat. "Why'd you run off to some remote town?"
The smile dropped from my face. "The Moreaus aren't so bad."
She scoffed. "Tch. Still making excuses for them? Elena, you used to have some backbone."
She decided I was a lost cause. Shot me one last look, grabbed her bag, and stomped out, heels hitting the marble harder than they needed to.
I sighed, grabbed my phone, and followed.
Maybe college wouldn't be so bad after all.
Maybe.
But something told me Isabella and Raven weren't done with me yet.
Not even close.
