Aria Verma learned very early in life that blood did not guarantee love.
The Verma mansion was large—too large for someone like her. Every corner echoed with expensive taste, polished marble floors, and portraits of smiling family members. Yet no matter how long Aria lived here, the house never felt like home.
She stood at the entrance of the living room, holding a neatly arranged file against her chest. Her posture was straight, her expression calm, but her fingers trembled slightly.
Inside, laughter filled the room.
Her parents sat on the central sofa. Between them sat Rhea Verma, their adopted daughter, wrapped in warmth and attention like she was born for it.
"You shouldn't push yourself so hard, Rhea," Mrs. Verma said gently, brushing Rhea's hair back with affection. "Your health matters more than work."
Rhea smiled sweetly. "I just want to help the family, Mom."
Mom.
That single word struck Aria harder than any insult.
She was the biological daughter. The real one.
Yet she had never been called that with such tenderness.
Aria took a step forward. Her heels clicked softly against the marble, finally drawing attention to her presence.
"I've completed the proposal for the Malhotra collaboration," Aria said calmly. "It's ready for review."
Mr. Verma glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. "Leave it on the table."
That was all.
No praise. No interest. Not even a question.
Aria walked forward and placed the file carefully where he pointed. As she straightened, her eyes briefly met Rhea's.
Rhea looked at her with concern. "Sister, you look tired. You should rest more. Father worries when you overwork."
Aria almost laughed.
Father had never worried about her.
"I'm fine," Aria replied quietly.
Mr. Verma frowned. "Your tone again. Why are you always so stiff? Look at Rhea—polite, gentle, considerate. Learn something from her."
The words were casual, but they landed heavily.
Aria lowered her gaze. "Understood."
She turned to leave, but her steps slowed.
This wasn't the first time.
It was always like this.
She studied finance because her father wanted her to.
She managed projects no one else wanted.
She worked late nights without complaint.
But none of it mattered.
Because in this family, she was invisible.
As she climbed the stairs, Aria's chest felt tight. She stopped outside her room, pressing her palm against the door.
Why am I still hoping? she asked herself.
Inside her room, everything was clean and untouched. No framed photos. No warmth. It looked more like a guest room than a daughter's bedroom.
She placed her bag down and exhaled slowly.
This house had never accepted her.