ARIA'S POV:
I've been called a lot of things.
Drama queen. Spoiled brat. Daddy's PR disaster.
But this?
This is new.
I stare at my phone like it just spit poison into my hand.
You don't know me… but I look exactly like you.
Ariana
The photo is still open. my face, no, her face, stares back at me from a cracked mirror in what looks like some rundown diner kitchen.
Same lips. Same chin.
Same damn freckle on the left cheek that I've hated my whole life.
My hand trembles as I reread the email for the tenth time.
No one knows what I looked like as a baby. I don't have baby photos. My mother never talked about it. Always changed the subject.
But this girl?
She has my face. And she's not asking for fame.
She's asking for answers.
Aria!
Tanya barges into my bedroom like a tornado in designer heels. You didn't answer my calls! Oh my God, you look like death.
I toss my phone on the bed.
Thanks, I was going for post-scandal chic.
She frowns. What's going on? Did your dad cut your cards again?
I almost laugh. Worse. I think I have a twin.
Tanya blinks. Then laughs. Girl, you need sleep. Or therapy. Or both.
I shove the phone into her hands. Look.
She stares at the image. Slowly, her mouth drops open.
Oh my freaking God… that's not you?
I shake my head.
That's someone else.
ARIANA'S POV:
I check my inbox for the hundredth time. Nothing.
Did I freak her out?
Did she block me?
What was I even expecting? An instant hug? A dramatic reunion? An invite to some luxury rooftop brunch with caviar and family secrets?
I'm not even sure I want to meet her. I just want…
The truth.
Mom's been quiet since I confronted her. Too quiet. She's walking on eggshells, pretending everything is fine, but I can feel the lies in the way she won't meet my eyes.
I've been lied to my whole life.
Now I'm going to find out who I really am with or without her help.
I scroll through Aria's Instagram again.
Jet skis in Monaco. Front row at Paris Fashion Week. Posing beside her icy billionaire father like the world belongs to her.
What would she think if she saw my life?
Rotten ceilings, two jobs, a half-eaten pack of ramen.
She probably thinks I'm just some crazy fan.
But we both know better.
ARIELLE'S POV:
I've memorized their names.
Aria.
Ariana.
Arielle.
It's the first time my own name has felt… shared. Like it belonged to something bigger than me.
The photo is folded into the back of my prayer book. I carry it everywhere now.
Today, Sister Emilia caught me staring at it after morning hymns. She didn't say anything. But later, she slipped a key into my hand during chores.
No questions, she whispered. Top drawer of the east wing records room. Five minutes, no more.
I obeyed.
The drawer held exactly what I feared.
Birth records.
Three baby girls.
Same time. Same date.
Same mother's name, but three different foster placements.
And next to my name, in red ink:
Do not disclose relationship status to child.
Final decision: keep girls separated.
I clutch my chest.
Why?
Why would anyone do that?
Was it protection… or punishment?
ARIA'S POV:
A few hours later, a second email comes in.
Subject: You still think I'm lying?
Ariana: My mom won't tell me anything. But I found a bracelet with the name Lancaster on it. I think… I think you and I are sisters.
I reread it twice before I whisper to myself:
Sisters?
No. That's impossible.
Isn't it?
But deep down… I already know the truth.
ARIANA'S POV:
I'd never felt this kind of chill before, not even during the coldest harmattan back in the village. My fingers trembled as I clutched the cracked phone screen, staring at the face that wasn't mine... but looked like it was.
I pressed pause.
Rewind.
Play again.
The girl on the screen wore a glittering silver gown, her lips painted like royalty, her hair falling in waves that were obviously styled by professionals. She blinked into the camera like she owned the world and maybe she did.
But it wasn't me.
It couldn't be me.
Yet we looked like reflections.
Who the hell is this girl? I whispered.
My roommate, N-k, peeked over my shoulder. Ariana, are you pranking me? That's your face. What did you do, join a reality show?
I shook my head quickly, my stomach twisting. I swear on everything, Nkechi I don't know her.
But that wasn't true anymore.
Because her name was all over the screen:
ARIA LANCASTER – Billionaire Bad Girl Gets Into Another Fight at Fashion Week.
The headline blurred.
Lancaster.
That name… I'd seen it before. On the corner of an old newspaper Dad kept hidden under the floorboard. It had shown up again in the letter he burned without letting me read.
I sat down, heart racing.
What if this wasn't a coincidence?
What if... I had a sister out there?
What if she had my face because she was me?
Or rather, part of me?
ARIELLE'S POV:
I watched the mirror like it had just betrayed me. I was never the pretty one. I was always the quiet one, the bookworm, the mystery girl with a sad past. People ignored me.
But now... everything was crumbling.
The photograph I found in Miss Agnes's drawer haunted me. Three baby girls swaddled in pink. One of them had a bracelet with the name Aria. Another said Ariana. and mine... had no name.
Miss Agnes swore I was adopted as a baby. But she never said anything about sisters.
Triplets.
My stomach tightened. I stared into my reflection, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
Was this why I always felt misplaced?
Why my dreams were filled with voices that weren't mine?
A knock came at the door.
It was Miss Agnes. We need to talk, Arielle.
Her voice was heavy with something... like regret.
I stood up slowly. About what?
She walked in, holding that same photo in her hands.
About the two girls who were stolen from you.
ARIA'S POV:
I was sick of the headlines. Sick of the lies.
Sick of being a scandal, not a person.
I stormed into the penthouse suite, tossing my designer heels across the room. Dad didn't even look up from his scotch.
That video's already trending, he muttered. Nice move, Aria. Another PR nightmare.
I yanked the remote and threw it on the couch. I didn't hit her! She poured champagne on me. I defended myself.
He narrowed his eyes. That's not what the press sees.
Well maybe the press should stop licking your feet and start reporting the truth!
Silence.
Then he leaned forward, his voice ice-cold. You're not irreplaceable, Aria. Remember that.
My breath caught.
Something in his tone wasn't just angry, it was final.
Almost… like a warning.
I tapped my perfectly manicured nails against the mahogany table, the clinking sound echoing through the private lounge of Lancaster Towers.
Why are we even entertaining this nonsense? I scoffed, tossing the printed screenshots of Ariana's social media at my father. She's probably just another lowlife trying to clout-chase off my face.
Dad didn't flinch. He simply picked up the photo again and stared at it silent, unreadable. That scared me more than his usual lectures.
This isn't about clout, he said at last. The resemblance is too exact. It's unsettling.
I have a twin now? I rolled my eyes. Or wait—triplet? What's next? An evil quadruplet trying to steal my inheritance?
He looked at me sharply. Don't mock what you don't understand.
I paused. His tone wasn't firm, it was broken. Almost like... guilt.
What aren't you telling me, Dad?
He stood, avoiding my eyes. We may need to conduct a DNA test.
ARIANA'S POV:
You don't think it's just a lookalike? My best friend Tammy asked as we rewatched the clip for the tenth time. Maybe you've got one of those...what do they call it, face twins?
No, I whispered, rubbing the scar just beneath my jawline. She has this too.
Tammy's eyes widened. That's impossible.
I've always felt different, Tam. Like I was never supposed to be here. What if I was stolen? Or adopted?
Your mom
She's never told me anything about my birth. Just that she found me at the hospital.
Silence.
Then Tammy leaned closer. "So what are you gonna do?"
I swallowed. I'm going to find her. The heiress. I need answers.
ARIELLE'S POV:
The note shook in my hand.
They lied to you.
Ask about July 3rd, 2006.
Ask about the fire.
You were never alone.
I stared at the signature at the bottom: J.H.
The initials meant nothing. The date? July 3rd, 2006. I was barely a toddler. But I remembered the flames. The smoke. The way my mother held me under the sink to shield me from the heat.
The fire that killed her.
Or... that's what I'd been told.
Back in her quiet dorm room, Arielle pulled out a dusty shoebox. Photos. Hospital bracelets. Burned edges of a certificate, only one word still visible:
Triplet.
Her hand trembled. Her life had been a lie.
And worse?
Something, someone, was trying to bring the truth to light.
ARIA'S POV:
You're having me followed? I hissed, slamming my phone onto the glass counter in my father's study.
He didn't even blink. You've been reckless lately. Paparazzi are nothing compared to the kind of danger this could bring.
I'm not some helpless child, I snapped.
He walked toward me, placing his hand on my shoulder. You're my daughter. My only daughter.
Something in his eyes made me freeze.
Was it guilt? Regret? Fear?
Before I could ask, the butler entered, eyes wide. Sir, you'll want to see this…
He handed Dad a manila envelope. When he opened it, three photos fell out.
Me.
Arielle.
And that other girl, Ariana.
All three of us.
Together.
Photoshopped? No. This was real.
Someone had been watching.
ARIANA'S POV:
I'd never felt eyes on me like this before.
Everywhere I went today, I felt a chill creeping down my spine. Like someone knew what I was trying to uncover.
Like they wanted to stop me.
At the bookstore, I found a crumpled note shoved between the pages of a magazine.
"Keep digging, and you'll regret it."
No name. Just a printed silhouette of three girls holding hands, two fading into darkness.
I shoved it into my jacket and stormed outside, heart racing.
A black car sat across the street. Same one from earlier today. Its tinted windows stared at me like eyes.
I took off running.
ARIELLE'S POV:
The shoebox didn't just hold photos.
At the bottom, there was a burnt journal. Only a few pages had survived, but one entry caught her eye.
They won't stop until all three are separated.
If they ever meet, the truth will kill everything we built.
She clutched it, trembling.
Mom, she whispered. What were you protecting me from?
As if in answer, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
STOP LOOKING. YOU'RE NEXT.
She dropped the phone
MYSTERY POV:
In a dimly lit room filled with surveillance monitors, a figure in a hooded coat leaned forward.
They're getting close, a voice murmured from behind.
But not close enough, the figure replied. Let them play their little game. We'll end it before they even know who they really are.
On screen, the three girls moved in different cities, different lives but for the first time, they were starting to orbit the same truth, same danger. The same blood. and blood always calls to blood.
To be continued…