The DNA test results trembled in Aria Chen's hands like autumn leaves in a storm.
0% genetic match.
The words blurred through her tears, but their meaning cut deeper than any blade ever could. The elegant letterhead of the prestigious Genomics Institute mocked her with its gold embossing and official seals. Three different laboratories. Three separate tests. Three identical results that shattered the foundation of everything she had ever believed about herself.
Eighteen years. Eighteen years of trying to earn love that was never hers to claim. Eighteen years of wondering why she never quite fit, why her achievements were met with polite applause while Meilin's mediocre efforts received standing ovations. Eighteen years of telling herself that if she just tried harder, loved deeper, sacrificed more, she might finally be enough.
The irony wasn't lost on her that they had chosen today—her eighteenth birthday—to deliver this devastating blow. She should have been celebrating her transition into adulthood, but instead, she was discovering that her entire childhood had been built on a lie.
"Well?" Mrs. Chen's voice sliced through the suffocating silence of the family's marble-floored living room. "Do you have anything to say for yourself, Aria?"
The question hung in the air like poison. Around the room, cameras clicked and flashed—reporters Mr. Chen had invited to witness this "family announcement." She counted at least fifteen journalists from major news outlets, their expensive equipment trained on her like weapons. Business associates from Chen Corporation whispered among themselves, their eyes gleaming with the hunger for scandal that would dominate tomorrow's headlines. Even the household servants lined the walls, their faces carefully blank, though she caught glimpses of genuine sympathy in the eyes of Mrs. Liu, the head housekeeper who had bandaged her scraped knees as a child.
The Chen family's main living room had been transformed into a stage for her humiliation. The space that had once felt impossibly grand now felt like a gilded cage. Persian rugs worth more than most people's annual salaries stretched across marble floors imported from Italy. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbows across walls lined with priceless artwork—a testament to the Chen family's wealth and status. Every detail spoke of power, privilege, and the kind of old money that could destroy reputations with a whispered word.
And they were using all of it to destroy her.
Aria's legs felt like water. This was supposed to be her eighteenth birthday celebration. The elaborate decorations still hung from the crystal chandelier—gold ribbons and white roses that now looked like funeral flowers. The three-tiered cake sat untouched on the mahogany table, its cheerful "Happy Birthday Aria" message mocking her in elegant script. She remembered watching the kitchen staff prepare it this morning, how excited she'd been to finally have a birthday party with the whole family present. For once, she'd thought, maybe they would all focus on her with genuine warmth instead of polite obligation.
How naive she had been.
The cake had probably cost more than most families spent on groceries in a month, but it had never been about celebrating her. It had been a prop in this carefully orchestrated theater of her destruction. She wondered how long they had been planning this moment. Had they known when they commissioned the cake? When they sent out the invitations? When they hired the photographers to capture every moment of her devastation?
"I don't understand," Aria whispered, her voice barely audible above the murmur of the crowd. "There must be some mistake—"
"No mistake." Mr. Chen's tone was crisp, businessman-like. He adjusted his silk tie with the same casual indifference he might show firing an employee. The diamond cufflinks at his wrists caught the light as he moved—cufflinks she had given him two Christmases ago, saved for with money from her part-time tutoring job. "We had the test run three times by different laboratories. The results are conclusive."
She had never seen him look at her with such cold finality. This was the man who had taught her to ride a bicycle in the estate's gardens, who had occasionally helped with her mathematics homework when she was younger. But that warmth—had it ever been real? Or had she imagined tenderness where there had only been duty?
Meilin Chen stepped forward, her designer dress rustling softly. The custom Valentino gown fit her perfectly, its pale pink fabric complementing her delicate features. At nineteen, she possessed the kind of ethereal beauty that graced magazine covers—porcelain skin that had never known a blemish, perfectly styled hair that fell in gentle waves, and eyes that sparkled with what looked like genuine concern. She had always been the princess of the family, the one whose every wish was granted before she even had to voice it.
"Oh, Aria," she said, her voice trembling with practiced sympathy. One perfectly manicured hand rose to cover her heart, and Aria noticed the new diamond tennis bracelet adorning her wrist—a "early graduation gift" from their parents last week. "I'm so sorry this is happening. I never wanted it to be like this."
But Aria caught the flash of triumph in Meilin's eyes before she lowered them demurely. The same look a cat might wear after catching a particularly clever mouse. It was there for just a fraction of a second, but Aria saw it clearly. She had been watching Meilin's micro-expressions for years, trying to understand how her sister managed to navigate the family's affections so effortlessly. Now she understood—Meilin had known. Perhaps she had always known.
Mrs. Chen moved to stand beside her daughter—her real daughter—and placed a protective hand on Meilin's shoulder. The gesture was so natural, so instinctive, that it highlighted every time Mrs. Chen had failed to offer Aria the same comfort. "After eighteen years, we finally have the truth. You are not our daughter, and we can no longer pretend that you are."
The words hit like physical blows. Mrs. Chen spoke them with the same tone she might use to discuss the weather or cancel a lunch appointment. Casual. Matter-of-fact. As if she were discussing a minor inconvenience rather than destroying a young woman's entire world.
The cameras clicked faster now, capturing every moment of Aria's devastation. She could already imagine tomorrow's headlines: "Chen Family Reveals Shocking DNA Truth on Fake Daughter's Birthday."
"But I..." Aria's voice cracked. Where were her brothers? She searched the room desperately and found them standing near the far wall like guilty spectators at an execution. Chen Weiming, the eldest at twenty-five, studied his phone with intense concentration, his jaw tight with what might have been shame or relief. As the heir to Chen Corporation, he had always carried himself with natural authority, but now he seemed determined to fade into the shadows. Chen Bowen, twenty-three, examined his manicured nails as if they held the secrets of the universe, his usually confident demeanor replaced by uncomfortable fidgeting. Only Chen Haoran, barely twenty-one, met her eyes—and quickly looked away, his face flushing with what she hoped was guilt.
These were the boys she had helped with homework when they struggled in school. She had covered for Weiming when he'd gotten drunk at university parties, taken the blame when Bowen had crashed his sports car last year, and helped Haoran prepare for his college entrance exams even though it meant sacrificing her own study time. She had been their sister in every way that mattered—or so she had thought.
Not one of them stepped forward to defend her. Not one of them questioned the timing or the cruelty of this public humiliation. Their silence spoke louder than any words could have.
"Your belongings have been packed," Mr. Chen continued, gesturing toward the foyer where three small suitcases waited like silent sentinels. Three suitcases to hold eighteen years of life. The sight of them made her stomach lurch—someone had gone through her room, her personal possessions, deciding what little she would be allowed to take from the only home she had ever known. "We've arranged temporary accommodation at the Grand Hotel. Our lawyers will contact you about the transition."
"Transition?" The word felt foreign on Aria's tongue.
"To your new life," Mrs. Chen said simply. "Away from ours."
The weight of eighteen years pressed down on Aria's shoulders like a mountain of expectations she had never been able to meet. Eighteen years of studying harder than everyone else, hoping to make them proud. She had graduated valedictorian from the prestigious St. Catherine's Academy while Meilin barely maintained a C average. She had won academic scholarships, debate tournaments, and science fairs, but her achievements had always been met with polite acknowledgment while Meilin's participation trophies were celebrated like Olympic victories.
Eighteen years of accepting their cold dismissals and rare, grudging acknowledgments. She remembered the time she had placed first in a national mathematics competition, only to have the family dinner conversation dominated by Meilin's new haircut. She recalled staying up until 3 AM to help prepare a presentation for Mr. Chen's board meeting, never receiving so much as a thank you when it helped him secure a multi-million dollar deal.
Eighteen years of believing that if she just tried harder, loved deeper, sacrificed more, they might finally see her as worthy.
She had worked ten times harder than Meilin for half the recognition. While Meilin attended parties and shopping trips, Aria had managed the household accounts, organized charity events, and even helped with Mr. Chen's business presentations—all without credit or thanks. She had been the perfect daughter in every way except the one that mattered most: biology.
"You're so lucky to have this family, Aria," people would say at social gatherings. "Make sure you're grateful."
Grateful. She had been so grateful that she'd accepted scraps of affection like a starving person accepts stale bread. She had told herself that their love was simply expressed differently, that she needed to earn what came naturally to others. She had made excuses for every slight, every forgotten birthday, every time she was introduced as "this is Aria" while Meilin was presented as "our beloved daughter."
The reporters pressed closer, their questions a cacophony of cruel curiosity:
"Miss Chen—or should we say, Miss...?"
"How does it feel to discover your entire life was a lie?"
"Did you ever suspect you weren't really part of this family?"
"What are your plans now?"
Security guards appeared at the room's entrance—men in black suits with earpieces, waiting to escort her out like a trespasser. Like someone who had never belonged here at all.
Aria looked one last time at the family she had loved with desperate, unwavering devotion. Mrs. Chen's expression remained carved from ice, her perfectly applied makeup still flawless despite the emotional devastation she had just delivered. She wore the same face she used for board meetings and charity galas—polite, controlled, utterly unmoved. Mr. Chen checked his expensive Patek Philippe watch, already mentally moving on to his next appointment. In his mind, this was simply another business transaction to be concluded efficiently.
Meilin dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, her performance of grief worthy of an Academy Award. But Aria noticed that the handkerchief came away dry, and Meilin's mascara remained perfectly intact. Even her sorrow was an act, carefully calculated to maintain her image as the sweet, innocent daughter who couldn't possibly be blamed for this tragedy.
But it was her brothers' silence that cut deepest. These were the boys she had helped with homework, covered for when they broke curfew, supported through their failures and celebrated their successes. When Weiming had been rejected by his first love, Aria had stayed up all night listening to him vent his heartbreak. When Bowen had failed his business ethics course, she had helped him study for the retake exam. When Haoran had been bullied at school for being shorter than his classmates, she had taught him self-defense and helped him build his confidence.
Now they stood like strangers, their relief palpable in the space between them. She could practically see the weight lifting from their shoulders as the family's "burden" was finally being removed.
Something shifted inside Aria's chest—a crystalline sound like glass breaking, but also like chains snapping free.
Never again.
The thought rose from someplace deep and fierce within her, a place that had been buried under years of desperate need for approval. Never again would she beg for love. Never again would she accept scraps when she deserved feasts. Never again would she diminish herself to fit into spaces too small for her spirit.
"I understand," Aria said quietly, her voice steady for the first time that evening. The room fell silent, surprised by her calm tone. She carefully folded the DNA results and slipped them into her purse. Then she walked to where her suitcases waited.
Mrs. Chen looked almost disappointed by the lack of dramatics. "Well. That's... mature of you."
Aria lifted her chin and met each family member's eyes in turn. "Eighteen years," she said simply. "That's how long I spent trying to earn something that was never mine to claim. Thank you for finally setting me free."
The words hung in the air like a benediction and a curse combined.
She picked up one suitcase, then another. A security guard moved to help with the third, but she waved him away. These belongings were all she had left in the world—she would carry them herself.
As she walked toward the door, her heels clicked against the marble with the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. Behind her, the murmur of voices resumed as the Chen family began managing the narrative for their guests.
"—always seemed different—"
"—probably better for everyone—"
"—Meilin is such a treasure—"
The massive front doors opened, revealing a wall of rain that fell like tears from a mourning sky. The storm had arrived while her world ended, as if nature itself grieved for her loss.
But as Aria stepped into the downpour, she felt something she hadn't expected: relief. The rain was cold and sharp against her skin, washing away the perfume and powder that had made her feel like she was wearing a costume. For the first time in eighteen years, she didn't have to pretend to be grateful for being ignored. She didn't have to smile through criticism or work twice as hard for half the recognition. She didn't have to carefully modulate her voice to avoid seeming "too emotional" or "ungrateful."
She was free.
The rain soaked through her birthday dress—a modest blue number she'd chosen hoping Mrs. Chen would approve, spending weeks selecting something that was elegant but not too flashy, expensive but not wasteful. Now it clung to her like a second skin, washing away the last traces of the girl who had begged for love from people who would never give it.
The irony wasn't lost on her that this dress had cost her three months of part-time tutoring income. She had wanted to look perfect for her eighteenth birthday, had dreamed that maybe this year they would finally see her as worthy of their full attention and affection. Instead, it had become the costume for her public humiliation.
Behind her, the Chen family mansion blazed with warm light, its windows glowing like golden eyes in the darkness. Music drifted from within—they were continuing the party without her, celebrating their newfound freedom from the burden of her existence.
Aria didn't look back.
She walked down the winding driveway, her suitcases growing heavier with each step, but her spirit feeling lighter than it had in years. The media would have their story. Society would whisper and judge. Tomorrow, she would wake up with nothing but her name and whatever strength she could find within herself.
But tonight, for the first time in eighteen years, she would sleep without the crushing weight of trying to be worthy of love from people who had already decided she wasn't.
The rain drummed against the pavement like applause.
And in the shadows at the edge of the estate, a figure in a dark coat watched her disappear into the storm, a phone already pressed to his ear.
"I found her," the voice said quietly. "She's exactly where you said she'd be."
The game was about to change.
Aria Chen had no idea that her real family had been searching for her for eighteen years. She had no idea that the Chens weren't a family who had taken her in out of kindness, but guardians who had failed in their most important duty.
And she had absolutely no idea that walking away from that mansion in the rain would be the first step toward claiming an empire.
But she was about to find out.