Lia did not sleep that night.
She lay on her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling where a long crack ran like a scar, replaying the message over and over in her head.
The Kingsley name belongs to you.
It was ridiculous.
Kingsley wasn't just a name—it was a symbol. Wealth. Power. The kind of family whose scandals made headlines and whose charity galas were televised. Kingsley Group owned half the skyline, controlled industries people like Lia only read about.
And yet the message had been so deliberate. Too precise to be a prank.
She picked up her phone again, half-expecting the messages to be gone. They weren't.
No missed calls. No new texts.
"Someone who knows what they took from you."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she locked the screen.
What had ever been taken from her?
Lia had no memories of parents. No lullabies. No bedtime stories. Her earliest memory was of a white hospital hallway, cold floors against her bare feet, and a nurse's voice calling out a name that didn't belong to her.
By the time she was five, she had already learned not to ask questions.
Different foster homes. Different rules. Different faces that never stayed long enough to become familiar. Some were kind in distant ways. Some were cruel. Most simply tolerated her.
"You're quiet," they would say.
"Too quiet."
She learned that quiet children were easier to keep. Easier to forget.
At sixteen, she was released into the world with a thin folder of documents and a single sentence from a social worker who looked more exhausted than sympathetic.
"You're on your own now."
No family name worth keeping. No inheritance. No one to call if things went wrong.
That was when Lia learned to survive.
The next morning, she left the apartment before anyone else woke up. The streets were still gray with dawn, vendors setting up stalls, buses coughing black smoke into the air. She walked with her hands tucked into her sleeves, her mind heavier than her body.
At a small public library near the bus stop, she sat at one of the old computers and typed her name into the search bar.
Nothing.
She tried variations. Birthdate. Hospital name listed on her only document.
Still nothing.
Her identity existed only in fragments just enough to prove she existed, not enough to explain why.
On impulse, she typed one word instead.
Kingsley.
The screen filled instantly.
Articles. Interviews. Business acquisitions. Photos of smiling heirs in tailored suits, women dripping in diamonds, families that looked complete.
Lia stared at a headline from twenty-four years ago.
KINGSLEY GROUP FOUNDER'S GRANDCHILD REPORTED MISSING. CASE GOES COLD
Her breath caught.
She clicked it.
The article was brief. Vague. A newborn reported missing from a private hospital. No suspects. No body. No closure. The family declined further comments.
Twenty-four years ago.
Lia's hands went cold.
She checked the date on her birth document again.
The same year.
"This is insane," she whispered.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated before answering.
"Who are you?" she typed.
Several seconds passed.
Unknown Number:
Someone who didn't have the power to protect you back then.
Her chest tightened.
"Why now?" she sent back. "Why tell me?"
This time, the reply came slower.
Unknown Number:
Because they're running out of time.
A chill crawled down her spine.
Before she could ask what that meant, the screen went dark.
No signal.
When Lia left the library, she felt different—not empowered, not hopeful, just painfully aware. As if invisible eyes were watching her, measuring her worth now that she knew too much.
At work, the café felt louder, harsher. The insults sharper. The smiles faker.
And then she saw him.
He stood near the counter, tall and composed, dressed in a dark suit that looked like it cost more than her monthly rent. His presence changed the air in the room—customers straightened, employees whispered.
Sebastian Blackwood.
She didn't know his name yet, only the weight of him. The way people unconsciously made space.
Their eyes met briefly.
Something unreadable flickered across his face—recognition, perhaps, from the incident days ago.
Lia looked away first.
She didn't know it yet, but fate had already decided.
The stray girl who had spent her life unseen had just stepped into the orbit of power.
And power never let go easily.