Heiress Switch: The Staircase Trap

It was like seeing the villain of your favorite movie suddenly hand you a puppy. Is this really the archenemy I've always seen as a pain in my ass?

Mason Whitaker. The golden boy. At least, that's how everyone saw him.

He was the kind of guy parents compared you to at dinner, the poster child for perfect grades and perfect manners. He even dressed like he was auditioning for a J.Crew catalog. Of course he did.

Every time I bombed a test and brought the paper home for my parents to sign, my mom would sigh: "Look at Mason Whitaker." Ugh.

That phrase haunted me. Every parent-teacher conference. Every awkward car ride home. It made me hate him so much.

Unlike my childhood friend, Diego Alvarez, who always brought me spicy Cheetos to cheer me up: "If you don't wanna study, then don't. When we grow up, I'll take care of you."

Diego was the polar opposite of Mason. Messy hair. Big smile. Always ready to skip class. Always ready to sneak snacks. I was completely taken in by Diego's sweet talk.

What's so bad about not being good at school, anyway?

Someone loves me. Someone cares.

But now the pop-up comments say I'm the real heiress. Switched at birth? Seriously?

One day, I'll be brought back to a wealthy family. Supposedly.

Am I really going to miss out on all that wealth just because my grades are bad? Get crushed by the fake heiress? Lose my mind and end up depressed and hopeless?

My hands clenched. I could feel my face go pale.

Damn it. Anything else is fine. But missing out on a life of luxury? Not happening.

That's it. I've made up my mind.

If I have to pull all-nighters or drink black coffee till my hands shake, whatever it takes, I have to seize this chance and let the top student drag me to the finish line.

But then Diego yanked me to his side. Glared at Mason.

"Mason, you want to force Savannah to suffer through studying? Did you even ask me?"

Diego's voice had that protective edge, the kind that made you want to roll your eyes and hug him at the same time. He looked ready to throw down. Right there in the living room.

"She doesn't need to study. When we grow up, I'll take care of her."

He puffed up his chest like he was about to challenge Mason to a duel. But with more Cheetos. Less swordplay.

"If you don't want to drink, I'll take this shot for you."

He picked up the shot glass. Held it up.

He looked so sure of himself, like this was some grand romantic gesture instead of a classic Diego move to avoid any real conflict. Classic Diego.

The pop-up comments in my eyes exploded again:

[Ugh, what right does this guy have to drink for Mason?]

[If he hadn't ditched Savannah to become the fake heiress's lapdog, he wouldn't have pushed her over the edge.]

[It's bad enough her rich parents don't love her, but even her childhood friend sides with the fake heiress, saying she's not good enough—that's the final blow.]

[When a guy says 'I'll take care of you,' that's the most toxic sweet talk ever. Real heiress, don't be dumb.]

Wait, what? Diego's going to ditch me? Become the fake heiress's lapdog? What is this, a soap opera?

What? Diego's going to ditch me? Become the fake heiress's lapdog?

I snatched the shot glass from Diego's hand. Slammed it on the floor. "Who needs you to take care of me? If I want to work hard, what's it to you?"

My voice rang out, echoing a little in the sudden silence. The glass shattered, and for a second, everyone just stared. I felt a rush of adrenaline, like I’d finally stepped into my own power. Finally.

"Hey, genius, when do we start?"

I turned to Mason. Determined. I could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Why don't we go now?" No point waiting.

I didn't wait for an answer. Just grabbed my bag.

Diego was stunned. Furious. Embarrassed:

He sputtered, face redder than a sunburn. "Savannah, are you out of your mind?" Here we go.

"If you dare to leave with Mason, don't even think about marrying me in the future!" (Cue internal eye roll.)

The threat sounded childish, but the pain in his voice was real. Still. I wasn't backing down.

Not only did I leave. I grabbed Mason and ran out with him.

We practically sprinted down the sidewalk, the night air cool and sharp. My heart was racing. More alive than I had in years.

Behind me, Diego's angry voice echoed. Loud:

"Fine, fine, studying is so hard—let's see how long you last!"

"I'll be waiting for you to come back crying, saying you regret it!"

I will never regret it! Never.

I shouted back over my shoulder. Didn't care who heard. All that wealth is about to fall into my lap. I have to work hard, so my rich parents will see me differently in the future.

But I never expected that just because I decided to study hard, things would suddenly move a lot faster.

Sometimes life moves too fast. The next day, my wealthy parents showed up.

They hugged me. Cried. Told me I was their daughter.

Their embrace was warm and a little awkward, like they were trying to make up for lost time in a single moment. They wanted to transfer me to a new school and take me back to New York City. Back to New York City.

The pop-up comments refreshed. Faster than my own panic:

[Nooo, Mason was just about to tutor the real heiress—how are they separated already?]

[Weren't the real heiress's parents supposed to find her after the SATs? There's still a year and a half left—why is the plot moving so fast?]

[No way, without Mason's help, how can the real heiress get into Harvard? Won't she get crushed by the fake heiress when she goes back to the rich family? What if she gets depressed again?]

[Crying, I'm so anxious watching this!]

I left my tearful parents behind. Ran straight to Mason's.

I didn't even stop to change out of my hoodie and sweats. My sneakers squeaked on the hardwood. I burst into his room.

A printed study plan. Right on his desk.