Chapter 2

The next few days were quiet. I spent them in my small studio, surrounded by canvases and the smell of turpentine. I didn't paint. I just sat there, thinking.

Why had I been so desperate for Liam's approval in my past life?

The answer was simple and ugly. It was never about love. It was about validation. The Wests, my adoptive parents, had taken me in as a baby. But they always held me at arm's length. Chloe, their biological daughter, was the sun in their universe. I was a shadow, a quiet, well-behaved accessory to their perfect family.

Marrying Liam, the heir to the powerhouse Thornton family, was supposed to be my triumph. It would finally make me worthy in their eyes. It was a pathetic, desperate plan, and it had cost me my life.

Now, I didn't need their validation. I didn't need Liam's. I just needed the truth.

One afternoon, I went back to the Wests' mansion to pick up some of my old art supplies from the garage. I told the housekeeper I was coming, so I let myself in through the side door to avoid my adoptive parents.

As I passed the sunroom, I heard voices. Chloe's voice, light and conspiratorial, and her mother's, sharp and calculating.

I froze.

"Are you sure about this, Chloe?" Mrs. West asked. "Liam's family is furious about the broken engagement. What if Ava causes trouble?"

"Let her," Chloe's voice was filled with disdain. "What can she do? Liam is already convinced I'm the real talent. He's practically eating out of my hand. He even said he'd talk to the Dean at Northwood for me."

My blood ran cold.

"Good," Mrs. West said, a note of satisfaction in her tone. "Everything is going according to plan. Just like it did eighteen years ago."

I pressed my ear closer to the door, my heart pounding against my ribs.

"Mom, are you sure no one will ever find out?" Chloe asked, a flicker of anxiety in her voice. "About...the swap."

My breath caught in my throat.

"Don't be ridiculous," her mother snapped. "The Hartwells were a mess after their daughter was born. Rich, but foolish. It was easy. The nurse was paid well and she disappeared soon after. They got a quiet, healthy baby, and I made sure my daughter got the life she deserved. The life of a true heiress. Who would ever suspect their precious, adopted daughter Ava was actually their biological child?"

The world tilted on its axis.

The words echoed in my head. Swap. Hartwells. Biological child.

The Hartwells were one of the wealthiest founding families in the city, old money and influence that dwarfed even Liam's family. I knew they had a daughter who they had adopted after their biological child was supposedly stillborn. That daughter was... me.

No. I was a West. They had adopted me. That was the story.

But it was a lie. A monstrous, life-altering lie.

Chloe wasn't my adoptive sister. She was the daughter of the woman I called "mother," swapped at birth to steal my identity, my family, my fortune. And I was the real Hartwell heiress, raised as a second-class citizen in a house of strangers.

A wave of nausea and pure, unadulterated rage washed over me. It wasn't just my art they planned to steal. They had stolen my entire life from the moment I was born.

I backed away from the door, my hands shaking. I couldn't breathe. I stumbled out of the house, leaving the art supplies behind, and ran. I didn't stop until I was back in the sterile safety of my own apartment.

My shock quickly hardened into something cold and sharp.

I picked up my phone. My hands were steady now.

First, I searched for "Hartwell Family." The articles were endless. They were patrons of the arts, major donors to Northwood Academy. They were notoriously private, especially after the "tragedy" of their firstborn.

Next, I called a number I found for a reputable private investigator.

"I need to find a nurse who worked at Oceanville General Hospital eighteen years ago," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "And I need a non-invasive way to get a DNA sample from a man named Richard Hartwell."

The investigator was professional, asking no questions, only quoting a price. I agreed without hesitation, promising to wire the deposit. The small inheritance my biological grandmother-the one person in the West family who had ever been kind to me-left me would cover it.

Just as I hung up, my phone rang again. It was Liam. I ignored it.

A few minutes later, a text came through.

Ava, I'm outside your apartment. We need to talk.

I looked out the window. His silver sports car was parked at the curb. He was leaning against it, looking impatient.

I didn't move. I didn't reply.

Another text.

I saw you at the Wests' house earlier. Chloe told me you were snooping around. Are you that jealous? Are you trying to dig up dirt on her? It's pathetic.

I stared at the message, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face.

Pathetic? He had no idea what was coming. He thought this was about jealousy over a painting. He couldn't possibly comprehend the scale of the deception he was caught in.

I was no longer just fighting for my art. I was fighting for my life, my identity.

And I would burn their world to the ground to get it back.