The lights of the ballroom gleamed like distant stars, casting soft shadows across polished floors and glittering gowns. But all of that faded into silence as Hara stood before them—her heels clicking with authority, her eyes fixed like sharpened blades.
Damian stood tall, blocking Hena ever so slightly with his frame, but Hara had already seen enough. Her cold smile lingered as she stopped just a few steps away.
"So," Hara said, voice dipped in venom, "Mom was right."
Hena flinched at the sound of that word—Mom—and something unreadable flashed across her face.
Hara tilted her head. "I thought I was hallucinating at first. But no… here you are. Breathing. Existing."
Damian opened his mouth, but Hara raised her hand. "Don't. Not now."
She turned her gaze to Hena, examining every inch of her face as if seeing a ghost. "So this is what you've been doing? Pretending to be me? Charming people? Sneaking into parties like some cheap imposter?"
"I didn't pretend to be anyone," Hena said softly, her voice trembling but steady. "I never wanted your life, Hara. I just wanted answers."
Hara's laugh was sharp, humorless. "Answers? Is that what you call it? You show up out of nowhere, dress like me, walk like me, and now—now you're standing here with him?"
Damian's jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet.
"You've had everything!" Hara hissed. "My face, my life, now my fiancé?"
"I don't even know who I am yet!" Hena cried. "I didn't know I had a twin until—until I found a bracelet. I've been trying to understand. I'm not here to steal anything from you."
Hara's smile vanished.
"Liar."
The slap came fast and unexpected.
Hena's head whipped to the side from the force of it. A sharp sting bloomed on her cheek. The room didn't stop moving, but to Hena, it felt like the world had just paused.
Damian took a step forward, his voice deadly low. "Hara—"
"Stay out of this!" Hara snapped, her voice rising. "This is between me and my mistake of a twin."
Tears welled in Hena's eyes, but she didn't fall. She stood upright, even as her cheek burned.
"I didn't ask to be born," she said quietly. "I didn't ask to be abandoned."
That silence again—heavy and brittle.
A quiet click sounded from behind a curtain near the hallway. None of them noticed.
"I want the truth," Hena said, lifting her head. "Why was I left behind? What happened the day I was born? Why was I hidden?"
"You don't deserve to know," Hara spat. "You should have stayed hidden."
Suddenly, footsteps echoed near the corridor. The tension shattered like glass.
Claire stepped into view, her eyes wide, clearly having seen and heard too much. "Hena, what is going on?."
But Claire wasn't the only one. A young server, phone in hand, quickly disappeared behind a side door, unnoticed—except by Damian, who caught the faint glow of the screen recording before it vanished.
He turned back to the sisters, his expression stormy. "This isn't over."
Hara sneered. "No, it isn't. And you better choose wisely, Damian."
As she turned and strode out of the ballroom, heads turned, whispers began to ripple, and all eyes slowly landed on the trembling girl with the stinging cheek and tearful eyes—Hena.
But she didn't shrink.
She had questions. She had a mission.
And now, the world was watching.