The morning sun peeked through the curtains, spilling a warm golden glow across the room. Light danced softly on polished floorboards, slipping over pale beige walls like whispers of warmth. Jing stirred beneath a cream-colored duvet, the brightness gently coaxing her from sleep. She stretched slender arms overhead, a quiet yawn escaping her lips. Swinging her legs over the bed's edge, bare feet touched the cool wood with a shiver.
She rose slowly, every movement graceful yet tentative, as if warned by something unseen. Chestnut-brown hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves, catching flecks of sunlight that made it shimmer like burnished copper. A loose strand slipped behind her ear, revealing striking blue eyes—wide, alert, and haunted. Her smooth, glowing skin contrasted sharply with the dread tightening her chest. Though slender and delicate, she carried a quiet confidence born from years of being overshadowed—never broken.
Everything seemed normal... another day, another routine. But as she stepped toward the mirror to begin her morning ritual, a ripple of unease prickled her skin. A whisper in the back of her mind grew quickly into a knot tightening in her stomach.
Her sister Ling was meant to marry a man with a dark, powerful reputation—Yinguang Lei. A man who inspired fear and silence wherever he went. Jing had always felt a strange chill in his presence, an unspoken warning her instincts never ignored.
Descending the staircase, her soft silk robe trailing behind her, Jing saw her parents pacing restlessly, rifling through rooms in sharp, frantic movements. Panic barely masked by hurried searches. No calls to police, no neighbors notified—just tension, thick and suffocating. What were they hiding?
"Mum, we need to call someone... or someone," Jing said anxiously, fingers trembling on the stair rail.
"Don't call anyone," Mrs. Xinyi Jian replied, voice brittle but forced calm. Seated on a velvet couch, her hands pressed rhythmically into the fabric, anchoring herself. "She's a grown woman. She'll be back soon. So don't worry."
But worry filled every corner of Jing's mind. Hours passed, the pressure in the house thickened like smoke. The wedding was tomorrow. Still no sign of Ling.
"Where is my sister?" Jing whispered to herself. "Where is Ling? Don't tell me she ran away... or worse." Her voice quivered as she clutched her phone, calling again—straight to voicemail.
"They're doing nothing. Just sitting, like she never existed," she muttered, frustration burning in her blue eyes.
"I don't even like her that much, but this... this is different. Her absence feels like a disaster."
Determined, Jing tiptoed to the front door, hoping to slip away unnoticed and search on her own.
"Stop!"
Her mother's voice thundered behind her.
Jing froze, hand on the knob, body ice-cold.
"Mum, I need to find Ling!" she pleaded, turning to explain.
"Why? What if you don't find her? You'll ruin everything... our only chance at wealth! I won't let you!" Mrs. Jian stormed forward, desperation replacing calm.
Jing's heart pounded. "What do you mean? We have to find her! What if she's in danger? I won't—"
"You'll replace her," a deep voice cut in.
Mr. Jian entered, his face disturbingly calm, lips curled in a malicious grin.
"No. I won't. I can't!" Jing cried, disbelief sharp in her voice. Tears blurred her vision.
"The police are already investigating," Mr. Jian said coldly. "And if they find out about Mrs. Wang Yulan's death... well, you know what happens then." His smirk deepened.
"You're blackmailing me?" she gasped. "Why are you this heartless? I made a mistake... but this?" Her voice was confident, but her eyes betrayed oceans of fear.
Without another word, her parents moved with silent, ruthless purpose. Her protests drowned out by rustling silk and wedding preparations.
Mrs. Jian stepped closer, looking at the woman who bore her face. Fury burned inside Jing, but before she could speak, her mother's hand gripped her wrist with iron strength. Jing stumbled, struggling to break free, but Mrs. Jian was relentless. With surprising force, she yanked Jing down the hallway, ignoring desperate cries.
"Let me go!" Jing screamed, heels scraping polished floor as she fought.
But it was useless.
Mrs. Jian flung open a door with a loud crack and shoved her inside. Jing fell onto the bed with a gasp, the mattress bouncing beneath her slight frame. She rolled over, coughing, strands of brown hair falling across her flushed face. Her luminous blue eyes stared up in shock, struggling to process the nightmare unfolding.
Silence swallowed the room. Without a word, Mrs. Jian crossed to the large white wardrobe in the corner—Ling's closet.
The double doors opened. Mrs. Jian's eyes landed on a worn black leather diary. Relief flickered in her expression.
She tossed the book onto the table before Jing. "Take this. It's Ling's. Study it. Tomorrow is your wedding. Finally, you'll make a life for yourself," she said, then left.
The door slammed with a loud clack. The lock clicked.
Jing was trapped.
Her trembling fingers hovered over the diary. Her reflection in the mirror was unrecognizable—long brown hair, tousled and unkempt, framed a face that looked like Ling's, but the soul behind those striking blue eyes was her own.
Now, she needed to learn every detail of her sister's life—a nightmare in the making.
Her heart thundered—one desperate beat for a choice: marry her missing sister's fiancé... or spend years behind bars... or worse.
As the day wore on, servants arrived to brush and curl her hair, apply soft layers of makeup—molding her into Ling's image. The gown, a masterpiece of white silk and gold embroidery, hugged her slim frame, heavy and a bit loose. She felt dressed for a funeral, not a celebration.
She was becoming her sister.
And yet, in the mirror, a flicker of resistance gleamed in her eyes. She couldn't stop this—not yet. But maybe... maybe she could find a way out before it was too late.
As evening faded, she whispered into the shadows, sitting on her bed beneath a red floral sheet.
"I don't think I can replace her. How do I live with a demon like Yinguang Lei? I hate him. How do I live with this guilt for all my life? I really can't."
Then, a scream shattered her silence:
"WHERE IS SHE?"
The question echoed—unanswered, unforgiving.