Chapter 1

My name is Chloe Sinclair.

The year I turned twenty, I died.

They held a funeral for me, erected a gravestone, and completely erased me from this world. Meanwhile, dressed in mourning attire, I stood before my own grave, listening as my father, Arthur Sinclair, and my mother, Evelyn Sinclair, said they had "nothing to say."

Later, I lived again.

Rising from the ashes of another corpse, shining in the ripples of the Seine, and in the fleeting instant a paintbrush pressed against the thin calluses on my palm once more.

It took me over twenty years to realize one simple truth: in this world, some are born to be the light, while others are born to be the shadow.

Yet, light can grow from shadows too.

If you have ever had your name erased, your life stolen, and yourself reduced to someone else's stand-in, please remember—

Living on is the best revenge.

Chloe's POV

Fire was everywhere.

Thick smoke billowed out from behind the easel, the scorching heat searing my skin with intense pain. Covering my nose and mouth, I dashed toward the door, only to find it blocked by a collapsed, burning shelf.

I reached for my phone to call for help, but flames consumed the room, blinding me to everything.

"Serena!"

I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Serena, are you there?"

The only response was the sharp crackle of burning wood.

Smoke flooded my lungs. I doubled over, coughing violently, dark spots dancing across my vision.

Right before my consciousness sank into the void, a sharp, violent pain struck the back of my head.

"Serena! Serena!"

I bolted upright in bed, cold sweat soaking my hospital gown.

A stark white ceiling. The sharp stench of disinfectant.

A hospital.

Before I could make sense of what was happening, a bundle of black clothes was tossed onto my bed.

"Now that you're awake, put them on."

My entire body froze.

The voice was ice-cold, but I recognized it instantly. It was Julian Vance.

"Julian?"

Julian stood beside the hospital bed, dressed in a sharp suit, his profile aloof, his face devoid of emotion.

My heartbeat fluttered into chaos.

Julian was my sister Serena's fiancé, and the man I had kept hidden in the depths of my heart since childhood.

I had buried these feelings for over a decade, never daring to breathe a word to anyone.

The Vance and Sinclair families had been close for generations, making this union a natural match. The entire city was waiting for their wedding.

Meanwhile, my reputation was notoriously tarnished—a slacker, a rebel who smoked, drank, and frequented clubs. Julian undoubtedly saw me the same way. Throughout their years of engagement, he had never stayed alone in a room with me, nor had he ever spoken more than a few complete sentences to me.

Now, with just the two of us in the room, I didn't even know where to place my hands.

"You have five minutes to change."

Julian spoke.

"Change?"

I pushed myself up, a dull ache throbbing at the back of my head.

"Julian, why am I in a hospital? Where's Serena?"

Julian didn't answer. His gaze grew colder as he looked down at me.

"Four minutes left."

I had no choice but to pick up the clothes on the bed.

The moment I shook them open, the blood in my veins ran cold.

All black, solemn in design. It was mourning attire.

"Whose funeral is this for?"

Julian finally looked me in the eye.

"Chloe Sinclair's."

I froze on the spot.

My funeral?

I was alive and well, sitting right here on this hospital bed.

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, my phone vibrated. A news alert popped up on the screen.

[Breaking News: A fire broke out last night at the private studio of renowned artist Serena Sinclair. Both Sinclair daughters were trapped inside. After extensive rescue efforts, the elder daughter, Serena, survived, while the younger daughter, Chloe Sinclair, tragically lost her life. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair are devastated by grief and will hold a funeral for their beloved daughter today.]

I stared at the screen, my hands trembling so violently I could barely hold the phone.

"Julian, I'm alive. What... what is going on?"

"Chloe Sinclair is dead. She died in the fire."

Julian looked down at me, like a judge delivering a sentence.

"From this day forward, only Serena Sinclair exists in this world."

A sharp buzz rang in my head, and suddenly, the meaning of his words clicked.

"Serena... What about Serena?"

Julian didn't answer. He averted his gaze.

His silence was a confirmation.

Tears welled up without warning. Words failed me completely.

The one who died was Serena.

Yesterday afternoon, Serena had come to the studio to talk to me. The conversation went poorly, ending on a bitter note.

After Serena left, my mood was terrible, so I took a pill.

As the medication kicked in, I fell asleep.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying here.

So it wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

The studio really caught fire, and my sister, Serena... had burned to death?

It felt as if a massive boulder had slammed into my chest, the agony choking my sobs.

"Arthur Sinclair and Evelyn Sinclair also believe that you were the one who died," Julian said, as though blind to my tears.

"I don't intend to tell them the truth."

I pressed my lips together tightly.

I understood his logic.

Serena and I were twins, yet our destinies were worlds apart.

From the moment Serena was born, she smiled at everyone, melting our parents' hearts.

I, on the other hand, wailed non-stop from the moment I hit the ground, throwing the entire household into chaos.

Growing up, Serena was sweet-tongued, beautiful, and praised by all. Whenever relatives visited during the holidays, they always gathered around Serena, showering her with flattery.

As for me, even when serving tea and water, no one spared me a second glance.

The favoritism of Arthur Sinclair and Evelyn Sinclair was entirely natural.

Over the years, I had always been disposable in the Sinclair family.

Serena, however, was their pride and joy, their very lifeblood.

Letting them believe that it was Chloe Sinclair who died would allow them to heal after a brief period of grief.

If they knew it was Serena who had perished, they would never be able to bear the devastation.

Julian's arrangement was indeed the best choice for Arthur Sinclair and Evelyn Sinclair.

And so, without even consulting me, he made the decision for everyone.

"The funeral begins at ten," Julian said, turning toward the door.

"The moment you step out of this room, you are Serena Sinclair."

Clutching the mourning attire, I watched his retreating back.

Tall, aloof, only a few steps away, yet separated from me by an impassable chasm.

This was a man I never dared to covet, not even in my wildest dreams.

Years ago, when Julian visited our home as a guest, I caught a glimpse of him from afar and completely lost my heart.

Yet I knew better than anyone that only Serena, shining brilliantly under the spotlight, was worthy of him.

Someone like me wasn't worthy. Even looking at him felt like a desecration.