.Mira awoke to a world of antiseptic white and sharp, humming lights. A scent of sterile gauze filled her nose, mingling with something faintly floral that clung to the sheets. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, her limbs weighed down as though she'd been asleep for a century.
It was the pain that finally dragged her fully into consciousness—a deep, throbbing ache that stretched from her temple down to her shoulder. Her throat felt scraped raw, dry as parchment. She tried to swallow, coughed, and grimaced.
Her eyes fluttered open. Above her, a ceiling of smooth white panels. To the side, a machine beeped in slow, rhythmic intervals. Her fingers twitched on crisp hospital linen. Confusion swirled inside her, thick and suffocating.
Hospital? Why am I…?
That's when it hit her, all at once—a flood of memories that weren't hers. A warm hand tucking hair behind her ear. A glittering necklace clasped around her throat by a smiling woman in an elegant navy dress. A deep voice teasing, "Still scared of thunderstorms, Mira? You used to make me sit by your window all night."
Memories she could see, taste, feel—but they didn't belong to her.
Panic surged. She sucked in a breath, tried to sit up, and a sharp bolt of pain at her ribs forced her back with a gasp.
"Miss Song—please, careful." A nurse hurried to her side, gentle hands easing her back. "You've had a concussion. Your family will be relieved to know you're finally awake."
Song? Mira Song?
The name thudded through her like a hammer strike. Because that wasn't her name. Or at least—it hadn't been. Not before.
---
When the nurse left to call the doctor, Mira lay there, staring at her reflection in the dark screen of an inactive TV. A girl with delicate features looked back—a softly pointed chin, a small, almost fragile mouth, long lashes shadowing large brown eyes. Her hair was rich black, spilling over the pillow like ink.
It wasn't the face she remembered from her old life.
Her mind scrambled, trying to piece it together. I was… someone else. Before. Before I became Mira Song.
Details of her past life slipped like water through her fingers—she recalled long nights studying for accounting exams, instant noodles eaten under dim hostel lights, a mother's gentle laughter, a father's tired smile after work. A small, honest life.
And now she was here, inside the body of a girl who wore luxury like a second skin. Who had diamond earrings waiting at home and a family name that opened doors most people could only dream about.
Her heart began to pound. A faint thrill tingled through her. If this was a dream—then it was a dazzling one.
---
Hours passed in a blur of check-ups, blood draws, and quiet hospital noises. Finally, a group of people swept into her room, filling it with warmth and subtle power. At their center, a woman who looked like a queen in civilian clothes—a tailored ivory coat, pearl earrings that caught the light when she moved. Her hair was coiled into a sleek bun, streaks of silver only enhancing her poise.
Her mother.
"Mira…" The woman's voice broke on the name. She rushed forward, gathering Mira's hands in hers. "Sweetheart, thank God you're awake. We've all been so worried."
And beside her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit, eyes a dark mirror of Mira's new ones. Her father. His hand rested protectively on her shoulder, thumb brushing lightly against her collarbone. The care in that small touch nearly undid her.
Behind them hovered a distinguished older man with silver hair and a gentle smile—the family's trusted physician, she guessed. And near the door, a woman in a neat black dress and a starched cap—probably Mrs. Lin, the Song family's housekeeper.
They surrounded her bed like an embrace. Their relief was palpable, their expressions a mixture of awe and heartbreak. As if they'd come inches from losing her forever.
Something cracked open inside Mira. Without meaning to, tears pooled in her eyes. They love me. They truly, deeply love me.
Even if the "me" they loved was Mira Song, not the nameless soul that now inhabited her body.
"It's all right, baby." Her mother stroked her hair back tenderly. "You're safe now. Just rest. We'll take you home soon."
Home. To a mansion with cherry blossoms lining the drive, to a room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking manicured gardens. To a life of privilege she'd only glimpsed in glossy magazines.
She pressed her lips together and nodded, her throat too tight for words.
---
The next few days were a gentle dream.
Discharge papers signed, her parents guided her carefully into a sleek black car with plush leather seats. As they drove through the tree-lined streets of Silverhill Park, Mira caught glimpses of ornate gates, sprawling lawns, security booths with uniformed guards. The district for the city's most powerful families.
Finally they passed through the imposing iron gates of the Song estate. The car wound up a stone driveway flanked by lanterns and cherry trees just beginning to bloom, petals drifting lazily in the spring air. The mansion emerged—glass and dark timber rising elegantly against the sky.
Stepping inside felt like crossing into another world. The air carried a faint trace of jasmine. A grand staircase curved upward beneath a crystal chandelier that seemed to catch tiny rainbows. Housemaids in matching uniforms bowed as they passed.
Mira was led up to her wing. Her bedroom was vast, decorated in soothing ivory and pale green, with tasteful gold accents. The windows opened onto a small balcony where a wrought-iron table stood waiting, surrounded by potted peonies.
Mrs. Lin discreetly showed her around. "If there's anything you want, Miss, you only need to ring the bell by your bedside."
Anything she wanted. Mira sank into a cloud-soft armchair by the window and let that wash over her.
---
But perfection never lasted.
Three days after returning home, the first shadow fell.
She overheard it purely by accident. Wandering toward the study to ask her father about a new book he'd promised her, she paused when she heard her parents' voices inside—low, tense.
"We can't delay it any longer," her father was saying. "The Chen family expects answers. And the hospital… they insisted on running more tests after the transfusion mistake."
Her mother's voice was tight. "I know. But what if it's not—what if we're wrong? She's our daughter. She always will be."
There was a long pause.
Then her father spoke, heavy with resignation. "Tomorrow. We'll do the DNA confirmation tomorrow."
Mira backed away, heart racing. DNA confirmation? What were they talking about?
---
The next day unfolded in slow motion.
They went to a private clinic, small and discreet. Her parents tried to make light of it—"Just a routine check-up, sweetheart"—but Mira caught the way her mother's hand trembled slightly when she signed the consent forms.
Blood was drawn. The nurse's polite smile seemed strained.
They went home and tried to pretend everything was normal. Her mother fussed over dinner menus. Her father disappeared into his office, emerging only to pat Mira's shoulder with a forced smile.
Two days later, the results arrived.
---
Mira was in the sunroom, trying to read, when Mrs. Lin entered quietly. "Miss… your parents would like you to come to the study."
She rose on wooden legs. The walk down the hallway felt endless, her pulse thundering in her ears.
Inside the study, her parents stood close together by the wide oak desk. A slim folder lay open, papers neatly stacked. Her father's expression was bleak; her mother was clutching a handkerchief to her lips.
Mira didn't need to read the papers. The truth was written across their faces.
"I'm… not your daughter, am I?" she whispered.
Her mother made a soft, broken sound and rushed to her, gathering her in shaking arms. "You will always be our daughter," she choked out. "Always, Mira. Nothing changes that."
But it did. It changed everything.
---
They tried so hard in the days that followed—tried to wrap her in affection, keep her routines the same, reassure her that she still belonged. But small cracks formed, tiny hesitations she caught in the way her father paused before introducing her on a business call, or how relatives began visiting with tight smiles and polite sympathy that hadn't existed before.
Then came the news that sliced the last thread of her borrowed fairy tale.
The real daughter, Elena Song, had been found. Mistakenly sent to live in the countryside after a hospital mix-up at birth, raised by a humble farming couple who'd recently passed away. She was coming home.
Home. To reclaim everything that had once been Mira's.
---
That night, Mira sat alone on her balcony under the faint moonlight. The cherry trees rustled below, petals whispering across the stones. The city lights glittered in the distance, indifferent to her heartbreak.
She pressed a hand to her chest. It was never really mine. None of it.
But as tears gathered, another memory rose—older, deeper. Of her past life. The small apartment that smelled of fried garlic. Laughing with her mother over silly dramas. Her father's proud smile when she landed her first internship.
Happiness didn't have to wear diamonds and silk.
A strange calm settled over her. No matter what happened now—whether this family still claimed her or not—she wasn't the same scared girl whose only worth was tied to luxury.
She would find a way. She would build something real this time.
---
And somewhere in the depths of the garden, unnoticed by her, a tall figure lingered near the iron gate. Hands in his pockets, dark eyes fixed on the balcony above.
Adrian Chen had been coming by every evening since her accident, checking from a distance. Waiting for the right moment to step back into her life. Because to him, Mira Song was more than a mistake of bloodlines. She was simply—irreplaceable.