A love life

My world shattered with a piece of paper. A DNA test revealed I wasn't a Daugherty by blood, but an impostor. My husband, Kane, divorced me, and the real heiress, Britt, took my home, my life, and my son.

Five years later, I was a waitress drowning in my foster mother's medical debt when they walked into my diner. Kane, Britt, and my son, Cleveland, who now called Britt "Mommy."

He looked at me with disgust. "Mommy said you' re not my real mom anymore," he announced. "And you're just a waitress now. Daddy says waitresses are poor."

The words were a knife to the heart. Later that night, my foster mother, Jessi, died in the hospital after Britt whispered poison in her ear, leaving me with a cryptic warning about Britt's dark secrets.

Britt then offered me a job as a live-in nanny, a chance to watch her live my life up close. It was a cruel, humiliating offer.

But I accepted.

Because in my old home, I discovered Britt wasn't just cruel-she was poisoning my son and had infected my ex-husband with a disease. This wasn't just about humiliation anymore. It was about revenge.

Chapter 1

My world shattered not with a bang, but with a piece of paper. A DNA test result that announced to the world I was not a Daugherty by blood, but a foster child, an impostor. Kane, my husband, the man who swore to love me forever, divorced me two weeks later.

The ink was barely dry on the papers when Britt Harrell, the "real" heiress, moved into our mansion. She had a smirk on her face, a glint in her eyes that promised retribution for a life she believed I had stolen. My life, my home, my husband, all were hers now. I was just a ghost in a house that was no longer mine.

Five years had passed since that day. Five years of working double shifts at "The Daily Grind," a greasy spoon diner with flickering neon lights and the smell of stale coffee permanently ingrained in the walls. My uniform, perpetually smelling of grease and cheap detergent, was a stark contrast to the designer gowns I once wore. The tips I earned barely covered my foster mother' s mounting medical bills.

I was wiping down table five when a hush fell over the diner. My heart stopped. It was them. Kane, Britt, and Cleveland, my son. My son. He was seven now, a miniature version of Kane, with my eyes. My hand trembled, nearly dropping the heavy ceramic mug. They sat at a booth by the window, the sunlight illuminating their polished, privileged existence, a stark contrast to my own. Kane looked impeccable, his suit tailored to perfection. Britt, draped in silk, radiated an aura of smug satisfaction. Cleveland, well, he just looked like a stranger.

Kane spotted me first. His eyes, once full of a love I now questioned, narrowed. He recognized me. Of course, he did. How could he not? He stiffened, his jaw tightening. Britt followed his gaze, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips.

"Kara?" Kane' s voice was a low rumble, laced with something akin to discomfort, not surprise. "What are you doing here?"

I gripped the mug tighter. "Working, Kane. It' s what people do when they need to pay bills." My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain.

He pulled out his wallet. A thick wad of hundreds. "Look, Kara. This... this isn't right. Let me help you. You shouldn't be working in a place like this." He pushed a few bills across the table, enough to cover a month' s rent for my tiny apartment, probably.

My gaze flickered to the money, then back to his face. "Keep your charity, Kane. I earn my money honestly." I hated the tremor in my voice. I hated that he still had the power to make me feel small.

Britt leaned closer to Kane, her whisper loud enough for me to hear. "Darling, she's probably just trying to make a scene. You know how dramatic she always was." She then turned her attention to Cleveland, who was busy coloring in a menu. "Cleveland, honey, isn' t it rude to stare at the staff?" she cooed, her eyes, however, fixed on me with a malevolent glint.

Cleveland looked up, his bright, innocent eyes meeting mine. For a split second, I saw a flicker of recognition, a hint of the boy I used to sing lullabies to. Then, it was gone, replaced by a practiced, dismissive shrug.

"Mommy said you' re not my real mom anymore," he declared, his voice high and clear, cutting through the diner' s ambient noise. "And you're just a waitress now. Daddy says waitresses are poor."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My breath hitched. I felt a cold, empty ache spread from my chest, sharper than any knife. It wasn't the "poor" part that stung. It was the "not my real mom anymore."

I forced a smile, my lips feeling stiff and unnatural. "Yes, Cleveland. That's right. I'm a waitress." My voice was barely a whisper. I focused on the table, wiping an imaginary spill. I needed to move, to breathe, to escape.

"Why are you still talking to her, Daddy?" Cleveland whined, tugging on Kane' s sleeve. "She's just a waitress. Can we go now?"

Kane looked at me, a flicker of something, maybe pity, maybe guilt, in his eyes. "Kara, don't you think this is a bit… beneath you? You were a research assistant. You have a degree."

I laughed, a short, humorless sound. "Oh, my degree? The one your family publicly rescinded after my 'true' identity was revealed? The one that suddenly became null and void because I wasn't a Massey by birthright?" The words tumbled out, raw and bitter. "Where do you suggest I apply, Kane? Perhaps as a CEO? Or maybe a Daugherty family consultant?"

His face flushed. "That's not fair, Kara. You know that was a misunderstanding. We tried to make amends."

"Misunderstanding?" I choked out. My hands trembled again, not from fear, but from a surge of impotent rage. "You threw me out, Kane. Your family stripped me of everything, including my name, my education, my son. And you call it a misunderstanding?"

Cleveland looked confused, then annoyed. "Mommy, Daddy, can we just get our food? She's being loud."

My gaze snapped back to my son. His dismissal, his complete unawareness of the pain he inflicted, twisted the knife in my heart. "Is that what your 'mommy' taught you, Cleveland? To dismiss people who are 'loud'?" I asked, my voice dangerously low. "To judge people based on their jobs?"

Kane started to rise, his face a mask of anger. "That's enough, Kara. You're upsetting my son." He reached across the table, trying to grab my arm.

I recoiled, my hand instinctively flying up, hitting his. "Don't touch me." The disgust in my voice was palpable. "And don't you dare bring up my mother. You have no right."

He paused, his hand hovering in the air. "Your biological mother, Kara. The one who gave you up. The one who chose to abandon you. You think you' re so high and mighty, but you came from nothing!"

A dull throb started behind my eyes. Nothing. That word had been thrown at me so many times in the past five years that it had lost all meaning. It was just a sound now, an echo of a life that no longer existed. I didn't have the energy to fight him, to defend myself. Not anymore. I just felt… tired. So utterly, completely exhausted.