My mom frowned angrily and said, "Haven't you played this piece many times? Why can't you still get it? Lydia can play it."

The girl, Lydia Lewis, standing by the piano, was sweet and clever. She had big, bright eyes. She was the daughter of a doctor.

Lydia never got shy when praised and smiled, saying, "It's because you teach well."

Lydia was neither humble nor arrogant. She was about my age but much better at everything.

She actually seemed more like the Jones family's pampered eldest daughter than I did.

In the sixteen years I lived with the Jones family, I always looked up to Dylan.

With Dylan, the genius, ahead of me, I was expected to be just as exceptional when I was born five years after him.

The elders all hoped I would be a prodigy like Dylan.

But I was timid and shy. At my tenth birthday party, I stuttered just trying to speak.

They said we came from the same family but were different. I was not that clever.

Whenever that happened, Dylan would just look at me quietly. His eyes were devoid of emotion.

As I grew older, my parents started showing me disappointed looks more and more often.

On my sixteenth birthday, someone said Lydia looked very much like my mother.

It was weird. Lydia was only half a day younger than me. I was born in the morning, and she was in the afternoon.

This timing became a point of suspicion.

Mother's hand slowly traced Lydia's face, outlining her features.

Her movements were cautious as if handling a rare treasure.

I stood on the outer edge of the crowd watching them.

The princess dress I wore suddenly felt like vines wrapping around me, tightening and suffocating me.

The guests whispered among themselves, turning to look me up and down.

Their gazes were mixed with either pity or ridicule, all weighing down on me.

Lydia buried her head in my mother's arms. She rarely showed such vulnerability, let alone cried in front of so many people.

Just then, Lydia's father, Ian Lewis, the Jones family doctor, suddenly knelt.

He revealed a truth that had been hidden for sixteen years.

It turned out I wasn't the biological daughter of the Jones family. Lydia was.

She was the true eldest daughter of the Jones family. I was just a fake who had stolen sixteen years of her life.

After the DNA results came out, the Jones family took Lydia on a trip to Malachi.

I looked at the band-aid on my hand and stayed silent for a whole day.

Until dusk, when the bright clouds and colors intertwined like a painter's palette.

I left the Jones residence quietly and unnoticed.

3

As night fell, the city's edges blurred. The stars and countless lights lit up.

After cooking dinner, I took out my phone to watch a variety show and found 68 missed calls. It was all from Dawson.

They were from Dylan, and there was a text message.

He said he would come to my place at 10 a.m. tomorrow to talk.

I knew why Dylan was coming. He wanted to tell me the so-called truth, get my forgiveness, and ideally have me donate a kidney.

That would be the perfect ending for everyone.

But I wasn't Isla. I was Vivian.

Neither Isla nor Vivian owed them anything.

At 10 a.m. the next morning, Dylan knocked on my door right on time.

I looked at him through the security door.

In the hallway, light spots from the window fell on Dylan's shoulder. He stayed silent for a long time before speaking.

"Isla, can we talk?"

I nodded but didn't open the door. "Let's talk like this."

Dylan took a deep breath. He lowered his gaze, and his voice was hoarse.

"Back then, Ian had cancer. He spread rumors that Lydia looked like Mom to give her a better life. Then he somehow got your blood. He swapped it, and let Lydia take your place.

"Isla, you are their biological daughter and my sister."

Dylan finished speaking and looked up at me. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

I met his gaze and said calmly, "I knew long ago that the blood Lydia took for testing was mine because she deliberately scratched my finger. I didn't say anything."

Seeing his surprised expression, I continued.

"That night, if any of you had looked at me a few more times, I would have exposed their lies. But no one did. In your eyes, I was already unworthy of the Jones name.

"So I go by Vivian Walker. Mr. Jones, please remember that."

3

Everyone fell silent.

Freya suddenly rubbed her head against my pant leg, occasionally looking up at me.

She seemed to say, "I want to go out and play."

But Dylan was standing at the door. How could I take her out? I bent down to pick up Freya and comforted her while waiting for Dylan's response.

Time passed slowly in this tense situation.

Dylan laughed softly and said, "So you knew all along..."

His voice had a tone of helplessness, probably not expecting that I had allowed all this.

"So, there's nothing to talk about. I don't hate you all, and that's it."

After saying that, I prepared to close the door and ignore him.

Dylan panicked. "I didn't come with any other intentions. Mom and Dad just want to see you. It's not what you think."

I looked at him amusingly. "What do you think I'm thinking?"

Dylan was stunned. After realizing, he hurriedly tried to explain, but I didn't want to listen anymore. Or maybe it was just too late.

I stopped smiling. I turned around impatiently and kicked the door shut with a bang. It returned to silence, and Freya jumped out of my arms.

She was already ten years old. Her steps were a bit slow, no longer as energetic as she used to be.

I squatted down and called her name, but she ignored me and lay on the balcony to nap.

I thought that would be the end of it. The Jones family were respectable people and knew when to back off.

However, I was sunbathing on the balcony at 3 PM.

Looking down, I saw Dylan getting out of a car with many people behind him. They were carrying furniture and luggage. It looked like Dylan wasn't giving up and was moving into the building.

Coincidentally, my neighbor across the hall was renting out their apartment these days.

I wondered how difficult it must have been to find a matching kidney for Isaac. They just had to come after me.

Dylan quickly came upstairs. A few minutes later, as expected, there was a knock on the door.

He knew I was home, and I knew he was outside.

So when I didn't open the door, Dylan straightforwardly said, "Vivian, I bought your favorite cherries and strawberries. They're by the door."

The old house had poor sound insulation, so his voice clearly reached my ears. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

I jumped up from the recliner. I didn't even put on my shoes and opened the door.

Dylan looked at me with a surprised expression.

I gave a polite smile. "Mr. Jones, if you had investigated more, you would know I'm allergic to cherries and strawberries. Do you think I'd like them?"

Dylan opened his mouth but said nothing. He hid the fruit behind him, probably out of guilt.

Seeing him like this, I turned around to go home.

Dylan grabbed my wrist from behind and looked at me gently. "Sorry, Ms. Walker. It was our mistake."

He handed me a key and continued, "This is the key to my room. Dad and Mom just want to see you. If you change your mind, you can come find me..."

I shook my head. I brushed his hand away and went home.

4

Strawberries and cherries were Lydia's favorite fruits. I was indifferent and didn't care what I ate.

When I finished piano practice as a child, the nanny would ask me what fruit I wanted. Lydia would smile and say strawberries and cherries.

I didn't argue. I didn't expect Dylan would bring these today. It would've been better if he hadn't.

Freya stretched lazily in my arms and then turned over to continue sleeping.

An idea suddenly came to mind.

I wondered if Lydia regretted taking my place now.

But I didn't regret it. After leaving, my life became bright and easy. I finished high school and college step by step and opened a flower shop in Tanelle after graduation.

I worked from sunrise to sunset.

I was very satisfied with my life, but life always liked to play tricks on me.

Half a month ago, news of Isaac's severe illness spread online. What I feared most had happened.

The Jones family discovered Lydia's true identity, reversing the switched-at-birth story again.

Seeing Dylan's attitude today, I realized the Jones family wouldn't give up easily. They were powerful, and I was alone.

If they were more forceful and took me away, I couldn't do anything. But fortunately, the organ donation consent form needed my signature. This was probably my last bargaining chip.

After feeding Freya cat food, I went to bed on time.

But with worries on my mind, I tossed and turned all night.

At nine the next morning, I packed Freya in a cat bag and prepared to go to the shop.

I had taken a day off yesterday because of Dylan, so I had to go today.

When I went out, I noticed the door across the hall had been open, with a bento box on a simple table.

A glance into the living room showed it was simple and clear, very much Dylan's style.

Seeing me come out, he took a long stride and walked up to me.

"I found out this is your favorite breakfast."

This time, he did put some thought into it.

I smiled at him. "Mr. Jones, haven't you heard a saying?"

Dylan's eyes flickered.

I said slowly, "Late affection is cheaper than grass, and so is family love."

I brushed his hand away again and went downstairs with Freya.

5

Even so, Dylan didn't give up.

There were always tables and chairs outside my flower shop for customers or passersby to rest. But today, Dylan sat there working.

He bought many bouquets from the shop, so I had no reason to drive him away.

I could only sulkily hold Freya, watch TV, and arrange flowers.

The flower shop usually had four part-time workers. There were three girls and one boy, all students from Forensic University.