ARIA'S POV
"Dinner is in twenty minutes," Mom announces. "Everyone should freshen up."
I'm still standing in the foyer, staring at Celeste. At this crying girl who's somehow supposed to replace me.
"I'm not hungry," I say.
"You'll eat anyway." Mom's voice leaves no room for argument. "We have things to discuss. Important things. As a family."
Family.
The word feels like a slap.
"Fine." I grab my suitcase. "Where should I put my things?"
"Your old room is ready," Mom says. "East wing. Third door on the right. You remember."
Of course I remember. I lived here for twenty-two years.
Except maybe I didn't. Maybe I was just borrowing someone else's life.
I drag my suitcase upstairs. The house feels different now. Colder. Like the walls know I don't belong here anymore.
My room looks exactly the same. Blue sheets. Art supplies on the desk. Books on the shelves. Even fresh peonies in a vase by the window.
Someone prepared this for me.
Probably Damien.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
I sit on the bed and try to breathe. Try to think. But my mind is spinning too fast.
Celeste. The swap. The DNA test.
Nothing makes sense.
A knock on my door makes me jump.
"It's me," Celeste's voice is soft. "Can I come in?"
I should say no. Should tell her to leave me alone.
Instead: "Okay."
She opens the door slowly. Her eyes are still red from crying. She looks lost.
"I'm sorry," she says immediately. "I'm sorry for existing. I'm sorry for ruining your life. I'm sorry for—"
"Stop." I hold up my hand. "This isn't your fault. You didn't ask for this either."
"I know, but—" She sits on the edge of my bed. "I keep thinking about it. About how our lives got switched. About how you grew up here and I grew up..." She trails off.
"Where did you grow up?"
"A small village. Poor. My parents—my adoptive parents—they tried their best, but we never had much." She wipes her eyes. "They died six months ago. Car accident. And then I found out I was adopted. And then the DNA test. And now..." She gestures around the room. "Now I'm supposed to be a Chen. Supposed to be rich. Supposed to be someone I'm not."
I look at her. Really look at her.
She's terrified. Just like me.
"We'll figure it out," I hear myself say. "Three months, right? We'll figure out how to handle this."
She nods, but she doesn't look convinced.
Another knock. This time it's a maid I don't recognize.
"Dinner is ready, Miss Aria. Miss Celeste. Mrs. Chen requests your presence."
Celeste stands. "Should we go together?"
I want to say no. Want to hide in my room forever.
But I nod. "Yeah. Together."
---
The dining room is exactly how I remember. Long table. Crystal glasses. Too many forks.
Mom and Dad are already seated. Damien sits across from them, watching the doorway.
Watching for me.
When Celeste and I walk in, his eyes lock onto mine. He doesn't look away.
"Sit," Mom says. Not a request. A command.
I sit next to Celeste. As far from Damien as possible.
Servants bring food. Expensive food. The kind I grew up eating without thinking about it.
Now it feels like ashes in my mouth.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. The only sound is silverware against plates.
Finally, Mom sets down her fork.
"We need to discuss the situation," she says. Her voice is cold. Business-like. "Calmly and rationally."
"There's nothing calm about this," I say. "You called me home to tell me I'm not your daughter. How am I supposed to be calm?"
"Because falling apart won't change the facts." Mom pulls out a folder and slides it across the table. "DNA results. Hospital records. Everything is documented."
I don't touch the folder. Don't want to.
Because touching it makes it real.
"Twenty-two years ago," Mom continues, "there was a mix-up at Shanghai Central Hospital. Two baby girls born on the same day. Same floor. Similar birth weights. Somehow, the babies were switched."
"Somehow," I repeat. The word tastes bitter. "Babies don't just get switched. Hospitals have protocols. Security."
"It was twenty-two years ago," Dad says quietly. "Systems weren't as advanced. Mistakes happened."
"This is a pretty big mistake."
"Yes." Mom's face is ice. "It is. But it happened. And now we have to deal with the consequences."
I look at Celeste. She's not eating. Just staring at her plate like she wishes she could disappear.
"So what now?" I ask. "You're just going to kick me out? Replace me with her?"
"Not immediately," Mom says. "We need time to transition. To prepare Celeste for her role. To find your biological family and make arrangements."
"Arrangements." I laugh, and it sounds hysterical. "You make it sound like I'm a business deal."
"You're not—" Dad starts.
"Then what am I?" I interrupt. "If I'm not your daughter, what am I? What have I been for twenty-two years?"
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
"You were our daughter," Dad finally says. His voice cracks. "Biology doesn't change that. We raised you. We loved you."
"Loved," I say softly. "Past tense."
"That's not what I meant—"
"It's exactly what you meant." I stand up. My chair scrapes loudly against the floor. "You loved me when you thought I was yours. But now that you know the truth, I'm just... what? An inconvenience? A problem to solve?"
"Aria, sit down," Mom orders.
"No."
"Sit. Down."
"Make me!" I'm shouting now. "You can't control me anymore! I'm not your daughter! You said so yourself!"
Damien stands. His movement is smooth. Dangerous.
"That's enough," he says quietly.
"Stay out of this," I snap.
"I can't." He walks around the table toward me. "Because unlike them, I don't care about blood. I don't care about DNA. I don't care about some stupid hospital mistake."
He stops right in front of me. Too close.
"You're mine, Aria. You've always been mine. And some test results aren't going to change that."
The way he says mine makes my skin burn.
"I'm not yours," I breathe. "I'm not anyone's."
"Keep telling yourself that." His amber eyes burn into mine. "But we both know the truth."
I can't breathe. Can't think.
I push past him and run.
Out of the dining room. Up the stairs. Down the hallway.
To my room.
I slam the door and lock it. My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking.
Twenty-two years of my life.
Gone.
Erased.
Like I never existed.
I sink onto my bed and finally let myself cry. Really cry. Not the quiet, controlled tears from before. But loud, ugly, broken sobs.
Everything I thought I knew is a lie.
My parents aren't my parents.
My brother isn't my brother.
My name isn't even really my name.
I'm nobody.
Nothing.
Just a mistake that lived in someone else's life for twenty-two years.
I cry until I can't cry anymore. Until my throat is raw and my eyes are swollen.
And then I hear it.
A key turning in my lock.
My door opens.
Damien stands in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light. He looks like a dark angel. Beautiful and terrifying.
"Go away," I say. My voice is hoarse.
"No." He steps inside and closes the door behind him.
Locks it.
"I said go away!"
"And I said no." He walks toward me slowly. Like he's approaching a wounded animal. "We need to talk, little bird."
"Don't call me that."
"Why not?" He sits on my bed. Right next to me. "I've called you that since you were eight years old. I'm not stopping now."
"Everything is different now!"
"No." His voice is soft. Gentle. "Nothing is different. Not where it matters."
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folder. An old, worn folder that looks like it's been carried around for years.
"What is that?"
"Proof," he says simply. "Proof that I've known the truth for a very long time."
He opens the folder.
Inside are medical records. Blood type charts. Genetic probability reports.
All dated ten years ago.
My blood runs cold.
"You've known for ten years," I breathe. "You've known since you were eighteen that I wasn't your sister."
"Yes."
"And you never told me."
"No."
"Why?"
He looks at me. Really looks at me. And what I see in his eyes makes my heart stop.
Hunger. Possession. Obsession.
Love.
Twisted, dark, terrifying love.
"Because," he says softly, "I was waiting for this exact moment."
He reaches out and touches my face.
And I realize with horror that everything—absolutely everything—has been leading to this.