I Weaponized Fake Heirs to Save Myself
Bad news: I'm dead.
Good news: I transmigrated into a novel.
Bad news: I end up in a peasant woman's womb, and I'm about to be born as a fake heir.
Good news: My little sister, claiming that it's better to be safe than sorry because the novel's main character shares my name, has forced me to read this novel cover to cover.
I already know that once the real heir, Isaac Reed, comes home, he'll use our parents' guilt toward him to set me up. He'll frame me at a family acknowledgment banquet, making it look like I've taken liberties with the family's precious only daughter, Kiana Reed.
My adoptive parents will be so furious that they'll disown me and kick me out of the house. In the end, I'll die miserably in an alley on a rainy night.
So, the year I turn five, I empty out my savings to hire a young beggar to show up at our door, claiming he's the real heir.
When I'm eight, the second beggar enters the stage. When I'm ten, the third one arrives.
By the time I'm 15, the manor is packed with eight so-called real heirs.
These people in ancient times don't know that their supposedly reliable methods of testing kinship can be tampered with. All they know is that all eight boys seem to share blood ties with my adoptive parents, the Marquis and Marchioness of Eterna.
I play it off as a miracle from the heavens.
Then, when I'm 16, the real heir returns.