the switched babies

The morning sun slipped lazily through the curtains as Isabella zipped the last of her clothes into the battered suitcase. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale, her eyes swollen from the tears shed through the night, but her chin lifted with quiet determination. Today, she would leave this house. Today, she would finally breathe.

The door creaked open. Isolde stepped in, her face painted with innocence, her voice sugar-sweet.

“Sissy, please don’t leave. I’m sorry for what happened yesterday. Look—I even brought you tea.”

She rushed forward, placing a steaming cup on the drawer before clutching Isabella’s hands as though she truly cared.

Isabella pulled her hands away with a small, bitter laugh.

“Oh, wow. The little princess doesn’t want me to leave? What is it, Isolde—scared of working for once in your life?”

Isolde’s face shifted instantly, the fake sweetness crumbling into raw hatred. She stepped back, her voice sharp and venomous.

“You really think you’re smart, huh? Let’s see how you’re going to get out of this.”

Before Isabella could reply, Isolde snatched up the cup and deliberately poured the scalding tea over her own arm. The smell of burning skin and the hiss of liquid meeting flesh filled the room. She gasped dramatically, but remained standing, holding her arm out as though displaying the wound.

Her cry brought Clarissa, Richard, and Damien rushing into the room.

With practiced innocence, Isolde turned to them, her voice quivering with fake pain.

“She—she did this to me! I came to apologize, I swear! But she… she threw the tea at me!”

That was the last straw. Isabella’s palm lashed across her cheek with a sharp crack, sending Isolde stumbling to the floor for the first time.

“Enough!” Isabella hissed.

Clarissa rushed to cradle her “poor, wounded daughter” while glaring daggers at Isabella. Damien surged forward, rage flashing in his eyes, his hand raised to strike Isabella.

But Isabella was ready. She swung her packed suitcase, slamming it into his chest, forcing him back. She pushed past them and yanked the door open.

“You want me gone? Fine.” She dragged her suitcase through the sitting room, her eyes blazing. “You’ll get your wish.”

Damien’s voice thundered behind her.

“If you step one foot out of this house—don’t ever come back again!”

Her father’s cold voice followed.

“She’s no longer our daughter.”

Isabella froze for a heartbeat, then laughed—a hollow, broken laugh. She turned, her eyes glistening, her voice steady.

“Good. Then I’ll cut ties myself. I don’t need this family.”

With that, she stepped outside, slammed the door shut, and walked into the sunlight. A taxi slowed at her signal. She slipped inside and gave the driver the address.

“Rosewood Orphanage, 15 Crescent Avenue.”

The car pulled away, leaving behind the only family she had ever known—one she never truly belonged to.

Meanwhile…

At the Romano estate, Alessandro descended the grand staircase, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. His sharp eyes landed on the guard kneeling in the living room, a folder clutched in his hands.

“Boss,” the guard—Ethan—said quickly, head bowed. “Forgive the delay. I couldn’t gather everything last night. But I have what you asked for.”

Alessandro sank into the leather couch, exhaling smoke into the air. His voice was smooth, dangerous.

“Spill it.”

Ethan’s hands shook slightly as he handed over the documents. His voice dropped low.

“Boss… Isabella Sinclair isn’t who she thinks she is. Her true father was Adrian Sinclair — head of the Sinclair Mafia and one of the richest men in Italy. Her mother, Celeste, didn’t want that life. She begged Adrian to keep their children far from the Mafia. When she left him, she married Richard. She told him never to reveal their true blood, never to drag the children into the Mafia world. So Isabella grew up thinking Richard was her father, when in truth… Adrian was.”

Alessandro leaned forward, a brow raised, the cigarette burning between his fingers.

“Go on.”

Ethan swallowed.

“There’s more. Isabella had a twin. But the girl she grew up with in the orphanage… isn’t her real sister. She’s Matteo Sinclair’s daughter.”

Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

Ethan nodded quickly, flipping to the next file.

“The day Isabella and Isadora were born, Matteo bribed the doctors. He ordered them to swap one of Adrian’s babies with his own wife’s child. At the time Adrian was very sick, close to death. Matteo knew if the true heirs remained with him, Adrian’s fortune would fall into his hands because people will assume he was a guardian. By swapping the babies, he gave his own daughter to Celeste and took Adrian’s real daughter — Isadora. Even Celeste never knew the truth before she died. Isabella had no idea. The girl she called her twin all her life was actually her cousin.”

A slow, dark smile curved Alessandro’s lips. “What a wonderful story.”

Ethan lowered his voice.

“There’s more, boss. When Celeste died after childbirth, Richard married his mistress, Clarissa — the woman he had a son with long before he even met Celeste but he kept his relationship from Celeste. Clarissa had also just given birth to a daughter, Isolde. On the same day Isadora and Isabella were born, when the babies were brought before him after Celeste died, Richard claimed he couldn’t raise four mouths. So he took the two girls — Isabella and Lilian — to the Rosewood orphanage. Lilian, Matteo’s daughter, was kind and gentle. She loved Isabella as her own sister, and the two bonded. But Isabella never knew the truth about her bloodline.”

Alessandro tapped ash into the tray, his face unreadable.

“And what happened to them?”

Ethan continued.

“On their thirteenth birthday, Richard returned. He said it was time to bring them home. Isabella was happy to finally meet her father, her siblings. Lilian… refused to go. She sensed what kind of man Richard was. Isabella went with him, and from that day forward… her life became hell. Beaten, insulted, treated as less than nothing by the man she thought was her father and by Clarissa’s children. She doesn’t even know he’s not her real father.”

He paused.

“As for Isadora, the swapped twin, she lives in the Sinclair estate. But her life is no better. Matteo and his family treat her harshly. To them she’s a tool — nothing more.”

Alessandro sat in silence for a moment, his sharp eyes glinting. Then a slow, dangerous smile curved across his lips.

“So… the forgotten girl, cast aside, is the true blood of Adrian Sinclair. The rightful heir. And she doesn’t even know it.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling smoke in a thin stream. His gaze flicked lazily toward Ethan, who was still kneeling.

“That will be all,” Alessandro said smoothly. “Rise, and leave.”

Ethan scrambled to his feet, bowing his head quickly before retreating from the room.

Left alone, Alessandro let out a low chuckle, his smile widening.

“Oh, Isabella… you’re far more interesting than I thought.”