The summer Asher Vance got engaged to the real heiress, I threw myself into the river. Back then, the heiress and I were locked in a war with no rules. It ended with my little dog, my only companion, beaten to death. My classmates called me a thief who had stolen another’s nest. I was imprisoned in my own home, forced to become her ghostwriter… Even Asher, the boy next door, knelt and caressed my face, his voice a low murmur. “Why can’t you just learn to behave?” he’d said. “Just be obedient in the Rosenberg family, and your future will be limitless.” When I was finally pulled from the river by a kind stranger, twenty years had passed. In those twenty years, Asher Vance never married. The Rosenberg family never stopped searching for their missing adopted daughter. And the real heiress, Amelia, vanished without a trace, a topic the Vance and Rosenberg families refused to discuss. I felt nothing anymore. I had no intention of revealing myself to any of them. I was focused on my sweet, new life with my sweet, new boyfriend. But on the day I went to meet his parents, my heart pounded with a sickening familiarity as we drove down a street I knew all too well. “Alex,” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why didn’t you ever tell me your father was Asher Vance?” 1 “Don’t be nervous. My father is very easygoing. He won’t give you a hard time.” Alex was clearly from a wealthy family, but for the life of me, I couldn’t place the name ‘Kensington.’ Perhaps they were new money, rising to prominence in the twenty years I’d been gone. Would a family like that really allow their son to marry a woman with no past? Alex gently squeezed my cheek. “Mia, have some confidence. You’re a wonderful girl. No one could possibly dislike you.” Twenty years had changed the city of Westbrook dramatically. Skyscrapers lined the streets where old buildings once stood. The amusement park I used to love was gone, replaced by an elementary school. To me, it was a brand-new, alien city. As the scenery outside the car window shifted, the driver turned toward the suburbs. The closer we got, the heavier my heart became. Unlike the transformed city center, this road was almost exactly as I remembered it. I had traveled it countless times. The trees were just a little taller, a little fuller. “Alex,” I said, digging my nails into my palm and forcing a smile. “You’ve never told me about your family.” He was oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. He took my hand, his touch meant to be reassuring. “I didn’t want to worry you with things like family status and background.” He paused, and seeing my persistent gaze, he finally lowered his voice. “My father’s last name is Vance.” For a moment, my mind went blank. I didn’t have time to wonder why a father and son would have different last names. There was only one Vance family on this road. And I had once lived right next door to them. 2 After twenty years, I was as good as dead to them. They probably wouldn’t even recognize me. Who remembers the face of someone they utterly despised? As we talked, the car pulled into the Vance family’s courtyard. My eyes instinctively darted to the villa next door. It looked abandoned, the walls weather-stained and crumbling, the garden overgrown and untended. Alex led me by the hand into the main hall. The butler greeted us with a warm smile. “Young Master Alex, you’ve returned. Mr. Vance has been waiting for you.” He then turned to me with perfect courtesy. “And you must be Miss Summers…” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening in unconcealed shock. After more than forty years of service, this was likely the first time he had ever lost his composure in front of a guest. His gaze flickered between me and Alex before he gave a self-deprecating laugh. “My apologies. My old eyes are playing tricks on me. For a moment, I thought I had seen you somewhere before, Miss Summers.” “I just have one of those faces, I suppose,” I replied politely. As I followed Alex inside, I froze. The interior was almost identical to how it had been the year I left. Memories I had deliberately buried surged to the surface, only to be silenced by the sight of the man’s back on the sofa. Fate has a cruel sense of humor, forcing me to face the one person I never wanted to see again. But this time, I wouldn’t run. “You’re back?” Asher’s once-clear voice had deepened with age. Even sitting, I could see he was still tall and well-built. He put down his phone and looked up, a smile in his eyes that froze the moment he saw me. “This is my girlfriend, Mia Summers.” 3 The room fell silent. The silence was only broken by the clink of a fruit platter being set on the table by the housekeeper. Asher tore his gaze away and poured himself a glass of water. Alex led me to the seat across from him and presented a gift bag. “Mia picked this out especially for you.” Asher, ever polite, opened the gift. When he saw what was inside, his eyes shot back to me. His stare was so intense it felt like a physical weight on my face. I cursed myself internally but managed a sweet smile. “Alex mentioned you enjoy tea, so I bought a tea set. I hope you like it.” “Thank you. You have excellent taste. Did you pick it out yourself?” he asked, toying with one of the cups, his tone laced with intrigue. If I had known I was meeting Asher Vance, I never would have bought a white porcelain tea set. Years ago, in an effort to please my adoptive parents, he had been the one to teach me how to judge the quality of white porcelain, from its translucence to the way it held water. The set now sitting in front of him was a perfect reflection of his own aesthetic. “The shopkeeper helped me choose. I don’t know much about these things.” He nodded, saying nothing more. Sensing my tension, Alex squeezed my fingers and speared a piece of pineapple—my favorite—for me. Asher watched our interaction, his expression a complex mix of nostalgia and sorrow. “Mia, what do your parents do?” he asked, finally looking away from our joined hands, his gaze dropping to his teacup. “My parents passed away a long time ago. I grew up in an orphanage.” “Your mother passed away? Was her name…” he started, then cut himself off, forcing back the name that was about to escape his lips. I pretended not to hear. I exchanged a glance with Alex, who gave me a subtle, reassuring lift of his eyebrows. My story was full of holes to him, but he clearly had no intention of exposing me right now. “Alex, you stay here with Mia for a while.” Asher rose, looking utterly lost. The butler’s hushed words drifted over. “The resemblance is undeniable, sir. It’s almost a perfect match.” “No wonder we could never find Miss Rosenberg. It seems she…” “Should we notify the Rosenberg family?” Asher was silent for a long time before he answered, his voice weary. “Mr. Gable, a person like her… she would only think of revenge. How could she possibly… die so easily?” His voice trailed off, becoming indistinct. I glanced at my reflection in a nearby mirror. My face was fuller now, my eyes bright and full of life. I had a short haircut I’d never tried before. I looked like a completely different person from the girl I was a year ago, let alone the girl they remembered from twenty-one years in the past. I let out a breath of relief. The idea of time travel was too outlandish. They would never suspect that I was the real Renee Rosenberg. 4 The rest of the meal was painfully awkward. Asher acted as if his earlier lapse had been a figment of my imagination. He played the part of a perfect father, extending his affection for his son to me. He ordered a feast from the kitchen and, aside from his relentless probing into my past, his conversation was that of any normal parent meeting their child’s partner. “Why aren’t you eating the shrimp?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is it not to your taste?” I was severely allergic to shrimp. One bite, and my lips would swell up. After Amelia, the real heiress, returned, she had once peeled a shrimp and tried to force-feed it to me. I had obliged her, making a scene as she’d hoped, but she hadn’t gotten away unscathed. I’d poured the rest of the shrimp and the sauce all over her designer dress. Of all the dishes on the table, why did he have to mention the one thing I loathed? As I was trying to come up with an excuse, Alex smoothly intervened. “She had some grapes earlier at home. They don’t mix well with shrimp.” Asher stared at us for a long moment, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips. He didn’t ask any more questions I couldn’t answer. Before we left, as was customary, Asher gave me a red envelope with money. As I stepped forward to take it, it was the first time I had been so close to him all day. Time had been relatively kind. At first glance, he looked much the same as he had twenty years ago, just with a more commanding presence. But up close, I could see the strands of grey in his hair and the fine lines around his eyes. “Do I look much older to you?” he asked suddenly, out of the blue. My heart skipped a beat. “Not at all, sir. You look very young.” His gaze was scrutinizing, but his tone was wistful. “Every time I see you two, I’m reminded of how old I’ve become… I’m not the man I used to be.” His seemingly casual words were laced with subtle tests. I didn’t know what he suspected, or what he wanted. Wasn’t it better for everyone if Renee Rosenberg was dead? That was what they all wanted, wasn’t it? Alex wrapped an arm around my shoulder and bid his father farewell. On the drive home, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, a relaxed smile on his face as he shared his secret. “I’m actually Asher’s adopted son.” After a moment, he asked, “And you? Are you ready to tell me your secret?” I was silent for a long time. Thinking of everything he had done for me, I finally chose to be honest. “I’m from twenty years in the past.” 5 When I was five, I was adopted by the Rosenberg family. They named me Renee. Everyone envied my good fortune, but no one knew that my name, Renee, meant ‘shadow.’ I was nothing more than a shadow of their lost daughter, Amelia, brought in to comfort her grieving mother. Mrs. Rosenberg’s mental state was fragile. On her bad days, I was forced to wear Amelia’s old clothes, my six-year-old face a pale imitation of hers, a comfort object for a broken woman. On her good days, she would fly into a rage at the sight of me. She would stare at me with cold eyes, as if I were the one responsible for her daughter’s disappearance. “Who told you to wear her clothes? Who gave you permission to call me ‘mother’?” “My Amelia is suffering somewhere, while you live in her place, enjoying her life.” The initial joy of being adopted vanished, replaced by a sickening, pale dread. But that wasn’t enough for her. She would rip Amelia’s old clothes off my body and make me stand outside in the courtyard as a punishment, a warning not to harbor any delusions. Mr. Rosenberg would sip his tea, cast a dismissive glance in my direction, and then go inside to console his weeping wife. Snowflakes fell on my shoulders. I clutched my threadbare shirt, and when I turned, I saw Asher Vance. He was only eight, but he carried himself like a miniature adult. He walked past me without a second glance. Mrs. Rosenberg, her composure restored, greeted him with a smile. No one cared about the girl shivering in the corner. To the Rosenbergs, I was a tool, a means of providing comfort to Mrs. Rosenberg whenever she needed it. She would hold me tenderly one moment, and then, in a moment of clarity, shove me to the ground. Only Fluffy, the dog Amelia had left behind, didn’t care about true or false. He would follow me everywhere, his tail always wagging. As I shivered, a warm coat was draped over me. Asher looked down at me. “Auntie Claire wants you to come inside. Don’t hold it against her.” “She just can’t accept that Amelia disappeared right under her nose. She’s really angry at herself.” “Being in the Rosenberg family is a good thing. It’s better than the orphanage, no matter what.” I didn’t resent Mrs. Rosenberg. I was just… disappointed. For a fleeting moment, when they adopted me, I truly believed I had found a family. 6 Mr. Rosenberg provided for my basic needs and even enrolled me in the best school in the city. Compared to that, Mrs. Rosenberg’s intermittent abuse seemed a small price to pay. Asher would sometimes bring me to his house, a temporary refuge from Mrs. Rosenberg’s anger. We grew close. Not exactly childhood sweethearts, but we did grow up together. Perhaps my presence as a substitute did have some effect, or maybe time simply dulled Mrs. Rosenberg’s pain. She gradually became calmer. She even started trying to have another child. My sole purpose in the Rosenberg household vanished, leaving me in an awkward position. Luckily, the Rosenbergs were wealthy enough not to mind supporting an extra, useless person. After their son, Nathan, was born, the once-somber Rosenberg house seemed to come alive again. Even the stern Mr. Rosenberg was often seen smiling. I carefully tried to win them over, using my scholarship money to buy toys for Nathan and gifts of jewelry and tea for his parents. Nathan adored me, and for his sake, Mrs. Rosenberg would even grace me with a smile. It was the most peaceful time of my life. I even began to feel like I was a real part of the family. Until I overheard a conversation between Nathan and his mother. “Mommy, why can’t I call her Sister Renee?” The smile on Mrs. Rosenberg’s face vanished. “Nathan, you must remember, you only have one sister, and her name is Amelia.” “Then what is she?” “She is a thief who stole what wasn’t hers.” It was then that I finally understood the complex emotions swirling in Mrs. Rosenberg’s eyes whenever she saw my report card or saw me asking Asher for help with my homework. The mixture of disgust and sorrow. She must have been thinking that if Amelia were still here, all my achievements would have rightfully been hers. I stood outside the door, listening silently. I had no right to be sad. My mind was already calculating the cost of my years with the Rosenbergs, wondering how long I would have to work to pay them back. In my second year of high school, Amelia, who had been missing for twelve years, was finally found. She looked up timidly, her face an uncanny resemblance to Mrs. Rosenberg’s.
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