"Liana… there's something we've been meaning to tell you. It's been weighing on us for a long time."
"You're not our biological daughter."
In the sleek, sunlit living room of Bellamy Manor, Liana Mercer sat upright on the Italian leather sofa, her posture immaculate, her expression perfectly neutral. Nothing betrayed the storm brewing inside her.
Across from her, Isadora Bellamy placed her fine bone china teacup on the polished marble table, her movements precise, almost rehearsed, as if softening the impact of the words she had just spoken.
Before Liana could respond, Victor Bellamy broke the silence from the other end of the sofa, his voice calm yet heavy, carrying the weight of finality.
"The hospital made a mistake years ago. We've just found our real daughter, Seraphina. She's been struggling in the countryside all this time."
His sharp gaze locked onto Liana, expecting tears, panic, maybe desperate pleading.
Liana remained unmoved.
Not a twitch. Not a flicker.
Isadora's carefully cultivated composure faltered. She quickly added, "Sweetheart, don't think we're heartless. We raised you for eighteen years. Even a stray dog would mean something after that long. But Seraphina… she's our flesh and blood. She's suffered enough."
She reached toward Liana's hand.
Liana subtly pulled away.
Isadora's hand froze mid-air, her smile stiff, strained.
"Don't worry," Isadora continued, her voice awkward. "Even after you return to the Mercers, we'll check in. We'll always be… family."
The eldest Bellamy son spoke smoothly, trying to assert reason. "The Mercers might not have money, but they are your real family. Blood ties aren't meant to be broken. You can't keep occupying Seraphina's place while she's been living in hardship. That wouldn't be fair."
The second brother snorted, voice sharp. "Why waste time? She's been living a life that never belonged to her. Does she think she can stay?"
The third lounged lazily, flipping a lighter between his fingers. "A girl from a farm belongs in the barn."
The fourth and fifth brothers remained silent, but their scornful glares cut like daggers.
Liana's gaze swept across them, cold and unwavering, memories flashing unbidden.
In her previous life, she had been naive. She had cried, begged, promised, pleaded to stay.
What had it earned her?
Smiles to her face.
Poison in her drink.
She had swallowed it without suspicion. Then darkness.
Right before death claimed her, she had heard Isadora's voice—cold, merciless.
"We raised her for eighteen years. That's enough. But she wouldn't leave. Taking up Seraphina's space… what if she covets the inheritance? Better to deal with her now. She only has herself to blame."
Victor hadn't blinked.
"Make it clean," he had said calmly. "No traces. The Mercers are informed. To the outside world, it will just look like she refused to return."
The so-called brothers had chimed in eagerly:
"Hurry up and get rid of her."
"Once she's gone, her room will be perfect for our real sister."
No pity. No hesitation.
Only relief—as if discarding unwanted trash.
Those words had shattered her heart.
But now—
Liana was back.
Reborn.
Standing at the exact moment where everything had once gone wrong.
She studied them—wolves in human skin—with a heart frozen solid. No warmth. Only cold fury, simmering hatred, and icy calm.
She expected nothing from the Bellamys anymore.
She only wanted to live.
And, when the time came, to make them pay.
Every pair of eyes in the room burned into her, warning and threat in equal measure. Liana lifted her head, calm, unshaken.
"Sure," she said lightly. "I'll go."
"When do we leave?"
Silence crashed into the room.
Their rehearsed speeches died in their throats.
She… agreed?
Just like that?
Isadora was first to recover, her feigned grief twisting into offense.
"Liana! Do you really feel nothing? After eighteen years of raising you, you can just walk away?"
Liana nearly laughed.
Family?
When had they ever treated her like one?
Gratitude—for the poison?
She met Isadora's gaze evenly. "What else do you want me to do? Stay and ruin your perfect reunion?"
The second brother leaped to his feet, pointing accusingly. "Liana, you're a traitor!"
The eldest brother's frown deepened, his control slipping. "You've disappointed us. Even if you feel that way, you didn't need to act so eager to leave."
The third slammed his lighter onto the table. "Get lost! Just seeing you pisses me off. Don't think of taking anything. Even the clothes you're wearing—we bought them. If you're so tough, leave naked."
He wanted groveling.
Tears.
Begging.
Liana ignored him, bored. "Relax. I'm not taking anything that belongs to the Bellamys."
Because to her—
Everything here was tainted.
She went upstairs briefly, returning with a simple canvas bag.
She handed it to the fifth brother. "Check it if you want."
He opened it, dark curiosity on his face.
Inside lay only an old bronze mirror.
Still, venom dripped from his words. "Don't think this act will fool anyone. Once you leave, you're nothing. That filthy family of yours is waiting. Let's see how long before you crawl back."
At the doorway, Liana stopped.
She didn't turn.
She tilted her head slightly, revealing the sharp, composed line of her profile.
"Don't worry," she said softly, voice icy. "Even if I drop dead out there, I'll never step foot in this house again."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added with faint sarcasm:
"And hey… hope you all live happily ever after."