Chapter 1

"Deborah Larson has already enrolled."

I froze for a moment and said, "No way! This is my acceptance letter!"

"That letter was sent out over six months ago. If it was yours, why are you only showing up now?"

I gripped the letter tighter as anger rose in my gut.

When Mom had passed away, Dad had insisted I enroll at Brookley College. And as if that hadn't been enough, he'd arranged my marriage with some guy I'd never met.

After we had a huge argument, I'd been escorted onto a plane by his bodyguards.

The moment I'd stepped off that plane, I'd decided to take control of my own life. Before starting college, I'd decided to spend six months traveling the world.

However, Dad had suddenly called the day before and said he was coming to see me.

I'd panicked. I'd known there was no use hiding anymore, so I'd rushed to the campus to sort out my enrollment. But who knew this would be the outcome?

Unable to complete the paperwork, I had no choice but to head to the villa Dad had purchased for me.

On the way there, I kept wondering who had dared to impersonate me to enroll at Brookley College.

When I arrived at the villa and entered the passcode to unlock the door, the screen unexpectedly flashed the words "incorrect password".

I tried multiple times but to no avail. Then, I heard footsteps from inside the villa.

"Who's there?"

I paused, a sinking feeling creeping into my gut.

The door opened to reveal a tall man. At the same time, a woman's curious voice drifted from inside.

"Isaiah, who is it?"

My heart dropped to my stomach.

It was Isaiah Joubert—my so-called fiancé, the one I'd never met.

A moment later, an impeccably dressed woman appeared behind him. She looked to be about my age, and something about her seemed familiar. But I couldn't place where I'd seen her before.

Standing at the doorway, I gathered myself and asked, "You're Isaiah? And who's she?"

Isaiah glanced at me and answered indifferently, "This is my fiancée, Deborah. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

My blood boiled at his words.

So this was the person who had stolen my identity and even my house.

I leveled his cold gaze and stated calmly, "This is my house."

Isaiah laughed. "What nonsense are you spouting? This is the house Mr. Larson bought for Debbie."

"I am Deborah!" I exclaimed frustratedly.

"You?"

Isaiah sized me up, and his eyes lingered on my dusty boots and faded T-shirt. His sneer deepened as he shook his head in disbelief.

"The heiress of the Larson family is a pampered, elegant lady. She's the apple of her family's eye. Look at you. You expect me to believe you're her when you're dressed like that?"

The alleged Deborah arched a brow and smiled sweetly in feigned benevolence.

"Well, since we share the same name, I can spare you some money if you're truly struggling to live by. But lying isn't very becoming of a young lady, you know."

I clenched my fists and took a deep breath to suppress the fury bubbling inside me.

"Are you sure she's Deborah?" I asked Isaiah.

"Of course! Now get lost already. I've never seen anyone so shameless!"

I stared them down before pulling out my phone to log into my dormant Instagram account. Then, I made a new post with the caption, "I'm back."

Immediately, a flood of comments came pouring in.

"Whoa! You're finally back! Where have you been these past months? You promised to jam with us when you got here!"

"Yeah! We've been your online friends for years. Now that you're finally showing up in person, we've got to meet you!"

A smirk played on my lips as I scanned the lively comment section and dropped the villa's address.

"I'll be home tomorrow. Bring your guitars."

With a sly smile, I muttered under my breath, "Let's see how this plays out."

…

The next morning, a group of people gathered outside the villa. Each one carried a guitar case or instrument bag, their faces lighting up with excitement and anticipation as they waited at the front door.

When the fake Deborah opened the door and saw the crowd, she was visibly startled.

"Excuse me, is Deborah home? We're here to see her."

"I'm Deborah."

Someone in the crowd giggled and said, "Wow, it's so great to finally meet you, Debbie! We've been waiting forever. Come on, let's hear you play something!"

"Yeah, don't keep us hanging. We didn't come all this way for nothing!"

I stood in the crowd in disguise, my face obscured by a hat.

"That's right, Debbie. We've all been dying to see you perform. Don't disappoint us."

The fake Deborah's expression faltered. Her lips trembled, and she forced a weak smile. "I… I don't remember telling you guys to come."

Someone pulled out their phone, opened Instagram, and held it up.

"Didn't you post this?" He pointed to a post made by a verified account—DeborahDebbie. "This is Deborah's account. Or are you not her?"

Panic crossed the fake Deborah's face, and she hastily waved her hands to cut him off.

"Yes, I'm the one who posted that! I just… forgot, that's all."

She then gave an awkward chuckle, her gaze darting around nervously as she stepped aside and motioned for everyone to enter.

I scoffed and followed the group inside the villa.

For the first time, I stepped into the house that belonged to me and looked around. The decor was lavish yet excessively gaudy, steeped in a heavy sense of tackiness and no artistic flair.

I smirked inwardly, silently vowing to expose this imposter by the end of the day.

The fake Deborah plastered on a strained smile and stammered, "Um… actually, I'm a bit busy today. Maybe next time—"

Before she could finish, someone interrupted, "We came all this way just to see you today. You can't just send us off without even one song!"

I chimed in, "Exactly. Just play something simple. After all, your technique has always been one of a kind. We're all waiting."

The moment I spoke, I saw her face turn pale and beads of sweat form on her forehead.