The Song estate seemed to hum with quiet urgency in the days that followed. Staff polished every surface to a shine that could rival the sun. Florists arrived with trucks of fresh arrangements—pale lilies, blushing peonies, delicate orchids. Mira watched from the balcony as they carted bouquets into the main foyer.
Mrs. Lin bustled around with faintly harried energy. "It must be perfect," she whispered once, almost to herself. "This is… well, it's history correcting itself."
Mira heard. The words slipped under her skin like a cold knife.
She wanted to hate them. But she couldn't. They weren't wrong.
---
That afternoon, Mira found her mother in the sunroom, directing staff on where to hang new drapes. The pale gold fabric caught the light, soft and regal.
"Mother," Mira said, voice carefully level, "do you want me to… I don't know, move to another wing? Give Elena this suite when she arrives?"
Her mother turned, eyes wide and wounded. "Mira, no. You're our daughter, no matter what. This will always be your home."
The words were gentle, loving. But they sounded practiced, as if she'd been repeating them to herself in a mirror. As if trying to convince her own heart.
Mira forced a smile. "Of course. I just wanted to be sure."
Her mother reached out, squeezed her hand. The warmth was real—but so was the tiny tremor. The grief of a mother trying to love two daughters, knowing she'd lost one for seventeen years.
---
When the day finally came, it was strangely bright. Spring sunlight spilled across the stone driveway, catching on the mirrored windows of a sleek car that pulled up through the iron gates.
Mira stood beside her parents on the steps, hands folded tightly before her. Her heart felt too large for her chest, thudding against her ribs like a desperate bird.
The car door opened.
And Elena Song stepped out.
---
She was… striking. In a soft, understated way that Mira instantly envied. Elena wore a simple cream blouse and a dusty rose skirt, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. No makeup, no glittering accessories. Just luminous, unpretentious beauty.
Her eyes—so like Mira's—swept the mansion, the gardens, the steps. They lingered on Mira for a breath, curious but not cold.
Then they locked on their parents.
A small, hesitant smile broke across Elena's face. Mira watched as her mother made a soft, broken sound and flew down the steps, gathering Elena into a fierce embrace. Her father followed, wrapping both of them in his arms.
It should have been touching. And it was.
But it also hurt. A dull, twisting pain in Mira's gut that she couldn't have explained if she tried.
---
Elena finally stepped back, blinking rapidly. She turned to Mira, lips parting as if to speak. For a moment, uncertainty flickered across her features.
"Hello," she said softly. "You must be… Mira."
Her voice was gentle, edged with awe, as if Mira were some regal figure she wasn't sure she was allowed to approach.
Mira swallowed. Forced a small smile. "Yes. Welcome home, Elena."
Home. The word landed oddly on her tongue.
Elena looked relieved. She stepped forward and did something Mira didn't expect—she reached out, lightly taking Mira's hands. Her grip was warm, her skin slightly rough in a way that spoke of chores, simpler days.
"It means a lot that you're here," Elena said. "Thank you."
Mira didn't know what to say. So she just squeezed back, then let go.
---
The house shifted around Elena like it had been waiting. Maids brought out delicate pastries Elena barely touched, offering shy smiles. Mrs. Lin hovered, discreetly instructing a younger maid to carry Elena's small suitcase to a newly prepared guest suite—technically Mira's old childhood bedroom.
Dinner was awkward. The long mahogany table gleamed under chandeliers, a dozen dishes laid out by the chef. Mira's mother insisted on seating Mira and Elena side by side.
Conversation stumbled. Mira's father tried to ask Elena about her life—did she enjoy reading? What subjects did she like? Elena answered softly, politely. Mira could see the hunger in her parents' eyes as they drank in every detail of this girl they'd missed.
Mira pushed her food around her plate, appetite gone. When she looked up, she caught Elena glancing at her, an odd mixture of guilt and admiration in her gaze.
---
In the days that followed, the estate seemed to orbit around Elena.
Her mother took her shopping for new clothes—simple but elegant pieces that suited Elena's quiet beauty. Her father arranged private lessons so she could catch up on advanced subjects, preparing her to eventually attend Westwood Academy.
The staff, too, seemed subtly enchanted. Mira couldn't blame them. Elena was kind, unfailingly polite, quick to thank anyone who brought her tea or carried her books. She moved through the house like a soft wind, gentle and careful not to disturb—but somehow still gathering all attention.
And it wasn't that anyone neglected Mira. They didn't. Her mother still knocked on her door each morning to greet her. Her father still discussed his company's latest hotel expansion over breakfast, as he always had.
But it was different. A shade dimmer. As if a candle had been placed between them, softening the light.
---
Mira tried to adjust. Truly, she did.
One afternoon, she found Elena in the library, curled up in the window seat with a thick novel. Sunlight streamed over her hair, turning it to rich coffee-brown.
Mira hesitated in the doorway. Then she cleared her throat. "That's one of my favorites."
Elena looked up, startled, then smiled. "It's lovely. I've never read anything like it. Back… well, where I grew up, we didn't have many books. Mostly old farming manuals and a few school textbooks."
Guilt stabbed Mira. She crossed the room and sank into a chair. "If you'd like, I could show you some more. There's a whole collection upstairs—rare poetry editions and historical fiction."
"I'd love that," Elena said, eyes lighting up. "If you're sure."
"Of course." Mira hesitated, then offered a small, real smile. "It's your home too."
Elena's answering smile was grateful, almost shy. For a brief moment, Mira felt something ease inside her. Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible. Maybe they could share this life—two daughters where fate had planned for only one.
---
But outside their quiet moment, the world was not so gentle.
---
Word spread like wildfire through Westwood Academy.
Did you hear? Mira Song isn't actually the Song heiress. The real daughter was found living on a farm or something—so tragic, right?
I wonder who'll inherit now. The Songs own half the Eastside commercial district.
And what about Adrian Chen? Everyone thought he'd marry Mira. Maybe he'll switch to Elena. Wouldn't blame him—she's so naturally pretty.
Mira tried to ignore it. She walked the marble halls of Westwood with her chin high, practicing that careful, chilly poise the old Mira had perfected. But inside, she was fraying.
Every whisper felt like a tiny tear. Every sideways glance like a needle.
---
Then came the Friday afternoon that broke her.
She was leaving the literature club meeting, her arms full of scripts for the upcoming charity play, when she overheard two girls from the fencing team near the lockers.
"…saying Mr. Song already opened a new trust fund for Elena. Makes sense—she's the real heir. Poor Mira though. Must be embarrassing."
The other girl snorted. "Please. She'll still have money. It's just not the same. Honestly, I'd die of shame."
They didn't even bother lowering their voices. When Mira passed, they barely glanced her way, as if she'd become invisible.
---
Mira fled the building and walked aimlessly around the campus until dusk. The ivy-covered library, the reflecting pool with its little stone benches—places that once felt like a stage for her charmed life—now seemed cold, foreign.
It was never really mine, she thought again. Just a borrowed dream.
---
That night, when she returned home, she found her parents and Elena in the parlor, poring over old photo albums. Mira stood unnoticed by the doorway for a long minute, watching as her mother laughed, pointing at baby pictures of Elena she'd missed all these years.
Then Elena glanced up and saw her. Her face brightened instantly. "Mira! Come look—there's one of you dressed as a tiny fairy. You were adorable."
Her mother looked up too, smile warm but a touch strained. "Yes, darling, come join us."
Mira hesitated. The polite invitation felt like standing on the outside of glass, looking in at something that didn't quite belong to her anymore. Finally, she shook her head, forcing a small laugh.
"I'm tired. I think I'll turn in early."
---
She escaped to her room, closed the door, and stood there in the silence. Her heart beat a heavy, lonely rhythm. She was surrounded by everything she'd ever wanted—luxury, family, love—and somehow felt emptier than she had in her tiny apartment in her old life.
She wandered out to her balcony. The night air was cool, the cherry trees below whispering secrets she couldn't quite catch.
Somewhere out there, past the gardens and the wrought-iron gates, the city glittered. Life went on, uncaring of her fragile identity crisis.
---
She didn't know how long she stood there before a familiar voice drifted up from the courtyard.
"Mira?"
She turned sharply. Down by the main gate stood Adrian Chen, hands in his pockets, looking up at her with quiet intensity.
"Can I come up?" he called softly.
Her throat closed. She wanted to tell him no. That she was tired. That everything was a mess.
But what came out instead was a whisper. "Yes."