What We Asked For

PROLOGUE: WHAT WE ASKED FOR

The first time I saw her in person, she recoiled.

Not dramatically. No gasp, no scream. But something in her eyes pulled back, like I was a smear on her white carpet.

We were twenty-three. Born minutes apart. Raised worlds away, or at least, that's what I told myself.

She was Rina Feng, heiress to the Feng Foundation. Flawless in a dove-grey coat, surrounded by handlers and press, handing out scholarships with a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

I had grease on my jeans and a beat-up folder of birth records. Proof that she wasn't the only daughter born that night, or so the papers said.

"I'm your sister," I told her.

Her body stilled. The smile froze.

"That's impossible."

I showed her the papers.

She didn't even look.

Security came within seconds.

"Escort her out. She's confused."

Confused. That's what she called it.

It got worse after that.

I followed her online. Watched every speech, every gala. I started hearing her voice in my head, words I couldn't quite place, letters I never sent.

She had everything.

While I had cracks.

The night I killed her, I wasn't myself.

Or maybe I was the truest version of myself. The version built from abandonment, from foster homes and broken ribs and cheap apologies.

She opened the door. No handlers this time. Just her. Alone. As if she'd been expecting me.

"You came back," she said.

Not scared. Just tired.

She stepped aside to let me in.

I stood in her kitchen, looking around at the life I was supposed to have had. My mind went blank. I pulled a knife from the block.

"You were always the lucky one," I screamed.

I stabbed her. There in the kitchen.

She didn't scream. She just pressed her hand over mine.

"Was I really that lucky?" she whispered. "Or did you just see what you wanted?"

I didn't answer.

The help heard. They always heard. Cops came fast. Cameras faster.

The trial was a spectacle.

FENG HEIRESS MURDERED BY SECRET TWIN

JEALOUSY OR MADNESS?

TWO LIVES. ONE FATE.

I was called a monster. A thief. A cautionary tale.

The truth? I was a girl who'd spent her life trying to swap mirrors with someone on the other side of the glass.

And I failed.

Now I lie strapped to a table. Cold steel against warm skin.

They let me hold one thing. A photo of her, of us. Smiling. Identical. Taken before we were separated. Before the world decided which girl got to be wanted.

I close my eyes.

"I wish we could trade places."

The needle goes in.