Liana Mercer gripped her almost weightless canvas bag as she stepped beyond the Bellamys' grand iron gates. The cold, ornate doors closed behind her with a final clang.
Hurried footsteps sounded from behind.
"Liana! Wait!"
She stopped.
Dorian Bellamy caught up to her, his tailored suit immaculate, his concern carefully measured. "It's hard to get a cab around here. I'll drive you to the Carlisle Estate."
His gaze flicked to her plain canvas bag. "No matter what, we were siblings for eighteen years. Watching you walk off like this… it doesn't sit right with me."
Liana looked at him quietly.
In her previous life, she had fallen for this act—this calm, considerate facade. She'd truly believed there was still some trace of brotherly affection left in him.
Until the day she overheard him, his voice cold and detached, telling someone to clean her up—as if she were trash.
That was when the mask slipped.
Drive her back?
Please.
He just wanted to make sure she landed squarely in the dirt, so the Bellamys could sleep easy knowing she was gone for good.
Same script. Same false kindness. Same disgust beneath the surface.
Suppressing the icy mockery rising in her chest, Liana lowered her gaze slightly. Her voice trembled—just enough to sound touched.
"Thank you, Dorian."
That single "Dorian" stirred something faint and uncomfortable in him, but the moment passed quickly. Watching her struggle to stay composed only fueled his smug sense of control.
Still the same pitiful stray.
Still dependent on the Bellamys' scraps.
"Come on," he said, turning toward the sleek Bentley parked nearby.
---
Across the city, in a cramped, cluttered neighborhood—
Dahlia Mercer clutched a worn fabric pouch, its faded seams stuffed with homemade flatbreads and a few wrinkled bills she had scraped together overnight.
"Seraphina, take these for the trip," she pleaded softly. "If you don't feel comfortable over there… you can always come home."
Her eyes were red, her voice trembling with worry and love.
"Enough!" Seraphina Bellamy snapped, irritation flashing across her delicate face. She pointed at the peeling walls of the tiny room, disgust dripping from her words. "Comfortable? I've been uncomfortable my whole damn life!"
Her voice sharpened with every sentence. "You think I don't hate this dump? If you hadn't messed things up back then, I'd have grown up as a pampered princess in the Bellamy family! Instead, that faker lived my life for eighteen years!"
Her lips curled cruelly. "Honestly, I'm thrilled. Don't come looking for me again. I want nothing to do with you—or the fact that you're my mother. It's embarrassing."
Dahlia froze.
The daughter she had poured her heart into for eighteen years stood there, shredding her love without hesitation.
A chilling thought crossed Dahlia's mind.
Would Liana be the same?
Would she also look down on this shabby home—and on the useless woman who gave birth to her?
A low engine hum outside shattered her thoughts.
The creaky wooden door opened.
Dorian entered first, his polished shoes and tailored suit painfully out of place. He frowned faintly and dabbed his nose with a handkerchief, clearly offended by the damp, musty air.
Behind him—
Liana stepped inside.
She wore nothing more than a plain white top and jeans, yet she seemed like moonlight breaking into darkness—quiet, radiant, impossible to ignore.
Seraphina's expression flipped instantly. She rushed forward, her voice soft and obedient. "Big brother… you're finally here."
The Bellamy brothers followed in quick succession. The moment they saw Seraphina, they crowded around her.
"This is where you lived before? You must've suffered so much."
The second brother raised his voice deliberately, making sure Liana heard. "Come home with us. We'll give you the biggest room and the best clothes."
The third brother took it further, pulling out a brand-new phone, still in its box, and placing it in Seraphina's hands. "Out with the old. From now on, you'll always have the newest things."
They showered Seraphina with attention and gifts, desperate to make up for eighteen lost years in one go.
And every few seconds, their eyes slid toward Liana—standing quietly by the door, half-hidden in shadow.
Their gazes were filled with mockery and disdain.
Liana watched silently, a faint, bitter smile tugging at her lips.
Once, she had longed for this warmth.
All it had ever done was shatter her.
A dull ache spread through her chest, laced with cold hatred.
Then—
A hesitant voice spoke beside her.
"Sweetheart… are you Liana?"
Liana turned.
Dahlia stood there, hands chapped and twisting nervously together. Her clothes were old but meticulously clean. Her eyes were filled with guilt, fear—and an overwhelming sincerity.
Looking at the stunning girl before her, Dahlia's heart clenched.
Her daughter.
Her real daughter.
So beautiful. Raised like a princess in someone else's arms.
The more radiant Liana looked, the more ashamed Dahlia felt—terrified that Liana would reject this run-down home and the mother who never got to raise her.
Overwhelmed by guilt and joy alike, Dahlia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Liana.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry…"
The hug was awkward and weak—but there was nothing fake about it. Just raw, clumsy, desperate love.
Hot tears soaked into Liana's collar, burning against her skin—and for the first time, her frozen heart trembled.
Her stiff shoulders slowly relaxed.
After a long pause, she whispered into the embrace—
"Mom."
The word hit Dahlia like a tidal wave. She broke down completely, tears pouring freely.
But across the room, Isadora Bellamy snapped.
"Liana! What did you just call her?" she shrieked. "I raised you for eighteen years and you barely called me 'Mom'! You see your biological mother once and abandon me immediately? Ungrateful!"
She yanked Seraphina to her side and shot Liana and Dahlia a venomous glare.
"Seraphina, let's go. This dump makes me sick."
She stormed out, dragging Seraphina behind her.
The Bellamy brothers followed, throwing out parting shots.
"So that's 'Mom' now? Trash really does attract trash."
"Don't come crawling back when you regret this. You'll get sick of this place soon enough!"
Liana lifted her chin slightly, her voice calm and steady.
"Don't worry. I mean what I say. From now on, we're going our separate ways. Take care."
She didn't look back.
Unused to being ignored, the pampered men scoffed awkwardly and followed Isadora out.
The room finally fell quiet.
Only Liana and Dahlia remained.
Dahlia released her slowly, hands fidgeting nervously. "Liana… I'm sorry. The house is small, money's tight. Your brother and sister are working, and your father—he was injured years ago. He hasn't been able to move…"
Her voice grew softer with every word. Her head bowed low.
She was terrified.
Afraid this daughter would be just like Seraphina.
But Liana simply looked around.
The room was small and worn—but clean, warm, alive.
She had already lost everything once. Status. Wealth. None of it mattered now.
This place lacked luxury—but it had something the Bellamys never gave her.
Real warmth.
She took Dahlia's rough hands gently.
"It's okay," Liana said softly. "As long as we're together, that's enough."
Dahlia looked up, meeting her daughter's clear, steady gaze.
And she cried again—this time with relief and hope.
Her daughter… didn't hate her.