Checkmate, Heiress
Bad news: I died.
Good news: I got transmigrated into a book.
Bad news: I landed in the belly of a peasant woman and was about to be born as a fake heiress.
Good news: I'd read this book cover to cover.
I knew that when the real heiress came home, she'd use her parents' guilt against me. She'd even scheme to get me caught in bed with my own brother, so furious would our parents be that they'd throw me out of the house, and I'd die a miserable death in some back alley on a rainy night.
So the year I turned five, I took every coin I'd ever been given and paid a street urchin to show up at the manor gates claiming to be the real heiress.
When I turned eight, a second urchin took her place.
At ten, a third.
By the time I turned fifteen, the household already had eight "real heiresses" crammed into it.
People back then didn't know about alum and water to distinguish family lines, so as far as anyone could tell, all eight girls shared blood with both the Marquis and his wife.
As for why one daughter had become eight...
The sage just smiled and said it wasn't meant to be spoken of.
The year I turned sixteen, the real heiress finally came home.