Arman stood before his full-length mirror, one hand tugging at the cuff of his crisp white shirt while the other lingered indecisively over a row of suits laid out on the bed. Navy. Charcoal. Black. None of them seemed right. He changed twice, then a third time, adjusting the lapels with precision that bordered on obsession.
Evelyn, his secretary, watched from the doorway, her tablet hugged against her chest. She had never seen him like this—not for a business dinner, and certainly not for Aliana. Usually, he would throw on the first suit that came to hand and look perfect anyway. But today, he was carefully considering shades, fabrics, even ties.
"Sir," she said cautiously, "should I confirm your nine o'clock meeting?"
Arman nodded absently, studying the reflection of his tie. "Yes. After dinner."
"Dinner?" Evelyn asked. "With Miss Aliana?"
He hummed a quiet "yes," but it didn't sound convincing. He reached for a navy tie, changed his mind, and went with a silk grey one instead. "I've made reservations at Le Cendre," he said. "And move the investor call to after that. I'll take it from there."
Evelyn froze for a moment. Le Cendre. He had gone there three times in the last month, each time claiming it was for a meeting, but she had noticed the change in him afterward—quieter, distracted, eyes distant. The realization struck her now, and her heart sank a little. He wasn't dressing up for Aliana.
He was dressing up for her.
The girl in the photo. The waitress from Le Cendre.
Evelyn's lips pressed together. "Understood, sir," she said softly before turning to leave, a flicker of pity in her eyes.
Meanwhile, Aliana sat cross-legged on her bed, the pink diary trembling in her hands. Her eyes were swollen, her lips colorless. She stared at the new entry, her pulse echoing in her ears.
Dear Diary,15th May 2024
I was supposed to go to dinner with Arman. He asked himself this time. I thought maybe I was being acknowledged… maybe I mattered again. But I was just delusional.
He was only doing it to please my parents. And coincidentally—or maybe not—I saw the girl from the picture again. Her name is Beatrice. She's a waitress at Le Cendre. The way he looked at her…
Aliana stopped reading. Her chest felt tight, as though invisible strings were wrapping around her ribs and pulling tighter each second. She tapped her pen against the page in small, trembling movements, trying to focus, trying not to think.
Her phone buzzed. The driver.
"Miss, the investigator found something about the girl. Sending the file now."
She opened it instantly, the screen lighting up her pale face. At the top of the file, in bold letters, it read:
Beatrice Evergreen.
Her stomach dropped. The photo confirmed it—the same girl.
As she scrolled, her hands began to shake. Orphan. Twenty-two. Straight-A student. Scholarship holder. Exceptional business aptitude. Independent. Ambitious. Humble background.
The perfect opposite of her.
The perfect match for him.
Aliana closed her eyes tightly, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth to keep from crying out. She didn't feel angry—just empty. Like her chest was hollowed out and filled with ice.
The phone slipped from her fingers, landing softly beside her on the bed. She leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling as if the answers might appear there.
For the first time, she didn't know if she wanted to read the next diary entry… or burn it before it could come true.
-
Aliana sat in the dim corner of the restaurant, her heart twisting tighter with every passing minute. The low hum of conversation, the soft clinking of silverware, and the faint aroma of red wine only made the wait feel heavier. Arman still hadn't arrived, but for once, she didn't care. Her eyes were scanning the place—every face, every server—searching for her.
Beatrice.
The name itself felt sharp, almost metallic in her chest.
A quiet clearing of a throat pulled her attention back to the present. A man stood near her table—tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, every inch of him polished and confident. His eyes held that easy charm of someone used to being noticed.
"Do I know you?" Aliana asked softly, her tone guarded but polite.
He smiled, not offended. "No, but when I saw a beautiful woman sitting alone with such a sad face, I couldn't resist offering her some company."
She gave a faint smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm waiting for someone."
"Then whoever is making a woman like you wait clearly doesn't deserve you," he said, sliding into the seat across from her without waiting for permission. "Jordan Alabaster," he added, extending a hand. "That should be enough of an introduction."
She stared at his hand for a moment before shaking it lightly. "Aliana."
"Just Aliana?" he teased, the corner of his mouth curling up.
"That's all you need to know," she said. Her tone was polite, yet distant.
He chuckled. "You really don't know who I am?"
"Should I?"
"I own this place—or rather, my family does. The Alabaster Dining Group."
She blinked, unimpressed. "Oh… nice to hear." Her gaze drifted again, and that's when she saw her.
Beatrice.
The girl was walking toward their table, her tray balanced perfectly, her posture straight, a soft smile on her lips. Her apron was spotless, her hair tied neatly back. She looked composed. Ordinary. And yet somehow, Aliana's heart started to pound so fast she could hear it in her ears.
"Are you two ready to order?" Beatrice asked, her tone light and professional.
Aliana froze, every word stuck in her throat.
Jordan, without missing a beat, smiled up at her. "Yes, we are."
Beatrice laughed softly, shaking her head. "Everyone was wondering where the director ran off to in the middle of the meeting."
He grinned. "Can't let a beauty dine alone can i?"
"Exactly." Beatrice added.
As they spoke, Aliana sat still, watching the girl. Studying her. Trying to see what it was that made her so special. The world around her seemed to fade, everything blurred except for that girl's face. Beatrice's smile. Her voice. The ease with which she moved.
And suddenly, Aliana understood why Arman had looked at her that way.
It wasn't that Beatrice was more beautiful. It was that she was simple. Kind. The kind of woman who didn't try to win anything, and somehow that made her everything Aliana could never be.
She couldn't bear it anymore and shot up from her seat. "I'm sorry, I have to leave," she said sharply, her voice trembling as she snatched her bag. Jordan blinked, startled, standing up just as she brushed past him.
"Aliana, wait—"
But she was already gone, her heels clattering against the marble floor as she rushed through the restaurant doors. The cold night wind hit her face like a slap, but she didn't stop. Her chest burned, her throat tight, and her eyes stung, though she couldn't tell if it was from the wind or what she had just seen.
She started walking fast, almost running down the pavement. Her breath came out in shivers. She pulled out the diary from her bag, her fingers numb as she flipped through it. The pages fluttered wildly, catching the wind. "There has to be something," she muttered under her breath, eyes darting through the words like she was chasing a ghost.
Then she bumped into someone.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder, spilling its contents onto the ground. "I'm so sorry!" the woman said quickly, crouching to help. Aliana didn't answer. Her hands were trembling as she gathered her things, gripping the diary tightly so it wouldn't fall apart. Its cover had bent, and the pages hung loose, threatening to tear.
She grabbed a handful of papers, her movements jerky, annoyed, panicked—and then froze. Her eyes landed on a random page she hadn't seen before. The paper was faintly wrinkled, but the ink looked fresh. Her breath hitched as she read the date written neatly in the corner.
25th June 2024
Her brows furrowed. That was months away. Why was it here in shaky handwriting was written.
Today I realized everything I believed was a lie. I'm not the daughter the Jordan family lost all those years ago. It was Beatrice. It was her all along.Arman knew… and today, he finally revealed it—by bringing her back to the mansion, back to the parents I thought were mine.I don't even know how to describe what I feel. It's like I've become a stranger inside my own skin. Every breath hurts. Every thought feels heavy.What am I supposed to do now? I've lost everything.Please… tell me this is just a nightmare, and that I'll wake up soon.
Aliana's entire body went cold. Her fingers stiffened around the diary, her mouth falling open, her breath coming in sharp bursts.
"What… what does this mean?" she whispered to herself, eyes wide. "The missing daughter?" Her heart started pounding so loudly she could barely hear herself. "That can't be… I'm their daughter."
The city noise buzzed faintly around her, distant and blurred. Her mind felt heavy, like the air had thickened around her.
"Aliana!"
She turned her head sharply. Jordan was jogging toward her, coat unbuttoned, his hair wind-tossed from running. His expression changed when he saw her pale, shaken face. "Hey, are you okay? What happened?"
Her lips parted, her voice barely above a breath. "Beatrice…" she said, her eyes unfocused, like she wasn't even speaking to him. "She's the missing daughter."
Jordan froze. "What?"
Aliana blinked, her vision blurring again. "She's the real one," she whispered. "I'm not."
The wind howled between them, and for the first time, Jordan didn't know what to say. She looked like a woman who had just watched her whole life crumble in her hands.
He placed a careful hand around her shoulder, his touch light but steady. Aliana didn't resist. It was as if her strength had been drained, leaving her needing something—someone—to hold on to. They walked in silence, her steps dragging just a little behind his until they stopped beside a dark sedan parked near the curb. Jordan opened the passenger door for her.
"Sit here," he said softly. "I'll get you something to drink. You look pale."
Aliana only looked at him, her expression dazed, but she nodded. Jordan gave her a faint, reassuring smile before shutting the door and walking off toward a nearby shop.
Inside the car, the world felt distant. Muffled. Her fingers trembled as she opened the diary again. The scent of old paper and ink filled the small space. Aliana's hands trembled harder. The edges of the pages cut lightly into her fingers, but she didn't care. Her lips parted as she whispered to herself, "In just a month? Is this… really going to happen?"
She stared at the words as if they might change if she looked long enough. But they didn't. They stayed there, written in desperate ink, as if mocking her.
Even if it wasn't going to happen could she stop it? Could she change what she was reading? Or was she doomed to live it again, to see it unfold before her eyes just like all the previous entries that had somehow come true?
Her chest tightened, and a sob caught in her throat. "I can't believe I'll lose everything," she whispered shakily. Then louder, her voice cracking, "How did all this happen?"