As the sky darkened, Evelyn turned the sign on the shop door to "Closed." She watched the streets outside, her gaze lingering on the pedestrians—families spending time together, laughing, and enjoying the evening. It wasn't wrong for them to be happy, but she couldn't help feeling envious. Her parents had been taken from her in a car accident when she was just four years old, leaving her to grow up under the care of her grandparents.
Despite her excellent grades, she joined a military academy, graduated early, and eventually joined the special forces. But after a devastating terrorist attack three months ago that claimed the lives of her entire team, she decided to retire and take over her grandparents' old bookstore.
As she walked home, umbrella in hand, a woman suddenly rushed up to her, calling her "daughter." Instinctively, Evelyn prepared to throw the woman down, but something about the civilian's frail build made her hesitate. Instead, she pushed the woman back to arm's length and forced a polite, business-like smile.
"Madam, I don't know who you're looking for, but I'm not your daughter," Evelyn said, attempting to create some distance between them. But then, she looked into the woman's eyes and saw something—desperation, perhaps?
"No, no! You're my daughter!" the woman cried out. Another girl with light blonde hair hurried over and grabbed the woman's arm, exchanging a tense glance with Evelyn. The girl's expression was hostile, filled with an emotion that Evelyn, as someone who had grown up on battlefields, recognized immediately: hostility. But something was off. The girl's hostility lacked the lethal edge of killing intent, making it feel almost... misguided.
A middle-aged man approached them, and Evelyn watched him carefully. What was this—some kind of family drama? The man's expression seemed sincere, but something in his eyes reminded her of politicians she had encountered before—coldness and judgment as if he were assessing her like an object, determining her worth. Despite the warmth in his voice, the hand that reached out to touch her arm was chillingly cold.
"You're Fiona Lancaster's daughter, aren't you?" the man asked, his tone measured.
Evelyn nodded calmly, though suspicion began to creep in. Were these people her parents' old friends? But that didn't make sense—her parents had passed away sixteen years ago. The likelihood of them knowing her was slim.
"Please, we need you to take a DNA test," the man continued, his voice earnest. "You might be our daughter."
Evelyn stared at him, thinking they must be crazy, yet something in the way they spoke made her pause. Finally, she nodded, keeping her composure. "Sure. But I'll need an explanation for all of this."
The man nodded in agreement and gestured for her to follow him to a waiting car. As she walked with them, Evelyn couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Who were these people, and what did they want with her?
Evelyn sat quietly in the backseat of the sleek black car, her gaze fixed on the passing city lights as the rain continued to patter softly against the windows. Beside her, the woman who had claimed to be her mother was still crying, her sobs muffled against the shoulder of the younger girl—Sophia, they had called her. Evelyn's mind was a whirlwind of questions and confusion, but outwardly, she remained calm and composed, the years of military discipline ingrained in her. When the woman's sobs finally quieted, Evelyn spoke, her voice steady and measured.
"I need an explanation," she said, focused on the middle-aged man in the front seat. Her tone carried the authority of someone used to commanding respect, a tone that left little room for argument.
The man met her gaze in the rearview mirror, his expression of calculated calm. He seemed to weigh his words carefully before he spoke as if considering how much to reveal.
"My name is Charles Hartley," he began, his voice deep and steady. "And these are my wife, Margaret, and our daughter, Sophia." He paused, glancing briefly at the crying woman beside Evelyn. "We are from the Hartley family, one of the old noble families with considerable influence and standing. Recently, we discovered something... troubling. Something that led us to you."
Evelyn listened, her expression unreadable, though her mind was working furiously to piece together what he was saying. Noble families? Influence? She had grown up with her grandparents, living a modest life. This world of wealth and power was foreign to her, something she had never been a part of—or so she had thought.
Charles continued, "Our daughter, Sophia, has always been the apple of our eye. However, we recently came across some information that raised suspicions. We discovered that she might not be our biological daughter. When we dug deeper, we found a connection to the Lancaster family that once served us in various capacities. The timeline and circumstances suggested that there was a possibility of an exchange—at birth."
Evelyn's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her composure, her mind analyzing every word. An exchange at birth? It sounded like something out of a soap opera, yet the serious expressions on their faces told her they believed it.
"So, you think I'm your biological daughter," Evelyn said, her voice betraying nothing of the turmoil she felt inside.
Charles nodded. "That's correct. We have reason to believe that you and Sophia were switched at birth, that you are, in fact, a Hartley."
Evelyn's mind raced memories of her childhood flashing before her eyes—her grandparents, the small town where she grew up, and the tragic accident that claimed her parent's lives. None of it seemed to fit with the story Charles was telling. But there was a nagging doubt, a tiny seed of uncertainty that had taken root.
The car ride felt too long and short, the silence heavy with unspoken questions. When they arrived at the hospital, Evelyn followed the Hartley's inside, her mind still reeling from the revelation. The hospital was quiet, almost eerie in the late evening hours, the fluorescent lights casting a cold glow on the sterile white walls.
Evelyn walked with the calm grace of a soldier, her steps measured, her eyes constantly scanning her surroundings. The Hartley family seemed to be on the verge of falling apart—Margaret clutching Sophia's hand tightly, tears still glistening on her cheeks. Charles maintained his stoic demeanor, but Evelyn could see the tightness in his jaw and the stiffness in his stance.
They were led to a private room where the DNA test would be conducted. The doctor, a middle-aged man with graying hair and kind eyes, explained the procedure, but Evelyn barely heard him. Her mind was elsewhere, trying to reconcile this bizarre situation with the life she had always known. The test was quick—a simple swab inside her cheek—and then, it was just waiting.
The waiting was the worst part. The Hartleys were a picture of tension and drama—Margaret wringing her hands, Sophia glaring daggers at Evelyn, and Charles pacing the room like a caged animal.
In contrast, Evelyn sat quietly in her chair, her back straight, her hands resting calmly in her lap. She had faced worse situations, life-and-death scenarios where every second counted, but this—this was different. This wasn't something she could control or fight her way out of. All she could do was wait for the truth to be revealed.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doctor returned, a sealed envelope in his hand. He looked at them all with a solemn expression, the weight of the moment clear in his eyes. He handed the envelope to Charles, who hesitated for a moment before opening it.
"We have the results," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up, his eyes meeting Evelyn's. "You are our daughter."
Margaret let out a choked sob, collapsing into Sophia's arms. Sophia, however, didn't share in her mother's grief. Instead, her eyes narrowed, and Evelyn could see the hostility in them flare up even more. It wasn't just anger—it was something deeper, something more personal.
As Margaret continued to cry, Evelyn watched her, sensing something that troubled her deeply. There was happiness in Margaret's tears, but there was also something else—something that made Evelyn's stomach churn. The way Margaret clung to Sophia, the way she barely glanced at Evelyn even now—it was as if, despite the revelation, she still felt more connected to the girl who had been her daughter for so many years.
The coldness in Charles's eyes had returned as well, and Evelyn realized that he, too, was struggling with this truth. To him, she wasn't just a lost daughter found—she was an asset, a new piece in whatever game the Hartleys were playing. She recognized that look—the look of a man who was already calculating the next move and who saw her not as a person but as something to be used.
And then there was Sophia. The girl's hostility was no longer just a feeling; it was now an undeniable fact. Evelyn understood it perfectly—Sophia saw her as a threat, a usurper who had come to take what was hers. The family, the status, the life she had known—all of it was suddenly in jeopardy because of Evelyn's existence.
Evelyn stood up, her calm demeanor unchanged despite the storm of emotions swirling around her. "I see," she said quietly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Thank you for telling me."
Margaret looked up at her, her eyes red and puffy. "Evelyn, we... we just want to make this right," she said, her voice trembling. "We want you to be a part of our family."
Evelyn nodded slowly, though she couldn't quite bring herself to believe in the sincerity of the offer. "I understand," she replied. "But this is a lot to take in. I need time to process it."
Charles stepped forward, his expression softening slightly. "Take all the time you need," he said, though his tone suggested that he expected her to fall in line sooner rather than later.
Evelyn didn't respond. Instead, she turned to the door, needing to get out of the claustrophobic room. "I'll be in touch," she said over her shoulder before walking out, leaving the Hartley family behind.
As she stepped outside into the cool night air, Evelyn took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her life had just been upended in a way she could never have imagined. But she was a soldier—she had survived worse, and she would survive this too. The truth was out there now, and she would have to deal with it, but on her terms, not theirs. At least, that's what she thought.