The scent was the first thing she noticed. Not sterile like a typical hospital, but something soft and floral—jasmine, maybe, and a hint of sandalwood. Expensive. The second thing was the silence. Not the kind filled with beeping machines and rushed footsteps, but a calm, almost reverent hush.
Adel opened her eyes slowly, her vision adjusting to soft, filtered sunlight pouring through sheer ivory curtains. The ceiling above her wasn't plain white but intricately molded, the kind she'd only seen in magazines about European mansions. Her fingers moved instinctively across the silky bed linens, confirming what her eyes were struggling to accept.
This wasn't her hospital room.
This wasn't her life.
Her breath caught. Panic clawed up her throat, but her body—weak and unfamiliar—refused to match the urgency of her mind. She sat up slowly, wincing. Her reflection in a glass cabinet caught her eye. The girl staring back was delicate, pale, and too refined to be the twenty-six-year-old woman who'd died two days ago in a bus accident. No, this girl was younger. Softer. Beautiful in a way Adel had never been.
She touched her face.
The door creaked open.
A woman in a navy blue uniform entered. Her movements were precise, respectful.
"Miss Adelina, you're awake," the woman said gently, as if waking a fragile bird. "Do you need water? The doctor has been notified."
Adelina.
The name echoed in her mind like a foreign melody. She blinked. "Who are you?"
The woman—mid-thirties, severe bun, perfect posture—paused with a trace of confusion. "I'm Anya. Your personal maid. You've been unconscious since the accident, Miss. We're so relieved you're finally awake."
Accident.
Unconscious.
Miss.
Adel's fingers curled into the sheets. This had to be a dream. Or a mistake. Or maybe purgatory—some cosmic joke before heaven or hell.
But everything was too vivid. Too warm. Too real.
Another nurse entered, followed by a private doctor who looked more like a luxury brand ambassador than a medical professional. They spoke softly, fussing over her vitals. She barely listened. Her mind was spinning.
Reborn. This was a rebirth.
She remembered the crash. The chaos. The pain. Then—nothing.
And now she was Adelina Gavrila.
Anya returned with a silver tray holding water, a warm towel, and a pale pink robe embroidered with an ornate golden "G". Adelina took the glass, her hands trembling.
"The Gavrila family is waiting for you to recover," Anya said. "Madam will likely visit soon."
Madam.
Adelina swallowed hard. Her new identity came with baggage.
Anya must have sensed her unease. "Would you like to see the papers? Your room? Anything to make you more comfortable?"
"Room," she whispered.
With help, she stood and walked barefoot on plush white carpeting. The room was bigger than her old apartment—hell, the closet alone was bigger than her entire apartment. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. An entire wall dedicated to designer shoes. Perfumes lined up like soldiers. Velvet drapes. Everything screamed generational wealth.
The Gavrila name was familiar. She'd seen it on billboards, perfume ads, glossy magazines—Gavrila Holdings: a behemoth in fashion, real estate, and tech. But she'd never imagined being inside that world.
And now, she was.
Adelina Gavrila, youngest daughter of the most powerful family in the country.
She paused in front of a floor-length mirror. Her body was slimmer. Her skin fair, with the kind of glow you only got from youth and unlimited skincare. But it was her eyes—wide, almost innocent—that unsettled her the most. She looked fragile.
But inside? She was still her.
Her stomach growled.
Anya smiled softly. "Would you like to eat before Madam arrives?"
Adelina nodded.
Soon, breakfast was served on the balcony: salmon souffle, fresh berries, croissants, and hand-squeezed orange juice. She stared at the food in disbelief.
No cheap toast. No instant coffee. This was decadence.
Halfway through a croissant, there was a knock on the door. Then it opened without waiting.
A tall woman entered—elegant, regal, dressed in a tailored cream suit. Her hair was in a flawless chignon, makeup sharp and pristine. Her eyes, the same pale gray as Adelina's, scanned the room before landing on her.
"You're finally awake."
The temperature dropped ten degrees.
Adelina stood. Instinct? Fear? Respect? She wasn't sure.
"Mother," Anya said with a bow.
Mother?
The woman walked closer. "The doctors said it was a mild concussion. I told them not to coddle you."
Adelina swallowed. "I... feel fine."
The woman studied her. Not with warmth. Not even with concern. With calculation. As if analyzing a chess piece.
"You had a reckless moment," she said flatly. "We don't indulge in recklessness in this family."
Adelina said nothing. Her heart beat faster.
"You'll resume your etiquette training tomorrow. No more of this childish behavior."
Childish? She had no idea what the real Adelina had done before the accident. She was walking blind in someone else's life.
The woman turned to leave, pausing only once. "Nathan will see you later. Try not to provoke him."
Nathan.
That name tugged at something inside her. A sense of anticipation.
When the door closed behind her mother, Adelina sat back down, dazed.
"Don't take it personally," Anya said quietly. "Madam is... particular."
That was one way to put it.
The day passed in a blur of confusion. Servants came and went. A tablet was brought in showing news articles about the family. Her public image was curated to perfection: the beautiful, quiet youngest daughter, rarely seen but often talked about. Socialite. Heiress. A symbol of innocence.
Adelina scrolled through photos of herself. Parties. Fashion shows. Always in the background. Always next to one person—
Nathan Gavrila.
Her supposed older brother.
In every photo, he looked like he didn't belong. Tall, dark, and far too intense. His arm around her, protective. His gaze—sharp and unreadable. He rarely smiled. But when he did, it was only at her.
The photos stirred something uneasy in her chest.
She didn't remember this life.
But that man... she felt like she should.
Evening came. The sunset painted the room gold. Anya drew the curtains, turned on soft lights, and left with a bow. "Goodnight, Miss Adelina."
She lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling.
Was she supposed to just accept this?
This wasn't her life.
But it was now.
A soft knock came just before midnight.
She sat up. "Yes?"
The door opened slowly.
A tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light. Broad shoulders. Crisp black shirt. No words. Just presence.
Nathan Gavrila.
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
Just stood there—watching her.
Her pulse quickened.
She didn't know this man. But his gaze felt like gravity.
And in the quiet between them, one thing became crystal clear:
Nothing about this new life would be simple.