Chapter 1 When my sister Leticia Barnett was fourteen, she was adopted by the richest family in Criamore—the powerful Morrow family. Overnight, a poor village girl became the beloved daughter of a wealthy household.

The first year after she left, she secretly mailed me a letter along with a stack of books.

In the letter, she told me to study hard, to find a way out of the mountains and come join her. She said the world beyond these hills was full of wonders, that life with the Morrow family was good, and I didn't need to worry about her.

But that was the last I ever heard from her. No more letters. She disappeared from my life like a dream.

Years later, I got into a university in Criamore and went searching for her—only to find out the Morrow family never had an adopted daughter.

Later, I started dating a guy named Preston Morrow—the Morrow family's only son, spoiled and adored.

One night, after too much to drink, he let a secret slip: he once had an older brother. The boy died young, and after that, his parents brought home a girl whose birth chart matched his, to keep their dead son company in the afterlife.

I suddenly remembered the day the Morrow couple drove their luxury car to our village. Leticia and I were out in the mountains chopping firewood when our parents called us back in a hurry.

They said the Morrow family wanted to adopt Leticia, take her to the city, give her a better life.

But Leticia hesitated. She clutched my hand and stood in front of them, saying, "Please take my little sister instead. She's more obedient, more thoughtful, and even prettier than me."

But they didn't even glance at me. One of them simply reached out, patted my sister's head, and said with a faint smile, "We want you."

My father shoved her toward the house. "Leticia, go pack your things."

I wiped away my tears in secret and watched them hand my parents a bank card. They said it had 300 thousand dollars on it. Their only condition? We were never to contact Leticia again.

My parents took the card, grinning from ear to ear.

"You're selling her!" I cried. "This isn't adoption—it's selling your daughter!"

My father turned and kicked me hard. "What do you know, you little brat?

"She's lucky! Getting picked by rich folks is a blessing. What's wrong with becoming a young lady in a big-city mansion?"

I wiped my tears and thought about it. Maybe... maybe he was right.

Being the daughter of a wealthy family had to be better than growing up unloved and unwanted in a poor mountain village. The Morrow couple glanced at the bundle of things Leticia had packed, frowning in mild disgust. "We'll replace all of it once we're home."

Leticia got into their luxury car. As it started to drive away, she rolled down the window, reached out to me, eyes filled with tears.

I pulled a half-finished woven bracelet from my pocket and slipped it onto her wrist.

"Leticia, this is for you. I didn't finish it in time—I was saving it for your birthday. But... I guess I won't get the chance now."

I choked up, tears streaming down my face.

As the car pulled away, my sister leaned out the window and shouted, "Alisa! Study hard!"

It felt like Leticia said something else after "Study hard."

But the car sped off too fast, kicking up a tail of dust behind it.

The roar of the engine drowned out her voice—I never heard what she said after that.

Two months after she left, she sent a big cardboard box to my school.

Inside were stacks of books, a few brand-new undershirts in my size, a letter, and a perfume scented with roses.

[Alisa, life with the Morrow family has been good—no need to worry about me.

I bought you a bunch of books that should help with school. Make sure to wash the undershirts before wearing them.

The bracelet you gave me—I finished it. It turned out really pretty. I love it, and I wear it every day. I made this rose perfume myself, using freshly dried flowers. Whenever you smell it, just imagine I'm right there with you.

Criamore is beautiful—tall buildings, busy streets. The world outside these mountains is even more amazing than the books say.

Work hard in school. Get into college. Come find me. I miss you so much.

—Love, Leticia.]

As I read her letter, big fat tears fell onto the page.

I held the perfume to my nose and took a deep breath. It smelled so sweet—just like her.

Every year around this time, she used to pick fresh roses, dry the flowers, and make me a perfume.

Even this year, she didn't forget.

But after Leticia left, life at home didn't get any better—despite that 300 thousand dollars.

Dad took the money and started gambling. He claimed he could double it, buy us a bigger house.

But the deeper he got, the worse it became. It was like he was possessed.

In the end, he lost every cent. Worse yet, he fell deep into debt with loan sharks.

They came knocking, threatening to break his legs if he didn't pay up.

Then one night, Mom ran away. She didn't even take me with her.

The next morning, when Dad realized she was gone, he completely lost it—screaming and smashing things in the house.

Before I left for school that day, he told me, "Come home early tonight."

There was something strange in his eyes. The way he looked at me chilled me to the bone.

So after school, I didn't go home. I hid out all night in an internet café near campus.

The next morning, the police called my teacher. That was when I found out my dad was dead.

The debt collectors had come and attacked him. He collapsed at home and bled to death.

I still didn't know why he wanted me home that night. Just thinking about it sent a cold wave through me.

With no other family, I became an orphan overnight.

After learning about my situation, the school stepped in. They helped place me in a welfare home and covered all my tuition and living expenses through the rest of elementary and middle school.

I was ten years old that year.

Chapter 2 Ever since Leticia sent that last package, I hadn't heard a single word from her.

I waited day after day, hoping for some kind of message—but nothing ever came.

Had she really cut me off completely?

I missed her so much. I had no idea whether the Morrow family treated her well, or if she was happy in that new life.

Time passed quickly at the orphanage. No one ever came to adopt me—not that I was surprised. No one wants a ten-year-old girl.

So I stayed there until I turned eighteen.

When it was time for college, I applied to every university in Criamore. I was determined to find her.

She was the only family I had left.

I'd already searched online for any information about the Morrow family, hoping I might stumble across something about her—but everything personal was locked down tight.

Which made sense. Families like that didn't just put their private lives out in the open.

I imagined Leticia must be so beautiful now—probably already finished with college. I wondered if she'd even recognize me.

When the results came out, I'd gotten into the best university in Criamore.

I ran my fingers over the acceptance letter again and again, my eyes slowly filling with tears. She's going to be so proud of me, I thought.

I set off for Criamore full of hope. It was the first time I'd ever left the little mountain town where I'd spent my whole life—my first time heading to the so-called "big city."

I couldn't hide how excited and nervous I was.

But the moment I actually stepped onto Criamore's soil, that excitement turned into a wave of doubt.

What if she didn't want to see me? What if I was just barging into a life where I no longer belonged?

After all, she had a new family now.

Still, Criamore was breathtaking. The endless skyline, the bright lights, the constant motion—it was everything she'd described, and more.

She hadn't lied. The world beyond the mountains really was more amazing than the books ever said.

The first few weeks of college were hectic—orientation, paperwork, settling in. I didn't have time to look for her right away.

If I was being honest, I was also stalling. Part of me was scared.

Eventually, I decided to take a quieter approach—start asking around, gather some information, and wait for the right moment to reconnect.

The Morrow family was the wealthiest in Criamore. I figured people had to know something.

But what my local roommate, Edwina Larson, told me left me stunned. "A daughter? The Morrow family doesn't have a daughter."

I didn't believe her. "Not a biological one—what about an adopted daughter?"

She burst out laughing. "Please, they've got their own son. Why would they bother adopting someone else's kid?"

"So… the Morrow family only has one child?"

She nodded, then quickly shook her head. "Wait—no, not exactly."

My heart jumped. My eyes lit up.

"There was another son, apparently," she said. "But rumor has it he was sent overseas about ten years ago and never came back. Some say he was an illegitimate child."

And just like that, the hope in my chest flickered and died.

Eight years ago, the couple who came to adopt Leticia was the Morrow family—there was no doubt about that. But since then, I'd quietly asked around, trying to dig up anything I could. And every answer I got was the same. "The Morrow family never adopted a girl."

So where did Leticia go? She had written me letters, said she was doing well living with them. She couldn't have been lying to me… could she?

I still didn't want to believe it. I told myself that maybe adopted children in families like that just weren't meant to be acknowledged publicly. That was why no one had heard of her.

So I kept looking. Kept asking. Even when it got me nowhere.

Then one day, my roommate Edwina invited a few of us out to celebrate her birthday. After dinner, the group decided to hit up a bar for drinks and dancing.

I wasn't interested—I didn't care for that kind of scene. But they wouldn't take no for an answer and dragged me along.

"Come on, Alisa," one of them laughed. "You're in college now! You've gotta try new things. Trust me, once you go to a bar, you'll be hooked."

While they danced their hearts out on the floor, I sat in a corner sipping juice, feeling totally out of place.

Then Edwina plopped down beside me. She leaned in, nodding toward one of the booths in the back corner. "See that guy sitting there, legs crossed, drink in hand?" she whispered.

I followed her gaze. Even in the low lighting, the man's striking features and effortless confidence were hard to miss.

"Yeah," I nodded. "He's pretty handsome."

"That's Preston," she said. "The Morrow family's only son."

The Morrow family. My whole body tensed.

I couldn't take my eyes off him.

While Edwina returned to the dance floor, I found myself getting up and walking toward him—almost on instinct.

"Hi… would it be okay if I got your WhatsApp?"

That was the first thing I ever said to Preston.

To this day, I had no idea where I found the nerve. I was just some nobody, standing in front of someone way out of my league, asking for his contact like it was nothing.

He froze for a second, clearly caught off guard, and just stared at me.

One of his friends spoke up before he could. "Whoa, look at you. His WhatsApp's not exactly easy to get."

Then he chuckled and added, "But you're different. Got that whole bookish good-girl vibe going on. A little awkward, kind of cute."

"Mr. Morrow, bet this is the first time a girl like this asked for your WhatsApp, huh?"

He elbowed Preston with a grin, clearly enjoying the moment.

Laughter rippled around the table. Their eyes swept over me like I was some kind of joke—something entertaining to pass the time.

I stood there frozen, feeling small and embarrassed under their amused stares.

Then Preston finally spoke. He set down his glass and looked at me, his tone gentle. "Sorry about that," he said. "My friend was out of line. I apologize on his behalf. But… I'm afraid I can't give you my WhatsApp."

Even his rejection was calm, polite, and smooth—like a true gentleman.

I walked back to my seat, deflated.

But deep down, I wasn't ready to give up.

Because Preston… he might be the only lead I had. The only thread that could bring me closer to the truth about Leticia.

Chapter 3 Preston was a student at Criamore University too—two years ahead of me. But he hardly ever came to campus, which explained why I'd never run into him before.

Still, if he never showed up, how was I supposed to get close to him?

Just when I was out of ideas, he showed up—out of nowhere—on campus.

His luxury car was parked right outside the administration building. He was probably there to meet a professor or handle something official.

As soon as I caught wind of it, I rushed over and waited beside his car.

I stood there for a long time. Eventually, he came out, finished with whatever he'd been doing. When he spotted me, he froze for a moment—clearly surprised.

I didn't hesitate. I walked right up to him, not caring that students were passing by and staring.

"Preston, can I pursue you?

"Didn't your friend say I'm special? So… would you want to date someone special like me?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, my hands started shaking. I was incredibly nervous.

But Preston just smiled—calm, a little amused, and effortlessly charming. "Girl," he said, "I've met a lot of 'special' people."

And with that, he got into his car and drove off, a trail of dust swirling in his wake.

It didn't take long for word of my bold confession to spread across campus.

Soon enough, my roommates heard about it too.

"Wow, Alisa," one of them said with a smirk, "you always seemed so quiet and proper. Who knew you were trying to marry rich?"

"I'm not," I replied firmly.

I knew how it looked. To everyone else, confessing to someone like Preston probably seemed ridiculous—like I was delusional or just plain desperate.

But I wasn't trying to date him. I never wanted to chase after some rich heir. All I wanted was to find my sister—my only remaining family.

And Preston… he was my only lead.

He was the only person who might be able to help me find her.

So I started digging. I tried to learn everything I could about him—where he went, what places he liked, who he talked to.

Whenever I had a spare moment, I'd go to those places and wait. And it worked. I ran into him—more than once.

"You didn't say no that day," I told him once. "So why shouldn't I keep trying?"

He laughed. "You're really persistent, huh?"

Still, the answer was always no.

But strangely, after that, he started showing up on campus more often. And I kept seeing him.

Every time, I'd walk up and say the same thing—I was still going to chase him.

One day, Edwina couldn't take it anymore and pulled me aside. "Are you seriously still chasing after Preston? I'm just warning you—guys like him aren't people we can just get close to."

I didn't care. I was going to get close to Preston.

And just like that, I kept at it—for over a month.

One day, out of the blue, Preston's luxury car pulled up in front of my dorm building.

I didn't even have both shoes on properly—I just ran downstairs.

He was leaning casually against the hood of his car, hands in his pockets, looking effortlessly cool and impossibly attractive.

"You free tonight?" he asked. "I want to take you out for dinner."

I was so stunned I could barely form a sentence. In the end, I just nodded like an idiot and ran back upstairs.

My roommates had plenty to say. "Well, well," one of them sneered, "looks like you actually managed to land the prince."

"Yeah," another chimed in, "you'd think she was about to become Cinderella or something."

They were clearly mocking me, but Edwina was genuinely excited. She rushed to her closet, pulled out a cute dress, and tossed it to me.

"Hurry up, put this on! I'll do your makeup. Honestly, you're so pretty—you just never dress up."

"Let me make you stunning tonight. Trust me, Preston won't know what hit him."

Later, I slid into the passenger seat of his car, feeling the weight of everyone's curious stares as we drove off campus.

The car was quiet until Preston spoke. "You know," he said casually, "the way you usually dress is actually kind of cute." I looked down at myself—the too-tight dress, the ridiculous heels. It was all a bit much. I felt awkward and uncomfortable.

"I probably overdid it," I admitted. "My roommate picked this out for me. She meant well."

But instead of pulling up to some high-end restaurant or private club, Preston stopped in front of a tiny restaurant.

It was a hole-in-the-wall with just two tables inside—both already taken.

The rest were set up haphazardly on the sidewalk, and nearly every seat was filled.

The air was thick with the sharp, smoky aroma of chili oil. The chef was tossing food over a roaring flame, and the spicy scent hit my nose, making me cough.

"We're eating here?" I asked, surprised.

"Not into it?" he replied, watching my reaction.

I shook my head. "No, I love places like this. Honestly, these little joints usually have the best food."

I laughed to myself—this outfit was definitely overkill for a sidewalk meal.

Preston seemed totally at home. He found us a table and ordered like he came here all the time.

Soon, the table was filled with spicy dishes. Luckily, I could handle the heat.

As I watched him dig in, scooping pasta like he hadn't eaten all day, I couldn't help but think—he's not the kind of spoiled rich kid I expected. There's something different about him.

Toward the end of the meal, he set down his fork and looked at me. His eyes were slightly watery from the spice. "You really like me that much?" he asked.

I nodded without thinking. "Yeah. I really do."

He paused for a beat. "Why?"

I smiled. "Because I like you. The real you."

Chapter 4 I was officially dating Preston.

To be honest, it all happened faster than I expected.

The hardest part—getting close to him—was already behind me.

People at school had plenty to say. Some claimed Preston was just fooling around, that he'd never dated a girl like me before, and I was probably just a new toy—something fresh to keep him entertained.

Give it a month, they said. He'd be bored and dump me.

Let them talk. Whether I was just a passing fling or doomed from the start, it didn't matter. All I cared about was uncovering the truth—what really happened when the Morrow family adopted Leticia.

Even after we got together, I didn't bring her up. I didn't want to risk raising any red flags.

And truthfully, Preston treated me well. Being with him… it was genuinely enjoyable.

He showed me a world I'd never seen before—luxury, sophistication, places and things I never dreamed I'd experience.

He gave me lavish gifts, knew my preferences down to the smallest detail. He remembered I liked roses-scented things, and whenever he came across anything with that fragrance, he'd buy it for me without a second thought.

But he never brought me home to meet his family. I didn't push it. It wasn't unusual.

One evening, after dinner, he was driving me back to campus. He seemed to be in an especially good mood, casually humming to himself.

I sat beside him, pretending to ask offhandedly, like it had just crossed my mind.

"Hey… I heard the Morrow family adopted a child years ago. Is that true?"

The car jerked to a stop. He slammed the brakes and pulled over so suddenly that I jolted forward in my seat.

His face shifted in an instant—cool and serious. "Where did you hear that?" His tone was sharp, colder than I'd ever heard it.

It was the first time I'd seen him lose his composure.

I looked down, fumbling for words. "Just something I heard around campus. I don't even know if it's true."

"It's not," he said, voice clipped. "Don't believe nonsense like that. My family's never adopted anyone—especially not a girl."

His jaw was tight, expression unreadable. Then he stepped on the gas, and we sped off again.

I turned to the window, watching the streetlights blur past, lost in thought.

I never said it was a girl. So why did he assume that?

As our relationship deepened, I managed to get access to his phone a few times. But there was nothing useful.

Most of the photos were of me. There were a few with his parents, and some taken at home—but there was no trace of anyone else. No sign my sister had ever been there.

The progress was slow. Too slow. And the whole time, one thought kept nagging at me: What if Preston gets tired of me and ends things before I find what I need?

Then came his best friend's birthday. We were invited to a private dinner—food, drinks, the usual crowd.

At some point, I stepped out to use the restroom. On my way back, just before I pushed the door open, I heard voices from inside.

"Mr. Morrow, I'm honestly surprised," someone laughed. "You've been with that Alisa girl this long? Not bored of her yet?"

"What's so great about dating some broke girl?"

"I don't know," Preston said, his voice clear and calm. "I kind of like her. There's something different about her. I can't explain it."

My heart skipped a beat.

Different?

What did different mean to someone like Preston?

Was it because I didn't come from money—because I wasn't like those polished heiresses who matched his world?

Was it because I always turned down the luxury gifts he gave me, never chasing his wealth?

Because I didn't mind grabbing street food or eating at tiny mom-and-pop restaurants?

Or maybe… maybe he just liked the idea of playing the prince who falls for the poor girl.

But the truth was, he was kind of different too.

That night after the party, Preston did something completely out of character—he got drunk. Really drunk. He could barely stay on his feet.

I helped him say goodbye to his friends and guided him to the car.

The driver was behind the wheel, and I sat with him in the backseat. He leaned heavily against me, half-conscious, mumbling things I couldn't make out.

I gently patted his back, straightened his wrinkled clothes—and quietly slipped his wallet out of his pocket.

Preston always carried that wallet, and he never let anyone touch it.

But once, when he pulled out a bank card, I'd caught a glimpse of a photo tucked inside. It was placed backwards, the yellowed edges worn with time. It looked like it had been in there for years.

Whatever it was, it had to mean something.

Now, with him passed out beside me, it was the perfect chance to finally see what it was.

I kept a close eye on him, heart pounding, as I carefully opened the wallet and slid out the photo.

Thankfully, he didn't stir.

I flipped the photo over.

It was an old family picture—four people: Homer Morrow and Violet Morrow, and two teenage boys.

One of them was clearly Preston—I recognized him immediately.

The other boy looked a bit older. They resembled each other closely—same sharp features, same quiet gaze. They had to be brothers.

Could this be the so-called illegitimate son people whispered about?

But something didn't add up. The mood of the photo didn't feel secretive or shameful.

Violet had her hand on the older boy's shoulder, smiling at him with genuine warmth and affection. That wasn't the look you gave a child you wanted to hide.

My mind raced, trying to piece it all together.

"Alisa."

"Ah!"

Preston suddenly mumbled my name, and I jumped in shock. The wallet and photo slipped from my hands, falling onto the seat.

For a moment, I froze—but he didn't wake up. He just shifted a little, nuzzling closer against my shoulder.

Carefully, I picked up the photo and wallet again. I quickly snapped a picture of the photo with my phone, then slipped it all back into place and tucked the wallet into his pocket.

He didn't notice a thing.

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The leather of Preston’s wallet cracks under my fingers as I slide out the photo—yellowed, worn, folded once down the middle. Four faces stare back at me: his parents, him, and another boy. Same sharp jawline. Same quiet eyes. But something’s wrong.

No—something’s worse than wrong.

That’s not a boy.

It’s Leticia.

She’s dressed in a tailored suit, hair cropped short, expression blank like she’s been taught not to feel. My breath snags in my throat. This isn’t a sibling. This is a transformation.

And then he stirs.

"Alisa," he murmurs against my shoulder, drunk and heavy, "you smell like roses."

I freeze. The scent is deliberate—her favorite, the one I wear to remember her. Does he know? Is this why he chose me?

The car hums forward through the rain-slick streets of Criamore, headlights cutting through darkness. I slip the photo back, heart hammering. One mistake and I’ll vanish too.

But I have to know: what did they do to her?

What will they do to me?