The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of her penthouse, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. Primrose stirred, stretching languidly as she slowly regained consciousness. The exhaustion that had weighed her down earlier had dissipated, replaced by a sense of quiet rejuvenation.
She opened her eyes, blinking against the light, and surveyed her surroundings. The plush comfort of the couch enveloped her, the soft cushions molding to her body like a warm embrace. She felt… rested. Truly rested for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
A faint memory flickered at the edge of her mind the encounter with the shirtless neighbor, the plate of cookies, his teasing words. She quickly dismissed it, unwilling to dwell on anything that might disrupt her newfound tranquility.
The world slowly swam back into focus, a gentle warmth spreading through Primrose's limbs. She stretched languidly, her muscles protesting slightly after the extended period of rest. Twelve hours, or even more, was barely enough to recharge her depleted energy reserves. It was a necessity, not a luxury.
Primrose loved to sleep. And she loved to eat. These were her comforts, her anchors in a world that had often been unkind. She disliked being bothered when she was sleeping – it felt like a violation, an intrusion upon the precious moments of restoration she so desperately needed.
But there was a deeper reason for her profound need for sleep and sustenance a dark secret rooted in her traumatic past. The Ashwood family, with their insatiable demands and manipulative tactics, had drained her dry since she was a child.
The remnants of sleep still clung to Primrose as she slowly swung her legs over the side of the couch. The world felt muted, distant, as if viewed through a soft filter. She wasn't in the mood for anything elaborate or fussy. Comfort was her priority.
Reaching into her closet, she pulled out a pair of wellworn grey sweats and a cozy oversized hoodie – both items offering maximum softness and minimal effort. She tugged them on, the familiar feel of the fabric a soothing balm against her skin.
Next, she gathered her long, dark hair and hastily twisted it into a messy bun on top of her head, securing it with a few stray bobby pins. A few strands inevitably escaped, framing her face in a chaotic halo.
The fresh air felt invigorating against her skin as Primrose stepped outside the penthouse, eager to stretch her legs and grab a bite to eat. The city hummed with a vibrant energy, but she remained detached, observing the scene with a quiet intensity.
She wandered down the street, letting her instincts guide her. After a few blocks, she spotted a small, unassuming cafe tucked away on a quiet side street. It looked inviting – warm light spilling from its windows, the aroma of freshly baked bread and strong coffee wafting into the air.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside. The cafe was charmingly rustic, with exposed brick walls, wooden tables, and shelves lined with vintage books and jars of homemade preserves.
Before she could even take in her surroundings, a cheerful voice greeted her in Italian.
"Buongiorno! Benvenuta! Cosa posso fare per lei?"
The simple pleasure of a warm sandwich and rich hot cocoa filled Primrose with a surprising contentment. She sighed, a genuine smile gracing her lips for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The weight of the world seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a quiet sense of wellbeing.
She stood up, feeling invigorated by the fresh air and sunshine. A lightness she hadn't experienced in years bubbled within her.
"Ugh," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
"I feel so happy."
A sudden impulse struck her – she wanted new sneakers. A silly, frivolous desire, perhaps, but one that felt incredibly appealing in this moment of unexpected joy. She headed towards a highend sneaker shop, drawn in by the sleek displays and the promise of stylish footwear.
As she browsed the rows of colorful sneakers, her gaze drifted around the shop, taking in the displays and the other customers. That's when she saw her.
Standing near a display of limitededition trainers was a young woman who looked… impossibly familiar. She was about Primrose's age, maybe 17, with the same dark hair, the same delicate features, the same subtly arched eyebrows. It was uncanny.
Both women froze, their eyes locking in a moment of stunned disbelief. The resemblance was undeniable – a mirror image staring back at her. It was as if someone had plucked her straight out of a reflection and placed her in this very shop.
Before Primrose could process what she was seeing, a young woman with bright pink hair and an energetic demeanor stepped forward, clapping her hands together excitedly.
"Imogen! Oh my gosh!"
"Bestie is there a mirror because she looks just like you! Identical!" Imogen's best friend exclaimed, her eyes wide with amusement and surprise.
Imogen, the girl who mirrored Primrose so perfectly, simply stared back, her expression a mixture of shock and bewilderment. She and Primrose both stood frozen, locked in an intense gaze, the bustling sounds of the sneaker shop fading into a distant hum. It was undeniable – they were identical twins. The only discernible difference lay in their overall aura. Imogen radiated a gentle warmth, a soft and approachable kindness that drew people in. Primrose, on the other hand, exuded a cool indifference, a subtle detachment that kept others at arm's length.
Imogen finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Who… who are you?"
The words "Primrose Ashwood, I was adopted," hung in the air, a simple statement that carried the weight of a lifetime of unanswered questions and suppressed emotions.
Imogen's reaction was immediate and visceral. She gasped, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, her eyes widening in disbelief. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear her vision, to convince herself that she wasn't seeing things.
Then, a flood of memories surged through her mind – fragmented recollections of hushed conversations between her parents, whispered stories about a lost sister. She remembered her mama and papa speaking of a twin sister who had been stolen away years ago, a victim of their enemies' machinations. They'd searched tirelessly for her, but all leads had vanished into thin air. The hope of finding her had dwindled over time, relegated to the realm of childhood fantasies.
The shock and disbelief quickly morphed into an overwhelming wave of emotion. Without a second thought, Imogen surged forward, wrapping her arms around Primrose in a tight, heartfelt embrace. It was a spontaneous gesture, fueled by years of longing and the sudden realization that the missing piece of her life had finally been found.
"Little sister!" Imogen exclaimed, her voice choked with emotion.
"We must go to the hospital! Do a DNA test! After that, I will talk to my parents. Rose, don't say anything about this," she added urgently, tightening her grip. She gently took Primrose's hand in hers, her touch warm and reassuring.
The sudden physical contact sent a jolt through Primrose – a sensation she wasn't accustomed to. She stiffened slightly at first, unsure how to respond to such an outpouring of affection.