The morning sunlight streamed through the cracked kitchen window of the Lin family's modest home in the lower district of Fourth Locality.
Isabella sat at the dining table, silently chewing her toast. It was dry. Like always. The butter was spread unevenly—her adoptive mother, Fiona Lin, never bothered with details when it came to her.
Across from her, Arthur Lin scrolled through his phone with the same indifference he always carried. Amelia Lin, their golden daughter, sat beside him, smiling brightly, dressed immaculately for school.
"You should at least brush your hair before sitting at the table, Isabella," Fiona remarked, not even looking up.
Isabella didn't reply. She never did. Silence had long ago become her armor.
Mildred Thompson, her only source of warmth in this house, sat quietly at the end of the table, observing with tired eyes. Her grip on her teacup trembled slightly, but no one noticed—no one except Isabella.
Today was her last meal with them.
In six hours, Isabella would be dropped off at a stranger's doorstep—her so-called 'biological family.' She had only found out two weeks ago that she wasn't truly a Lin. And neither Fiona nor Arthur had seemed very surprised.
"A master told us you brought bad luck," Fiona had once said cruelly. "We never should have taken you in."
They had left her with Mildred for years, distancing themselves while accepting every success that mysteriously came their way—success that Isabella had anonymously engineered behind the scenes.
Arthur Lin, once a struggling contractor, had become the wealthiest man in the lower Fourth thanks to tech tips from an anonymous source. Fiona's boutique had flourished from 'miraculous' online investments. Even Amelia's grades and modeling deals had found sudden, unexplained boosts.
None of them had ever questioned their fortune.
Because they never saw Isabella.
Today, that ghost would leave their home for good.
And the world—starting with one dying old woman in a hospital bed—would soon learn who she truly was.
Mildred cleared her throat softly. "Eat more, Bella. You need strength."
Isabella looked up and met her eyes. They were warm, lined with worry, but also pride. She nodded and took another bite.
"I made your favorite last night," Mildred added. "Wrapped it up. For the road."
A lump formed in Isabella's throat, but she swallowed it down. "Thank you, Grandma," she said, the only warmth she allowed herself to feel that morning.
Fiona clicked her tongue. "Honestly, you'll spoil her. She's not a child anymore."
"She's more grown than anyone in this house," Mildred replied with quiet steel.
No one answered. The silence sat heavier than before.
Isabella stood, her plate still half full. "I'm done."
Arthur barely looked up. Amelia didn't either.
Only Mildred rose with her, wrapping the small lunchbox with a scarf and placing it in her hands. "Go make your own story, Bella. They don't deserve to be part of it."
And with that, Isabella turned away from the table, from the house, from the names that had never felt like hers.
From now on, she would write her own legacy.
Next Chapter Teaser: As Isabella is driven toward her so-called 'real' family, fate diverts her path—and throws her straight into the heart of a crisis that will change everything...