The house was supposed to look like a home.
Supposed to.
But to Aria Leighton Valleria, the grand estate perched at the end of the hill looked more like a foreign monument that happened to bear her family's name.
The black car carrying her slowed to a stop before the wrought-iron gate engraved with the family crest: an eagle with a broken wing, the old symbol of their former glory. In the hazy fragments of her childhood memory, that crest once felt warm—like a proud embrace meant to protect.
Now, it felt as though it was watching her, ensuring she had truly come back, ensuring she wasn't bringing the chaos of the world that had swallowed her for ten long years.
The gate opened automatically, as if it knew who was arriving, yet it didn't sound welcoming. The groan of metal resembled the low, reluctant breath of something that did not wish to be awakened.
The car stopped at the immaculate stone driveway. Servants stood in two perfect lines, bowing respectfully, yet none dared look at Aria's face for more than a second. Some of them recognized her—the girl who had vanished years ago had returned carrying something different… something that made the air feel three degrees colder.
The car door opened.
Aria stepped out without a sound.
The sixteen-year-old girl stood tall, her straight black hair falling like a curtain of night that refused to let light through. Her pale blue eyes swept across the expansive courtyard with motions that were unhurried, unafraid, and entirely devoid of expectation. Her porcelain-white skin had not seen the sun in years—an inevitable result of the life she had lived far from anything resembling the normal world.
At the entrance of the house, a man and a woman stood waiting. Elegant. Polished. Expensive. And strangers.
Adrian Valleria, head of the family and the owner of the vast business empire that made the Valleria name echo across the country, stood with impeccable posture. His tall frame was rigid, his expression carved from marble, only the faintest tension near his eyes betraying that he felt… something. Whatever that was.
Beside him, Helena—once a model, her reddish-blonde hair pinned neatly—clasped both hands at her chest. Her face was beautiful by the standards of high-society socialites; her makeup elegant, her smile practiced, but the subtle tremor in her gaze betrayed the fear that struck her when she saw Aria step out.
They waited.
Aria walked toward them slowly, her footsteps light, almost soundless. No shyness. No hesitation. And no hope. As if she were merely returning to a place her body had left, but her soul never had.
When only a few meters remained, Helena inhaled deeply before stepping forward.
"Aria…" her voice nearly cracked, though she quickly regained control. "Welcome home."
The words sounded warm.
Only sounded.
And Aria knew it.
She merely dipped her head in acknowledgment—no smile, no expression.
Adrian stepped forward next. His smile was thin, formal, almost like a greeting exchanged in a business meeting rather than a reunion between a father and the biological daughter he lost a decade ago.
"Aria," he said quietly. "We're glad you're home."
One very elegant lie. Delivered with such polite finesse it could fool anyone.
But not Aria.
The girl regarded them with eyes far too calm for someone her age. The wounds of her childhood no longer showed on the surface, but they were buried so deep that only a quiet, numbing emptiness remained.
"Thank you," Aria replied simply.
Silence draped over them like fog.
The servants tried to hold their breath so as not to disturb this "family reunion," but something felt… off. Like three strangers who merely shared the same surname.
Helena wanted to hug Aria—desperately—but she did not dare. The cold aura emanating from the girl wasn't just her personality. There was something else, something inexplicable, something that made Helena's hands tremble until she folded them again.
Adrian finally made a small gesture.
"Come in. This is your home."
Aria stepped forward.
She did not argue. She did not believe it either.
This house was not her home—not anymore.
And just then—
Light footsteps hurried toward them.
"ARIAAA!" A bright, high, cheerful voice—warm, or pretending to be—filled the grand hall.
A girl with golden-blonde hair ran toward them in a simple white dress designed to look sweet. Her brown eyes sparkled, her smile wide, like someone who truly had missed Aria.
Selena Hartmann.
The adopted daughter.
The little darling of the Valleria family.
Aria's replacement for the past ten years.
She threw her arms out to hug Aria.
Or tried to.
Because just as Selena's hands brushed Aria's shoulders, the girl subtly shifted away, making the embrace fail without touching even a millimeter of skin.
Selena froze for half a heartbeat but quickly masked it with a brighter smile.
"Aria! You're finally back! I missed you so much!" Her voice was so sweet, so innocent, so… constructed.
Aria looked at her, expressionless.
"I see."
Enough. One cold sentence that cracked Selena's smile before she forced it back into place.
Helena looked relieved that Selena was trying to be friendly. Adrian nodded slightly as if the scene proved something.
But Aria saw deeper.
She did not see warmth.
She saw fear.
Discomfort.
Jealousy.
And something darker: the anxiety that Aria's return would destroy the perfect life Selena had built.
That smile was fake.
Layered.
Guarded.
Selena reached for Aria's hand, trying to pull her toward the living room.
"Come! Everything's prepared for your return! Helena even told the chef to make your favorite dishes—even though, um, we don't really know what you like now… hehe…"
Aria did not move.
She did not look at Selena.
She simply said, flatly,
"I can walk on my own."
Selena let go slowly.
Her smile stayed sweet, but her eyes tightened.
"I—I just wanted to help…"
Aria walked past her without another word.
The grand hall was illuminated by a crystal chandelier, but to Aria the light felt cold—like the sterile glow of an operating room or laboratory, the kinds of places she had spent years training her precision and steadiness.
Every step she took shifted the shadows on the marble floor—thin, neat, quiet shadows that carried no life.
Helena walked behind her slowly, her heels clicking sharply against the silence.
"Aria, dear…" Helena's voice was gentle yet unsure. "We truly… are happy you're back."
Aria stopped.
She turned slightly—just enough to acknowledge the attempt.
"All right."
No emotion.
No rage.
No warmth.
Just a brief response that allowed no continuation.
Helena bit her lip, feeling as though she were trying to embrace a mist. Impossible. Incomprehensible. Frightening. Confusing. Guilty.
Aria continued walking.
She passed a long corridor lined with portraits of the Valleria family. One portrait showed the family when she was six—before she "disappeared." The little girl in the painting smiled brightly.
Aria looked at the portrait with an empty gaze.
No connection.
As if she were staring at someone else entirely.
In the living room, everything had been arranged elegantly. Warm drinks prepared. A hint of lavender perfumed the air, meant to create a calming atmosphere.
But the calm was fake.
Like Selena's smile.
Like Helena and Adrian's carefully chosen words.
Selena sat on the sofa with a sweet demeanor, patting the empty space beside her.
"Sit here, Aria."
Aria chose a single armchair in the corner.
Selena's smile wavered.
"H… haha… I guess you like being alone…"
Aria said nothing.
When Aria was silent, the room became silent.
Not because it was quiet, but because everyone was afraid to make a sound.
Adrian attempted to break the tension.
"We've arranged a new school for you. Everything you need will be taken care of. If you require anything, just tell us."
Aria glanced at him briefly.
Then back at the table.
"No need."
Helena spoke carefully.
"Aria… you've… grown so different."
"Yes." Aria acknowledged it without pride, without sorrow. Just truth.
Selena raised her eyebrows delicately, hiding the sharp glint in her eyes.
"Of course she's different, Helena. She's been through… a lot. We have to understand her, right Aria?"
Aria looked at Selena.
Not with anger.
Not with irritation.
But with a gaze that made Selena stiffen—
A gaze devoid of emotion.
A doctor's gaze—one accustomed to watching dying patients without flinching.
A gaze belonging to someone who had faced death too many times until the world became… quiet.
Selena quickly looked away.
Adrian continued, voice professional:
"We'll help you adjust back into the family."
Aria nodded once.
"Of course."
But the "of course" sounded like:
If it eases your mind.
And that was the problem.
Aria had not returned for the family.
Not for warmth.
Not for affection or acceptance.
She returned because Professor Lysander instructed her to.
Because she could no longer remain in the secret clinic where she assisted in illegal operations that saved countless lives.
Because the government had begun tracking the whereabouts of "Phoenix."
Because the outside world was too loud.
Here, she assumed she could stay quietly.
Study.
Work.
Earn money.
Without dealing with human emotions.
She was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Selena still smiled, but her jaw tightened.
Adrian stared at Aria as if trying to decipher an unsolvable equation.
Helena wanted to cry for reasons she could not name.
Aria sat perfectly still, back straight, hands folded neatly on her lap.
Like an expensive porcelain doll no one dared to touch.
At last, Helena whispered:
"Aria… welcome home."
Aria looked at her—
long…
long…
and finally replied softly:
"The house is big."
Not gratitude.
Not acknowledgment.
Just an observation.
Then she bowed her head slightly, ending the conversation.
"Thank you for picking me up."
Words that were very polite.
Very cold.
Very distant.
Behind her, Selena smiled sweetly—too sweet—trying to hide the fear that the girl who returned was not merely a late replacement, but an uncontrollable threat.
And the Valleria family finally realized:
They had regained Aria…
but not the Aria they once knew.
What returned was someone they did not fully understand.
Someone not entirely like them.
Someone not easily… touched.
This homecoming was not the beginning of harmony.
It was the beginning of the first fracture.
One that would soon—
inevitably—
widen.