It had been a week since I woke up. Since I became "Adelina Gavrila", Nathan's beloved little sister who was said to be almost perfect. But the longer I lived in this body, the more I realized... something was wrong.
Vague memories began to appear in my head. Flashes of images, voices, emotions. But not mine. Not the cashier girl from my old life.
And most clearly—none of it felt peaceful.
That morning, I entered Adelina's private study on the third floor. Everyone called it an art room, because it contained only canvases, brushes, and half-finished paintings.
There was one painting covered in a white cloth.
I don't know why, but I felt compelled to open it.
As soon as the cloth was lifted, I froze.
It was a portrait of a young girl... but her expression was dark. Eyes full of anger. Mouth snarled, but not a happy smile—more like a challenge.
And in the corner of the painting, written in small red paint:
"I will not be anyone's puppet."
I shuddered.
The Adelina I knew from the story of Nathan and the servants—spoiled, gentle, sweet. But this painting speaks of someone who fights back. Someone who keeps something she doesn't want the world to know.
That afternoon, I opened the drawer of my study table in my room. The contents were neat. But there was a leather diary hidden under a pile of fashion magazines.
When I opened it, the writing was almost like code: random sentences, short pieces of poetry, crossed-out names.
One page made me pause for quite a while.
"I know Nathan loves me. But that's no reason to keep quiet.
If I don't leave now, I'll never be myself."
Gone?
The real Adel… wants to run away from this house?
That night, I sat in the small living room, alone. Nathan hadn't come home yet. And for some reason, I felt like I should ask him later. Not because I wanted to judge—but because I needed to know who Adel really was before I came.
But it turned out, I didn't have to wait long. Nathan came home early that night. And he came straight to see me.
"You look confused," he said, sitting across from me.
"I opened the art room earlier," I said honestly. "And I saw the painting."
He wasn't surprised. But he didn't speak right away.
"I also found notes in the drawer. About… wanting to leave?"
Nathan looked down. For a long time. Then he finally spoke, slowly.
"Adel… did say she wanted to leave this house. From all the pressure, from the media, from me."
I stared at him. "Why did she feel pressured by you?"
He smiled bitterly. "Maybe because I was too close. Too binding."
I didn't answer.
"No one ever knew about that, Del. People saw her on the outside like a porcelain doll: pretty, cheerful, obedient. But she… she had another side. A side that was angry because her life was dictated by others."
"Including you?"
Nathan nodded slowly. "Including me."
He stood up, walking to the window.
"I know I was wrong. But when I started to realize, she had an accident. And... you came back."
I stood up, slowly approaching him.
"If I... weren't her. Would you still care like this?"
Nathan turned his head. His gaze was sharp, but also full of hurt.
"I don't care who you are. You—in this body, in this house—you are still the person I... love."
I felt my chest tighten. Because I knew he was telling the truth. But also because I began to understand: his love for Adel... was no ordinary love. And it wasn't something new. It wasn't because I came.
It was because from the start, this relationship was already unusual.
That night I wrote in a new journal that I made myself:
"Maybe the real Adelina didn't leave physically. But her soul didn't feel at home here. And now, I'm the one living in her body.
But if one day she comes back... is this place still for me?"
Nathan asked me out that day. No bodyguards. No driver. Just the two of us. He said he wanted me to see something.
"I want you to know more about Adel than the version you've heard," he said as we drove in his black coupe. His voice was flat, but I could sense something deep was hiding.
We stopped on the outskirts of town, at an old, vintage building. At first glance it looked like a shuttered art gallery. But Nathan had a key.
He opened the door, and the smell of old paint immediately hit me.
"This is Adel's secret painting studio. She rents it herself. She never tells anyone, not even the media. She says… this is the only place she can be herself."
I walked in quietly. The walls were covered with paintings—all in a different style than the ones I'd seen at home. Wilder. More honest. More… darker.
"Adel is afraid that everyone will only love the version they expect of her," Nathan said, walking behind me. "Including me."
I looked at him. "And you? Which version do you love?"
He didn't answer right away. But he took out a small painting, and handed it to me.
"This is the one she hated the most… but also the one she guarded the most."
The painting depicted a girl in a glass cage. People stared at her from outside, admiring her. But her eyes were… dead.
In the corner of the painting, it was written in small words:
"I don't belong to anyone. Including you."
My heart sank.
"She knew I loved her in a way I shouldn't," Nathan whispered. "And she was afraid. But she also… never really said no."
"Because she was confused?" I asked softly.
"Or because she loved me too. But hated herself for it."
I closed my eyes. These fragments were like small knives that cut into my consciousness. The Adel of old wasn't the fragile girl people thought she was. She was strong. But also exhausted.
"Do you feel guilty?" I asked.
Nathan chuckled, bitterly. "Every day."
I walked along another wall. There was a large canvas, covered in cloth. I turned to him. He nodded. Permission.
As I pulled the cloth, I held my breath.
It was a portrait of Nathan. Sitting on the couch, his expression calm, but his eyes... empty. Behind him, Adel stood in silhouette, with her hand almost touching his shoulder—but never touching.
"I want to be close. But I'm afraid of losing everything if I get too close."
I took a step back. This painting was... too honest.
Nathan stood beside me.
"I sometimes wonder," he said. "If Adel hadn't had the accident... would she still have stayed by my side? Or would she have really left one day, without saying goodbye?"
I didn't know what to say.
On the way home, we didn't talk much. The only sound was the light rain on the windshield.
But before we got home, Nathan spoke.
"Now you know the other side of her. Do you still want to stay?"
I turned my head. "If I leave, you'll pull me back, right?"
He smiled faintly. "Of course."
I stared back at him.
"Maybe that's the problem, Nathan. You want people to stay so much… that you don't realize they need to leave."
He stared at me for a long moment.
"Including you?"
I didn't answer. Because I didn't know yet.
That night, I went back to my room and sat in silence.
In this world, I live in the shadow of someone who is no longer there. But their spirit is still felt everywhere. On canvas. In notes. In people's memories. Especially in Nathan's heart.
And it made me wonder…
Am I truly accepted as me?
Or just the remnants of someone who never got to finish?