Chapter 1

The day my son brought his girlfriend home, I sat straight in the living room and asked only one question.

The girl straightened her back and reeled off her family pedigree: grandparents were professors at Blackwood University, her uncle was a deputy chief justice, her mother was a distinguished scholar, and she had been fast-tracked into Blackwood herself.

I set my teacup down.

“I do not approve of this marriage.”

Her expression shifted instantly. “Ma’am, is there something about me you find lacking?”

I looked at her face―it was the exact mirror image of the woman who had sent me to prison thirty years ago.

I let out a small laugh.

“The problem isn't with you. It’s with your mother. Her spot at Blackwood was stolen from someone else's entrance exam results.”

“The person she stole it from was named Jiang. Jiang Lan.”

“That would be me.”

1

The moment the words left my lips, the living room fell into a deathly silence.

The smile on Natalie’s face was wiped away as if someone had physically ripped it off her mouth.

Her lips trembled. She glanced at Julian, then back at me.

“Ma’am… what are you talking about?”

I said, “Your mother, Seraphina, stole my entrance exam scores thirty-six years ago to get into Blackwood. Your uncle, Silas, personally forged evidence of me cheating. Your grandparents reported me publicly during my coming-of-age ceremony.”

I held her gaze.

“Your family’s prestigious reputation was built on the broken bones of mine.”

Natalie’s face flushed red, then drained to a ghostly white.

She stood up abruptly, pointing a shaking finger at me.

“You’re lying! My mother is a professor at Blackwood, she’s been teaching for twenty-five years! My father is a leading academic, and my uncle has spent thirty years in the court system―how dare you smear them like that?”

“Smear?”

I picked up my cup and took a slow sip.

“Go ask your mother. Ask her if that acceptance letter from Blackwood has her name on it, or mine.”

Natalie grabbed her bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Julian stood nearby, silent the entire time.

I had raised him to be a man of character. He knew I wouldn’t make such claims without proof.

“Mom,” he said, sitting down to look at me. “That person―Sienna―was that really you?”

I nodded.

“Then why are you named Lana?”

I reached up, my fingertips tracing the scar hidden under layers of foundation for the past thirty years.

“In my seventh year of prison, a fire broke out. Forty percent of my body was burned, and my face was ruined.”

“The prison records stated: Sienna died in the fire. Once someone is officially dead, no one ever looks for them. I survived and underwent seven reconstructive surgeries.”

“The woman standing here now is Lana.”