The Real Heiress Didn’t Want Her Brothers—She Wanted Her Mother

I spent my whole life desperate to win my mother’s approval. Unfortunately, the woman I had been trying to please was my adoptive mother. Whenever she scolded me, I would say, “You’re right.” Whenever she hit me, I would still ask, “Did that hurt your hand?” But after fifteen years of sucking up to her, the affection score above her head was still [0]. Then I was brought back to the ducal estate, where I learned that I was their true-born heiress. The moment I stepped through the gates, all eight of my brothers were standing behind the girl who took my place, looking at me as though I were an unwelcome stranger who came to demand what was hers. The fake heiress’ eyes reddened as she said, “Melody, I took your place for fifteen years. If you hate me for it, I’m willing to leave.” My eldest brother, Patrick Shaw, immediately frowned. “Ivy is in poor health. You’re already trying to force her out the moment you arrive?” My second brother, Linus Shaw, shielded Ivy behind him. “Our family has raised Ivy for fifteen years. She is our sister.” I looked at the affection scores above their heads— [4, 3...] Then floating comments appeared before my eyes: [Oh no, the real heiress got the worst possible start.] [All eight brothers are total sister-con fanatics, but unfortunately, the sister they adore isn’t the female lead!] I did not care about any of that. I only wanted to know where my real mother was. More comments drifted across my vision. [Unless she can win over her biological mother, the Princess Regent.] My mother was the Princess Regent! Just then, a woman stepped down from the royal carriage outside. The affection score above her head slowly lit up: [60]. My eyes sparkled as I called out excitedly, “Mother—” Finally, my particular talent had found its perfect target. I was definitely winning her over! Chapter 1 My call rang out, sharp and clear, and everyone in the hall froze. The eight brothers looked at me with even greater disdain. Patrick Shaw frowned. “Melody, where are your manners? Mother is of such noble status. How dare you offend her like this?” Linus Shaw sneered. “A country girl will always be a country girl. The moment she steps through the door, she latches onto Mother, terrified someone might not realize she is after wealth and status.” Ivy Shaw stood sheltered behind them, her face pale as she gently tugged at Patrick’s sleeve. She said nothing, only looked at me with reddened eyes. Comments flashed across my vision: [Here they come—the Eight Brothers’ Sister Protection Squad has arrived.] [Female lead, don’t confront them head-on. The Princess Regent hates people with no manners.] [She’s done for. She already stepped on a land mine the moment they met.] I ignored them. The only person I could see was the woman standing at the entrance. The Princess Regent, Priscilla King. She wore a deep navy court gown, her features cool and composed, a black rosary bracelet looped three times around her wrist. Without saying a word, she commanded silence throughout the hall. The gleaming golden words above her head were still there. Favorability: 60! I spent fifteen years trying to please my adoptive mother, yet her favorability had not budged an inch, as if I owed her a small fortune. But my real mother’s favorability was already sixty the instant she saw me. What was this? This was where a mother’s favorite reigned supreme! My eyes reddened at once. I rushed forward in three quick steps, then stopped precisely three feet away from her amid everyone’s sharp intakes of breath and knelt properly. “Mother, I pay my respects.” As I dropped into a deep curtsy before Mother, my voice trembled just enough. “I never knew I had a mother of my own. To finally meet you fills me with such joy. If my excitement has made me forget myself, you may reprimand me as you see fit.” Priscilla merely looked down at me for a moment before I straightened. Patrick’s frown deepened. “Mother, she is skilled at pretending to be pitiful. The moment she entered, she pressured Ivy...” “Enough.” Priscilla only said that one word and the hall fell completely silent. Patrick’s face turned pale, and he immediately lowered his head. “Yes, Mother.” I let out a silent wow. Was this what having a real mother felt like? Was this what it felt like to have a mother who ruled over everyone else? I loved it. Priscilla stepped toward me and made a small gesture, acknowledging my greeting. I did not move closer or presume upon her kindness. Instead, I simply stepped back half a pace and lowered my gaze. Rule one in becoming Mother’s favorite: she could indulge you, but you could never become a burden to her. She did not need a daughter who threw herself at her, crying and making a fuss. She needed a daughter who knew her place, understood her needs, and looked at her as though she were the whole world. I looked up at her, tears brimming but not falling. “Mother, you have only just arrived. Are you cold? Your fingertips look pale. Has the cold been troubling you again?” My third brother, George Shaw, said coldly, “What nonsense are you talking about? Mother has always been in excellent health.” But Priscilla looked at me. The favorability above her head gave a small flicker. [61] My eyes brightened even more. Just as I thought! Fifteen years at my adoptive mother’s side had taught me to read a person’s face, notice the slightest change in their temperature, and recognize pain before it was spoken of. It had become second nature to me. Priscilla’s left thumb kept pressing unconsciously against the bone of her wrist, and her breathing was half a beat lighter than normal. She was not simply holding herself with poise; she was suppressing the ache caused by the cold. I said softly, “I used to make hand warmers for my family. If Mother would permit it, I can make one for you as well. It may not be much, but it will keep your hands warm.” Ivy suddenly began to cough. Her eyes reddened at the corners as she coughed, looking as though a gust of wind might shatter her. “Mother, Melody has only just returned, yet she is already so devoted to you. I am truly happy for you.” Then she lowered her head again. “I was simply too thoughtless. I never realized you’re troubled by the cold.” A perfectly chosen remark. It made her sound wounded, while quietly implying that I had barely arrived and was already trying to win Mother’s favor. Sure enough, several of my brothers immediately felt sorry for her. My fourth brother, Jayden Shaw, said at once, “Ivy has stayed by Mother’s side every day all these years. Mother knows how delicate her health is. How could she make Ivy worry about such trivial matters?” I nodded earnestly. “Jayden is right. Ivy is delicate; naturally, she should not have to concern herself with such matters.” Ivy’s expression froze. I turned to Priscilla, looking up at her eagerly. “Mother, I am strong. I can look after these things for you.” For a moment, the comment feed went quiet. Then it exploded. [She’s so good at this!] [Wow! She’s completely devoted to her mother!] [Oh god! She isn’t fighting the fake heiress for her brothers; she’s only fighting for her mother!] The corner of Priscilla’s lips barely moved. [Favorability: 63] Fireworks exploded in my chest. The pitiful single-digit favorability ratings above my brothers’ heads were completely forgotten. What were they, anyway? Just scraps Mother had produced along the way. Chapter 2 They assigned me to Willow Court. It was not the grandest residence on the estate, but it was the one closest to Priscilla’s private apartments. That alone was enough to show that Priscilla cared for me. Sharon Smith was the lady’s maid Priscilla had assigned to me. As she made up my bed, she lowered her voice and reminded me, “My lady, all the young lords of the house adore Lady Ivy. You have only just returned, so it would be best not to compete with her.” I was seated by the hearth, slowly preparing a warm ginger cordial. Without looking up, I said, “Who said I wanted to compete with her?” Sharon froze. Slowly stirring the ginger syrup with a silver spoon, I said seriously, “She may have my brothers, the betrothed, and all the pearls and jewels… “...But Mother is all I need.” Sharon was speechless. Comments flashed across my vision: [She sees the bigger picture.] [Female lead: Keep the eight brothers. I only want the woman who decides who stays and who gets thrown out.] I let the ginger cordial steep until it was fragrant, then added a few fine strips of orange peel. Priscilla was sensitive to the cold, so I could not give her anything too rich or overly sweet, lest it upset her stomach. She needed to be nourished gently. Every winter, my adoptive mother complained of icy hands and feet, yet she detested bitter medicines and would scold me for being useless. After being berated often enough, I forced myself to learn how to prepare medicinal foods. Unfortunately, she had never appreciated any of it. But things were different now. I carried a small cup of warm ginger cordial to Priscilla’s private apartments. Before I entered, I heard Ivy’s gentle voice from within. “Mother, Melody has only just returned, yet you have already given her Willow Court. My brothers may have kept quiet, but I fear they are unhappy about it.” Priscilla asked evenly, “Why would they be unhappy?” Ivy hesitated for a moment, then gave a soft laugh. “That was not what I meant. Willow Court was once set aside for me while I recovered from illness. Naturally, it is only right that Melody should live there now.” I stood outside the door and did not rush in. When opponents crossed swords, one first watched the other make her move. Patrick was there as well, his voice displeased. “Mother, Melody has only just returned and is already making cutting remarks at Ivy. Yet you have given her the residence closest to yours. Is that not rather unfair?” Priscilla said nothing. I immediately carried the cup of warm ginger cordial inside. “Mother.” Everyone in the room turned to look at me. The moment Patrick saw the small cup in my hand, his expression darkened further. “What are you trying to do now?” I ignored him and set the cup beside Priscilla, my eyes shining. “I prepared a warm ginger cordial. If Mother finds it too sweet, I will use less sugar next time. And if the ginger feels too strong, I will strain it more carefully.” Patrick sneered. “What has Mother not tasted before? Do you really think these provincial concoctions are fit to be presented to her?” I blinked at him, then looked sincerely at the number [4] above his head. “Patrick is right. Mother is of the highest rank. Of course she has tasted every delicacy imaginable.” His expression eased slightly. Then I added, “But whether Mother has had it before and whether I wish to make it for her are two different matters.” Patrick choked on his words. Comments flashed across my vision: [What flawless logic.] [You can call her poor, but you cannot say she does not love her mother.] Priscilla lifted the cup and took a taste. Ivy frowned slightly. The next moment, the favorability number above Priscilla’s head changed. [65] I nearly laughed aloud. “It tastes quite good,” she said evenly. I was delighted, as though she had bestowed a royal fortune upon me. “I am so glad you like it! Tomorrow, I will make you a light barley cream, then poached pears with honey the day after, and a nourishing chicken broth the day after that!” Ivy suddenly gave a soft cough. “Melody, Mother’s meals have always been prescribed by the royal physician. If you send food to her without permission, it may interfere with her treatment...” Patrick immediately agreed. “Ivy is right. Even if you wish to please Mother, you should know where to draw the line.” I lowered my head, as though I had been scolded into silence. Priscilla glanced at me. “Send for the physician.” The royal physician was summoned at once. After examining the ginger cordial, the physician bowed. “Your Royal Highness, Lady Melody has used mild ingredients. This cordial is well suited to easing the chill that troubles you, though it should be taken in moderation.” I nodded obediently. “I understand. I will give Mother only one small cup each day.” The smile on Ivy’s face nearly slipped. Priscilla drew the cup closer to herself. “From now on, anything she brings is to be inspected first, then served.” Patrick frowned. “Mother, you truly want to drink it all?” Priscilla looked up at him. “Am I not permitted to accept something my daughter has made for me?” Patrick’s face turned pale, and he did not dare say another word. I lowered my head, but the corners of my lips threatened to turn up. Comments flashed across my vision: [So satisfying.] [The Eight Brothers’ Sister Protection Squad has been defeated—] [The fake heiress is sensing a crisis. She has realized the female lead is not fighting for the brothers; she is farming favorability points.] That night, Priscilla’s favorability remained firmly at [66]. I lay in bed, too excited to sleep. This was what it meant for effort to be rewarded. Chapter 3 On the third day, I began making Priscilla a hand muff. It sounded simple enough, but it was not. An ordinary hand muff only needed to be lined with wool, but Priscilla’s chill had settled deep in her joints. I needed to sew a thin sachet into the lining, filled with dried ginger, cloves, rosemary, and warmed salt—enough to soothe the cold without becoming too harsh. I worked in my room all afternoon and pricked my fingertips several times. Sharon watched with distress. “My lady, please rest. Her Highness does not lack skilled needlewomen.” I bit off the end of the thread and shook my head. “A needlewoman does it as her duty. I do it out of a daughter’s devotion. How could they be the same?” Comments flashed across my vision: [Priscilla may have countless servants, but only one truly devoted daughter.] [She really has me in tears.] I had only just finished one muff when Ivy arrived. She wore a pale pink cloak that day, her complexion even paler than before. My fifth brother, Stephen Shaw, followed behind her. “What are you making?” Her voice was so soft, as though she were afraid of disturbing me. I put the hand muff away. “A little something for Mother.” Ivy’s eyes immediately reddened. “You’re so thoughtful. Unlike me, I have been ill for so many years that I cannot even hold a needle steady. Mother always told me not to tire myself. I truly thought that simply staying by her side was enough to show my devotion.” Stephen immediately looked distressed. “Ivy, you are frail. Mother dotes on you too much to ever ask you to make such things.” When he finished speaking, he turned to me, his tone unfriendly. “Melody, are you parading these things before Mother just to make Ivy appear unfilial?” I stared at him. She was remarkably skilled at shifting the blame. Clearly, she had had plenty of practice. I looked down at my pricked fingertips, then at Ivy. Her eyes were full of tears, but there was a faint smile hidden in their depths. Then I understood. She was not afraid of losing my brothers or her jewels to me. She was afraid that, as Priscilla’s real daughter, I would use the word “devotion” to make her fifteen years by Priscilla’s side seem meaningless. If she was afraid, then I was on the right path. I said softly, “Stephen, you have misunderstood. I did not make this to suggest that Ivy lacks devotion.” Stephen sneered. “Then what did you make it for?” I lifted my eyes and answered earnestly, “To make Mother more comfortable.” Stephen choked on his words. Comments flashed across my vision: [Hahaha, every word out of her mouth is about Mother. She will not even enter the arena to fight for her brothers’ affection.] [Attack ineffective! Attack reflected!] Ivy suddenly reached out as though she wanted to inspect the hand muff. “Melody, you have made it so beautifully. May I see it?” I did not refuse. As she took it, her fingertip lightly caught on the lining. The next instant, she drew in a sharp breath. A bead of blood welled on her pale fingertip. Stephen’s expression changed drastically. “Ivy!” Ivy hurriedly hid her hand in her sleeve, but tears fell from her eyes. “It is nothing. I was simply careless.” Stephen snatched the hand muff away and found a snapped needle fragment lodged inside. He looked at me as though he wanted to kill me. “Melody, how could you be so cruel?” I looked at the needle fragment and sneered inwardly. When I sewed, I had been terrified Mother might be pricked. I had checked the muff inside and out three times. How could I possibly have left a needle fragment behind? Ivy’s scheme was not especially clever, but it worked. Because in my brothers’ eyes, one drop of her blood mattered more than my life. Stephen raised his hand, about to hurl the hand muff to the floor. My expression changed. I rushed forward and clutched it to my chest. “Do not throw it away. It is for Mother!” He paused, growing even angrier. “You are still thinking of pleasing Mother at a time like this?” I held the hand muff tightly and looked up at him. “Stephen, you may strike or scold me, but you cannot destroy something meant for Mother!” Stephen’s face turned livid with rage. Just then, a cool voice came from the doorway. “Who intends to throw away something made for me?” Priscilla had arrived. Stephen froze at once. Ivy’s tears fell even faster. “Mother, it was all my fault. Melody made the hand muff for you. I should not have touched it carelessly...” Priscilla walked over to me. Her gaze fell first upon the hand muff clutched in my arms, then on the countless needle pricks across my fingertips. The favorability above her head changed. [69] I immediately swallowed my grievance and only asked softly, “Mother, would you like to try it? My stitching may be clumsy, but it will keep your hands warm.” Priscilla took the hand muff. She did not look at Ivy’s injury. Instead, she examined the lining first. The broken needle was in an odd place, nowhere near a seam. Priscilla’s eyes turned faintly cold. Stephen still tried to explain. “Mother, Ivy’s hand—” “Are there no physicians in this estate?” Stephen fell silent. Priscilla handed the hand muff to a senior maid at her side. “Take this and investigate.” Ivy’s face paled slightly. I lowered my head and deliberately did not look at her. Rule two in becoming Mother’s favorite: do not be too quick to complain. Letting Priscilla discover the truth herself was far more effective than weeping a hundred accusations. That night, the maid investigating the snapped needle fragment reported that it had not come from Willow Court. It instead resembled the fine sewing needles commonly used in Ivy’s rooms. Priscilla did not confront Ivy directly. She merely punished one of Ivy’s maids. But the favorability above her head rose to [72]. And the way Ivy looked at me finally turned completely cold. Chapter 4 I knew Ivy would not let the matter rest. She had always relied on frailty and tears to get whatever she wanted in the ducal estate. Now that she had encountered someone like me, someone who only sought Priscilla’s affection and refused to play along with her, she had to be feeling unsettled. Still, I had not expected her to be so ruthless. That was the day of the month when Priscilla’s chill was at its worst. I had discreetly asked the royal physician when Priscilla’s condition was most likely to worsen, then spent three days preparing heated herbal sachets and a silk-lined warming wrap for her. As Sharon helped me warm the sachets by the hearth, she asked softly, “My lady, are you truly making this for Her Highness yourself? Could you not have the needlewomen prepare it?” I shook my head. “No.” The needlewomen would not know where Mother felt the chill most severely, nor how warm the herbal sachets needed to be. Besides, this was my best chance to raise her favorability. Comments flashed across my vision: [Here it comes—the ultimate move in becoming Mother’s favorite: a silk-lined warming wrap.] [Other women fight their household battles with poison. She fights them with heat therapy.] [I cannot stop laughing, but the Princess Regent really does fall for it.] When I finished the warming wrap, the heat from the herb-filled sachets had left a red patch across the back of my hand. But I was happy. If Mother found it comfortable, her favorability might even rise to eighty. I carried the warming wrap to Priscilla’s chambers. Before I could enter, I heard porcelain shatter inside. Then a maid cried out in alarm, “Your Highness!” My heart lurched, and I rushed in at once. Priscilla was gripping the table, her face frighteningly pale and her brow drenched in cold sweat. Ivy knelt at her feet, sobbing so hard that her whole body shook. “Mother, please do not scare me like this! It is all my fault. I should not have brought Melody’s warming wrap for you to try first...” I stopped short. A warming wrap, cut open, lay on the table. Among the herb-filled sachets was a small wax effigy shaped like a woman, its chest pierced with a black pin. Priscilla’s name had been carved into its back. Beside it lay a small vial of graveyard soil. My blood ran cold. Patrick was the first to rush forward. He seized me by the collar. “Melody, you actually dared to use witchcraft against Mother!” Linus’ face was livid. “I told you she was not right in the head. The moment she returned, she pretended to be devoted to Mother. So, this was what she had been waiting for!” George had already drawn his sword, its tip pressed against my shoulder. “If anything happens to Mother, you will pay with your life.” I looked at the favorability ratings above their heads as they abruptly turned red. [-20, -18, -15...] The comment feed went wild. [This is bad. She has been completely set up.] [Witchcraft and graveyard soil—both are exactly what the Princess Regent’s condition cannot bear.] [The female lead was clearly making a warming wrap. How did it become an attempt on Priscilla’s life?] Ivy crawled forward through her tears and clutched at Patrick’s coat. “Patrick, do not hurt Melody. Perhaps she simply did not know that a curse like this could harm Mother...” I looked at her. Behind the tears in her eyes, satisfaction was carefully hidden. This time, she did not merely want me to lose Priscilla’s affection. She wanted me dead. Priscilla was in too much pain to speak. The maids were busy supporting her, and the royal physician had not yet arrived. When Patrick saw that I remained silent, his fury only deepened. He raised his hand and struck me hard across the face. My head snapped to the side, and I tasted blood. The real warm herbal pack in my arms nearly fell to the floor. I immediately held onto it tightly. “Do not touch that.” Patrick sneered. “What is it this time? Another thing meant to hurt Mother?” I shook my head, my voice trembling. “No. This can save Mother’s life.” Linus snatched it from me. “You still dare deny it!” I lunged for it, but George forced me down by the shoulder, my knees striking the floor hard. Right in front of me, Linus smashed the herbal pack violently onto the floor. Fine medicinal powder scattered across the floor. A small black restorative pill, wrapped in waxed paper, rolled out from within. The royal physician rushed in at that very moment. The instant he saw it, his expression changed dramatically. I raised my head, tears striking the floor. “That was the life-saving medicine I spent three days preparing for Mother.” Patrick’s expression froze. With trembling hands, the physician picked up the pill and cried out, “This is... the long-lost King’s Restorative!”