The sun was high, but its warmth never touched the cold, gray stone of the Vincent estate.
Ava sat on the wooden floor of her bedroom, knees hugged to her chest. The door was locked. It always was when her "family" didn't want to see her. Outside the window, laughter floated in—Mila's voice, bright and honeyed, echoing through the garden.
Why does it always feel like I don't belong here? Ava thought, her eyes fixed on the floor.
The room was bare. No photos. No color. No warmth. Just a bed, a chair, and a window that had once promised freedom—until she'd tried to open it. Her body still remembered the punishment.
Footsteps echoed outside.
Then Caleb's voice, sharp and mocking.
"Are you alive in there, freak?"
"Mom says you skipped your chores again. Want another lesson?"
Ava said nothing. She had learned silence was safer.
They didn't love her. Not once. Not even in the beginning. Evelyn, her adoptive mother, reminded her every day.
"You're just a burden. A stray we took in out of pity."
But Ava always felt the lie under those words. It wasn't pity. It was fear. Contempt. Hate so sharp, it felt personal.
Why? What did I ever do?
Sometimes at night, she'd whisper to herself.
Maybe my real family is out there. Maybe they're looking for me.
But that hope never lasted long. Mila made sure of it.
"They left you in the rain, Ava. Trash like you doesn't get fairy tale endings."
Ava used to cry. Quiet, hidden sobs into her pillow.
But over time, the tears dried. The voice inside her—the one that believed in love, in belonging—grew quieter.
She trained herself to become invisible.
No more dreams.
No more asking why.
Just survival.
That evening, Ava stood at the kitchen sink, hands submerged in sudsy water. Her fingers were raw from scrubbing.
Mila waltzed in, barefoot and smug, her silk dress swaying as she moved.
"Guess what," she said, spinning a spoon in her hand. "I'm joining Vincent Group's summer internship. Maybe I'll charm that CEO's son. What's his name… Rayan?"
Ava stiffened.
Rayan Vincent.
She'd seen his name in business magazines and press releases. Heir to the Vincent Group. Cold. Brilliant. Powerful.
For some reason, the name struck a nerve. Not just curiosity—something deeper. Something like a warning.
"You?" Ava asked without looking up.
"Interning there?"
Mila smirked. "Why not? I've got the face. The body. You? You're just the help. Scrub a little harder, Ava. You're streaking the glasses."
Ava didn't reply.
But inside, something stirred.
I wasn't always like this.
I wasn't always anything.
She just didn't remember who she used to be.
Later that night, Ava lay on her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Shadows crawled along the walls, long and twisted in the moonlight.
Sleep didn't come easily in this house.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember the night they found her—the night everything changed. She remembered rain. Cold, endless rain. Her hands were bloody. Someone was calling her name.
Then… nothing.
Darkness. Silence. A hospital room.
And Evelyn Vincent was standing over her with a fake smile and cold eyes.
"You're lucky we found you," she had said. "No one else wanted a half-dead stray."
But it never felt like luck.
It felt like a cage.
A knock on the door startled her.
Not Caleb's rough pounding. A softer knock.
"Ava?"
Mila's voice.
Ava sat up, cautious. "What?"
Mila opened the door just enough to peek in. Her smile was unreadable.
"I have something to show you."
Ava didn't move. "What is it?"
"Just come. It won't kill you."
Ava followed her out into the hallway, barefoot and silent. Mila led her down the back stairs to the study—Evelyn's private office.
"Mila, we're not allowed—"
"I know," Mila said, opening the door anyway.
Inside, the lights were off. Only the moon through the tall windows gave shape to the room: towering bookshelves, dark leather chairs, and one thick file folder sitting on the desk.
Mila stepped aside.
"Go ahead," she whispered. "Take a look."
Ava approached slowly, fingers trembling as she opened the folder.
Her name was on the first page.
AVA LYRIC VINCENT
Her breath caught.
Vincent?
There were photos. Medical reports. A birth certificate—blurry, partly blacked out—but clear enough to read her last name.
Her real last name.
Mila leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Thought you should know."
Ava turned to her, eyes wide. "Why are you showing me this?"
Mila shrugged. "You've always been weird. Now we know why."
Ava's mind raced.
If I'm a Vincent… then who am I to them? Why keep it hidden?
Before she could speak, Mila added, "Don't get any ideas. Just because you share the name doesn't mean you belong."
And with that, she walked away.
Leaving Ava alone in the dark.
She sat down in Evelyn's chair, heart pounding.
All her life, she'd been told she was nothing. Unwanted. A mistake.
But this—this-this changed everything.
She wasn't a stray.
She wasn't just a burden.
She was a Vincent.
And someone had gone to great lengths to erase that truth.
Ava closed the file, her hands steadier than before.
For the first time in years, she didn't feel powerless.
She felt dangerous.