Filed To Story: Watch Out! She's a Mastermind Heiress (Isabella Patton) Book PDF Free
“Isabella, for years, we’ve raised you, never imagining you capable of such cruelty. This house can no longer bear your presence. You must leave immediately,” declared the imposing woman before Isabella Chapman, her gaze laden with disdain and a bitter chill, her elegant attire contrasting sharply with the harshness of her words.
“Mom, please, it was an accident. I lost my footing and tumbled down the stairs on my own. Isabella had no part in this,” said a young girl from her seat on the sofa. Resembling the woman in front of her, she clutched at her bandaged knees, her eyes brimming with tears.
Just half an hour prior, Eliza Chapman, the biological daughter of the Chapmans, had suffered a fall on the staircase. At that time, Isabella had been alone on the upper floor.
Everyone believed Isabella had pushed Eliza…
Now, the looks that the Chapmans shot at Isabella were filled with venom and disgust, a stark contrast to their attitude just a week prior, when they had professed their reluctance to ever part with her.
Isabella looked down at the floor, a fleeting shadow of irony passing through her eyes. Once, she was the sole daughter of the Chapmans. Though she never basked in parental favoritism, she lacked for nothing; her basic needs were always met.
The facade shattered when Jeffry Chapman, whom she had known as her father, met with a grave accident necessitating an urgent blood transfusion. The subsequent blood tests unveiled a startling truth—Isabella was not his biological child. Jeffry then harnessed his extensive network to uncover the whereabouts of his true daughter, Eliza.
The Chapman family was a prestigious household in Gemond, and news like this naturally spread quickly. To manage the public narrative and preserve their esteemed reputation, they declared an unwavering commitment to Isabella, the girl they had raised, asserting their intention to treat her as their own for a while longer before she returned to her biological family.
Behind closed doors, however, their plans were starkly different. Once the public’s gaze drifted elsewhere, they intended to quietly send Isabella away.
Upon Eliza’s arrival, the Chapman family blamed Isabella for Eliza’s years of hardship, relegating Isabella from her room to a mere storage space, drastically diminishing her status. She was tasked with menial chores, her status far beneath even those of the household servants.
Eliza, however, still wanted Isabella gone. She had crafted several schemes against her, yet her parents turned a blind eye, their disdain for Isabella thinly veiled.
These tribulations stripped away any illusions Isabella had about her former family, fueling a resolve to confront the injustices imposed upon her. As tensions reached a boiling point, she faced Eliza, her voice resolute as she said, “I’ll leave, but not before setting the record straight. I refuse to shoulder your misdeeds any longer, Eliza!”
Eliza’s composure wavered under the intensity of Isabella’s icy stare, her body trembling slightly. Was this the same Isabella who had once submitted quietly to every slight?
A dark glint flickered in Eliza’s eyes. What a bitch! She was the rightful heiress to the Chapman family assets, not this usurper, Isabella, who had been living in undeserved luxury. She had to drive this impostor out!
“Isabella, I have no idea what you’re going on about!” Eliza’s voice dripped with feigned confusion. “Ever since I reclaimed my rightful place, receiving the affection owed to me by our parents, I’ve sensed your discontent. Despite your actions, I’ve remained tolerant. But my legs… how could you? Dancing is my passion, my soul’s expression. Had I known you coveted the national competition spot so desperately, I would not have contested it.”
Her insinuation was clear: Isabella had sabotaged her out of jealousy.
The gaze of Eliza’s mother, Phyllis Chapman, hardened at Eliza’s words, her voice laced with disdain. “Eliza, you possess a remarkable talent that Isabella could never hope to match. That competition spot was yours by right. And you, Isabella!” She turned sharply toward Isabella, adding, “Pack your belongings and leave immediately!”
Isabella’s usually somber expression seemed only to fuel her contempt. Meanwhile, Eliza, ever the docile and talented daughter, shone brightly in her eyes—a true Chapman.
Amidst the unfolding drama, Jeffry finally broke his silence, his voice heavy with disappointment. “Isabella, our agreement was to keep you until the public scrutiny waned, yet here we are, facing your deep-seated resentment towards Eliza. We have no choice but to return you to your true family today.”
Eliza’s eyes glittered with a triumphant gleam as her father pronounced Isabella’s imminent departure. In stark contrast, Isabella’s face remained an unreadable mask as she went up the stairs to gather her possessions. Her prolonged stay on the upper floor kindled a flicker of anxiety in Eliza. “What if she attempts to take everything with her?”
After all, everything of value in the house rightfully belonged to Eliza—how could she allow a fake to leave with any part of her wealth?
Eventually, Isabella reappeared, descending the staircase slowly, her movements deliberate. She carried a small, unassuming black bag. As her gaze swept coolly across the living room, it unsettled Jeffry enough for him to divert his eyes.
Phyllis’s eyebrows knitted together at the sight of Isabella’s minimal luggage. “Is that all you’ve packed? What’s in there? Show me,” she demanded, suspicion lacing her tone.
Jeffry, however, raised a hand to halt his wife’s interrogation. “Let her be.” It was probably just the bank card he had given her, which had a mere hundred thousand dollars left on it.
Unfazed, Isabella placed her bag squarely on the table, her expression stoic. “Inspect it if you must.”
Phyllis, unable to mask her distrust, scoffed. “Maybe she has packed something valuable,” she muttered as she unzipped the bag. Peering inside, she found nothing more than a notebook, a few seeds, and a small stack of cash—hardly the valuables she had feared. Phyllis, her face flushed with embarrassment from her baseless accusation, straightened up. “I’ll let the driver take you there,” she said crisply.
Jeffry, the weight of the situation bearing down on him, reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “Isabella, when you return, listen to your parents. They’re farmers, yes… but they are good, simple people. You should help them.”
Isabella looked at the offered card with her beautiful eyes, her expression calm. “Everyone has their own destiny to fulfill,” she replied quietly, pushing the card back toward Jeffry. “But before I leave, there needs to be clarity. Eliza, how did you truly fall down those stairs? This is your last chance to tell the truth.”
Eliza seethed internally, infuriated by Isabella’s serene composure, which seemed to elevate her above everyone else despite her humble origins.
Isabella was not from a wealthy family! She was just the daughter of two farmers!
“Isabella, what are you implying? That I threw myself down the stairs?” Eliza retorted. “My legs are my life; they are essential for my dancing. Why would I ever get them injured?” As she spoke, Eliza’s emotions crescendoed, and she dissolved into theatrical tears, collapsing into Phyllis’s arms.
Just then, a vase shattered the tense air, hurtling toward Eliza and interrupting her display. Startled, Eliza instinctively leaped to her feet. Silence enveloped the room as everyone, including Phyllis and Jeffry, turned their shocked gazes toward her.
Eliza’s sudden agility was startling—didn’t she say she couldn’t stand up because of her injuries?
Realizing her mistake, Eliza collapsed onto the sofa, clutching her legs with exaggerated distress. “Ah, my legs! They hurt so much!”
Jeffry’s response was not of anger but of guilt directed toward Isabella. “Isabella, please understand, Eliza is still very young. Don’t hold this against her…” Isabella had heard this excuse too many times.
“Of course, I wouldn’t retaliate if a dog bit me. After all, it picks up such behavior from its owners, right?”
With a final sneer that cut through the tense air, Isabella shouldered her modest bag and strode toward the door, her steps resolute and unwavering. She did not look back at the family she was leaving behind. The trio she left in her wake seethed in fury.
Outside, the driver waited, oblivious to the turmoil that had unfolded within the walls of the Chapman family’s house. Since Eliza’s return, respect for Isabella from the household staff had waned significantly—even the driver withheld the customary greeting as she approached. Ignoring his presence, Isabella strode past him, her posture straight with resolve.
The driver, catching up to her with a hint of urgency in his steps, called out, “Isabella, I have been told to drive you to your destination.”
Isabella halted, turning slightly to deliver her response, her tone icy. “No need. From this moment, I want nothing to do with the Chapman family.”
With those final words, she hailed a cab and told the driver the address Jeffry had previously sent to her phone. The destination was a humble, rundown village, far from the opulence she had known.
Upon arriving, she noticed the disrepair of her biological parents’ home, the air filled with muffled cries that pulled at her heart.
Stepping inside, she saw many people. A stark contrast presented itself: a man in a clean, elegant suit, surrounded by bodyguards, stood in front of a weeping couple clad in simple peasant garb.
As Isabella absorbed the surreal tableau, the man turned, his eyes filled with redness and disbelief. He rushed toward her, arms open wide. “My daughter, it’s really you! I can’t believe that you’re really alive!” The tall, imposing man’s voice broke with emotion.
Isabella stood bewildered. Who was this man, and why was he acting like that?
Isabella absorbed the teary gazes of the peasant couple before her. Her voice, shaky with confusion, finally broke the silence. “Mom, Dad, what’s happening?”
The male farmer sighed heavily, his voice weary with the weight of untold truths. “Isabella, we are not your real parents. Eliza is the rightful daughter of the Chapmans, but you… you are not ours. Our baby was stillborn.” He paused, motioning toward the well-dressed man. “This man is your real father.”
Isabella’s eyes flickered to the stranger, noting the undeniable similarities in their features.
The man produced a document from his briefcase, his hand trembling slightly. “Isabella, when I first saw you at the hospital, something about you struck me, though I dismissed it then,” he explained, his voice choked with emotion. “After hearing about the Chapmans’ reunion with their real daughter, I had to know if perhaps there had been a mistake. This paternity test confirms my suspicions—you are indeed my daughter.”
Taking the report, Isabella saw the undeniable proof in black and white. In fact, even without it, their similar features spoke volumes.
Isabella’s response was a silence filled with tumultuous thoughts. This revelation, this new twist in her already complex narrative, overwhelmed her.
The man continued, “It’s a lot to take in, I know. But this is the truth. The night you were born, there was a tragic error at the hospital. Due to a nurse’s negligence, three families had their lives unknowingly intertwined. This couple’s child was declared stillborn and mistakenly given to us; you ended up with the Chapmans, and Eliza was brought here.”
“Your mother and I were devastated, thinking we had lost you,” he added, his eyes moistening. “You have no idea how much this affected your mother. She’s waiting anxiously at the hotel, hoping to finally meet you.” Moved by his sincerity, Isabella nodded slowly, her gaze shifting back to the farmers.
The suited man’s voice softened as he promised, “This was all an accident. They too are victims in this. I intend to offer them compensation for their loss.”
The male farmer waved his hand dismissively, his voice firm. “We don’t need compensation; knowing the truth is enough for us.”
The farmer’s voice carried a tinge of weariness mixed with a subtle disillusionment as he spoke. His relationship with Eliza, the girl he and his wife had raised as their own, had soured after she reunited with her biological family; she had ceased all communication with them.
“You should go home now. It’s not often a family finds their way back to each other; don’t waste your time lingering here,” he said, his expression a mixture of sadness and detachment as he guided Isabella and the suited man to the door.
Isabella followed the suited man toward a gleaming Rolls-Royce parked by the curb. The opulence of the vehicle was a stark contrast to the modest home she had just exited.
“Isabella, I am Glenn Patton, your father. From here on out, I’m here for you—whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask,” the suited man said, his voice soft but firm.
The realization dawned slowly—Glenn Patton was not just a wealthy man; he was the CEO of the Patton Group, the richest man in Gemond. The implications of her newfound lineage began to settle in, heavy and profound.
Isabella nodded slowly.
The Alpenglow Hotel was the most luxurious hotel in Gemond.
Eliza, draped in a flowing Chanel dress, embodied elegance as she entered the grand lobby with her parents. The occasion was momentous; Phyllis had just learned that Lynda Patton, vice president of the Dance Association and a judge for the national competition, was in town. Phyllis had quickly seen the opportunity—being under Lynda’s tutelage could secure Eliza the championship.
With this in mind, she had Eliza swiftly put on her finest attire and rushed her to the hotel. However, upon their arrival, a surprise awaited them.
Across the lobby, Isabella stood, her attire simple—a T-shirt and jeans—yet she carried herself with a poised grace that seemed to draw the eye.
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