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The name haunted me all morning.
Liliana Rosel.
I mouthed it silently while walking to school, each syllable heavy on my tongue like I was reciting a spell. Not even a pretty one—something dangerous. Something that could summon ghosts.
The girls at school were busy talking about a new teacher who apparently looked like a K-drama actor. Rini was already fantasizing about being "Mrs. Sir." I used to laugh at this kind of thing, but today, all their voices sounded far away. Like I was underwater, and they were on the shore.
"Aryana, you okay?" Priya asked, sliding into the desk beside mine. "You look like someone just broke up with you. Wait—don't tell me you have a secret boyfriend?"
I blinked. For a moment, I wanted to scream—No, Priya. I found out I was adopted and my real parents are strangers.
Instead, I smiled. "Just didn't sleep much."
That was true.
The night before, I'd stared at the ceiling for hours. I kept replaying the moment I opened that drawer, the soft thud of paper hitting my fingers, and the chill that shot up my spine when I read my name next to someone else's.
No one knew—not even my best friends. I was scared that if I said it aloud, it would become real. Like words were some kind of curse that turned thoughts into truth.
That lunch break, I went to the library—not for books, but for the only place with a working computer and slow, dragging Wi-Fi.
I typed her name into the search bar.
Liliana Rosel.
The first image that popped up almost made me stop breathing.
She was beautiful—like the kind of beautiful that didn't belong to this world. High cheekbones, sharp eyes, long waves of chestnut hair. She looked like she could ruin someone's life just by raising an eyebrow. There were photos of her on red carpets, in movie premieres, beside fancy cars and men in tuxedos.
And one particular article that punched the air from my lungs:
> "Liliana Rosel spotted leaving Aeron Rosel's private jet. Rumors swirl about another hidden child?"
I blinked. My fingers trembled.
Aeron Rosel.
I had never heard that name before. But now, seeing it beside hers, something made sense. Or rather, nothing made sense anymore.
I clicked on his name.
That was when my entire worldview exploded.
CEO of Rosel International. Billionaire. Unmarried. Known for having over a dozen children with different women. Known for never settling down. And apparently, none of those children ever called him "dad" in public. But he loved them all in his own twisted way. Bought them penthouses. Gave them private islands for birthdays. Once gifted a luxury yacht to a son who didn't even know how to swim.
I sat frozen in the library chair, staring at this strange family. They looked like gods in a world I couldn't touch—smiling in tailored suits, posing like royalty. Their lives looked fake. Or maybe mine had always been the fake one.
I couldn't help but wonder…
Where was I in this photo album of their lives?
The bell rang, snapping me out of the spiral.
As I walked back to class, I kept replaying one quote from the article. A line Aeron Rosel had apparently said at a press conference when asked why he had so many children but never married:
> "You don't have to marry if you have money. Just have boytoys, Princess."
I laughed. Out loud.
And my classmates looked at me like I had lost it. Maybe I had.
That night, at home, I couldn't look my adoptive parents in the eye. I watched my little sister play with her toy kitchen, not realizing she had more claim to this family than I ever did.
And when I lay down to sleep, all I could think about was this:
If that man was my father…
Then who the hell was I?
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To be continued...
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