The Fake Heir’s Lie Allergy Chapter 1

My adopted brother, Peter, was allegedly allergic to lies. He claimed that whenever he heard one, he would break out in hives, sneeze uncontrollably, and his eyes would stream with tears.

On the very first day I returned to my biological family, Peter immediately suffered a massive allergic reaction. His skin turned bright red and swelled up, his eyes and nose running non-stop.

From that moment on, my entire family branded me a pathological liar with zero morals.

Later on, my grandmother, who was paralyzed from a severe stroke, was pushed down a flight of stairs.

When they asked me, I simply shook my head and said, "It wasn't me."

The very next second, Peter went into anaphylactic shock and collapsed right in front of everyone.

My father was furious. My mother screamed and cried at me.

My older sister, Jacqueline, slapped me across the face so hard my vision went black.

"How could our family produce such a toxic, venomous snake like you?!"

I was humiliated, tortured, and relentlessly punished.

It wasn't until the moment I died that I finally discovered Peter's true secret.

* * *

On my very first day back at the Starzyk estate, I didn't hesitate. I poured myself a glass of boiling hot water and drank it straight down.

Only when I felt that agonizing, burning pain searing my throat did I finally relax against the leather seats of the family's Porsche.

In my past life, the second I was reunited with my biological parents and my sister, I had hugged them, my eyes red and brimming with tears of joy.

My mother’s voice had choked with emotion as she told me they had finally found me.

Peter, standing off to the side, had looked down at the floor and muttered, "I'm so sorry, brother. I've been occupying your rightful place all these years. Now that you're back, I should give everything back to you."

Jacqueline had immediately frowned, reaching out to gently stroke his hair. "Don't say such silly things. Ethan won't mind."

I had quickly nodded in agreement. "Of course not. I consider you my real brother. We'll always be a family."

It was supposed to be a warm, welcoming reunion.

But the moment the words left my mouth, Peter started furiously rubbing his nose. He sneezed violently, over and over, his hands frantically scratching at his arms, which were rapidly breaking out in angry red hives.

Jacqueline's face immediately darkened. She barked at the maids to fetch his antihistamines.

My parents subtly pulled their hands away from mine. The warm, loving looks they had just given me were instantly replaced by cold, calculated scrutiny.

I was terrified. I couldn't understand how a genuine, heartfelt sentence could trigger such a catastrophic reaction.

I had heard rumors before. The adopted son of the Starzyk family had a bizarre medical condition.

He was supposedly allergic to lies.

The story went that shortly after he was adopted, Peter had a severe allergic reaction to a loyal, longtime nanny.

After a thorough investigation, the family discovered that the nanny was actually a corporate spy hired by a rival firm to steal the Starzyk Corporation's trade secrets.

Another time, during a massive charity gala, Peter couldn't stop sneezing while my father was negotiating with a prominent investor.

Later, they found out the investor was secretly bankrupt and the entire partnership was a massive Ponzi scheme designed to steal their money.

The most famous incident happened at Jacqueline's engagement party. The moment Peter shook hands with her fiancé, he broke out in full-body hives and ran a dangerously high fever.

Furious, Jacqueline hired a private investigator. She discovered her seemingly perfect fiancé was actually sleeping around and had contracted multiple STDs.

Incident after incident elevated Peter to the status of a holy oracle within the Starzyk family. He was their precious, untouchable little prince.

They trusted him implicitly. And they absolutely refused to let anyone or anything harm him.

Because of him, they instantly threw up their walls against me, their own biological son who had just returned home.

My mother looked incredibly awkward. She forced a stiff smile and asked me how I had been living all these years.

Thinking back to the brutal beatings at the orphanage, the relentless bullying at school, and having to scrape a living off the filthy streets, I offered a bitter, honest smile.

"It was hard, but I survived."

Hearing that, a flicker of genuine heartache finally crossed my mother's face.

But to everyone's shock, Peter's condition didn't improve even after taking his medication. In fact, his arms flared up with massive, swollen welts.

My mother panicked and immediately called for the family doctor. The look she shot me was entirely hostile and guarded.

In her mind, I was obviously lying, playing the victim just to garner sympathy.

Right on cue, Peter played the role of the incredibly reasonable martyr, insisting that he had to pack up his things and give his master bedroom back to me because it "belonged to the rightful heir."