Apparently, My Father Had Finally Lost His Mind

I woke up angry.

Not confused.

Not emotional.

Angry.

Because the moment sunlight hit my face and I opened my eyes to that ugly water-stained ceiling again, reality settled in with horrifying clarity.

I was still here.

Still in the tiny room.

Still breathing poor people air.

Tragic.

I lay there for a moment, staring at the spinning fan overhead while trying to make sense of the disaster my life had become overnight.

There had to be an explanation.

A logical one.

My father was ruthless, yes, but he wasn't insane. Which meant this entire thing had to be punishment.

A dramatic punishment.

And suddenly, yesterday's argument replayed inside my head.

The governor's daughter.

Right.

Her.

A slow smirk spread across my face despite the headache pounding behind my skull.

Okay, maybe I had gone slightly overboard.

Maybe.

But in my defense, if someone spent twenty minutes bragging about their "natural beauty" while their face looked painfully manufactured, were people not morally obligated to comment?

I remembered the cafeteria going silent.

The horrified expressions.

The governor's daughter looking seconds away from tears.

And me casually sipping juice while saying:

"Your surgeon deserves prison time."

Honestly?

Still funny.

I sighed dramatically, rubbing my temples.

Of course Father would be furious.

Politics mattered to him more than oxygen.

Insulting the governor's daughter publicly probably caused fifty middle-aged men in suits to start stress sweating simultaneously.

And now here I was.

Exiled.

Temporarily.

Hopefully.

A small body suddenly crashed against my side.

"Big sis!"

I physically flinched.

The little girl wrapped her arms around me like this was normal behavior while I stared down at her in mild horror.

Children truly had no understanding of personal boundaries.

"Why are you staring at me like I'm haunted?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because you appeared without warning. That's basically ghost behavior."

She giggled.

Weird child.

The older woman beside us slowly woke up next, looking exhausted before the day had even properly started. There were faint dark circles beneath her eyes, and despite the warm expression on her face, she looked permanently tired.

That bothered me for some reason.

Not emotionally.

Just observationally.

"Morning, Aria," she said softly.

I narrowed my eyes immediately.

Even hearing my own name from her sounded wrong.

Too familiar.

Too natural.

Like I belonged here.

I absolutely did not.

"Okay," I said slowly, sitting upright. "Let's establish something immediately."

The woman blinked.

"I'm assuming my father sent me here because of yesterday's incident, which, frankly, feels dramatic even for him."

Both of them stared at me blankly.

I continued anyway.

"I understand the political inconvenience of humiliating the governor's daughter, but abandoning me in whatever this place is feels excessive."

Silence.

The little girl frowned first.

"What governor's daughter?"

I paused.

The woman looked confused too. "Aria, what are you talking about?"

I stared at them.

Then laughed once in disbelief.

"Wow. So we're pretending now."

"No," the woman replied carefully. "I genuinely don't know what you mean."

That made absolutely no sense.

The memories were clear.

The gala.

The school.

The argument.

My father's cold expression afterward.

Then—

Nothing.

Darkness.

And now this.

I crossed my arms tightly. "Fine. Let's stop acting weird for a second. Where's my phone?"

The little girl pointed toward a small desk near the wall.

I walked over confidently.

Relief flooded through me when I spotted it.

Finally.

Something normal.

I grabbed the phone instantly—

—and froze.

This wasn't my phone.

The cracked screen alone nearly gave me emotional damage.

"This thing survived war," I muttered.

The little girl snorted loudly.

Ignoring her, I quickly tried unlocking it.

Password incorrect.

I frowned.

Tried again.

Still wrong.

"What kind of psychopath uses sixes in their password?"

The woman got off the mattress slowly. "Aria, you changed it last month. Don't tell me you forgot again."

Again.

That word again.

Tiny details kept hitting me like misplaced puzzle pieces.

As if this version of me had existed long before I arrived.

No.

That was impossible.

I unlocked the phone using fingerprint instead and immediately searched for my father's contact.

Nothing.

No saved number.

No company contacts.

No luxury brands.

No private school group chats.

No photos of my penthouse.

Instead, the gallery contained pictures of:

this room the little girl school notes random sunsets cheap meals

I stared at the screen in complete silence.

Then I checked social media.

Different account.

Different followers.

Different life.

My stomach twisted unpleasantly.

The woman noticed my expression immediately. "Aria?"

I looked up sharply. "What's my full name?"

"…Aria Laurent."

The world seemed to pause for half a second.

No.

No, that was wrong.

I was Aria Vale.

Daughter of Victor Vale.

Heiress to Vale Enterprises.

Not—

Not this.

A strange coldness spread through my chest.

I quickly locked the phone and forced myself to stay calm.

Think.

There had to be an explanation.

Maybe identity protection.

Maybe Father changed everything temporarily to "teach me humility."

Honestly, that sounded exactly like something rich people thought was character development.

I looked around the room again.

The peeling walls.

The old furniture.

The tiny kitchen visible from the doorway.

This wasn't temporary housing.

It looked lived in.

Deeply lived in.

That realization unsettled me more than anything else.

The woman suddenly smiled faintly. "You really hit your head hard yesterday, huh?"

I looked at her carefully.

"Yesterday?"

"You fainted after work."

Work.

I blinked slowly.

"…I have a job?"

The little girl burst into laughter.

"You forgot your own part-time job?"

Part-time job.

Me.

I genuinely considered fainting again.

The woman sighed affectionately. "Enough drama. Go get ready for school."

School.

Right.

At least that part was familiar.

I walked toward the pile of clothes near the chair, already irritated.

"Where's my uniform?"

"What uniform?"

I turned around slowly.

"What do you mean what uniform?"

"We don't wear uniforms at public school."

Public school.

Right.

That explained the lack of standards.

I stared at the clothing pile in disgust before holding up an oversized gray hoodie between two fingers.

"This looks medically depressing."

"You picked that yourself," the little girl informed me proudly.

I looked offended immediately. "Then past me had terrible judgment."

The woman laughed softly under her breath.

I ignored her.

After several painful minutes, I finally changed into black jeans and the hoodie, then stood before the mirror again.

Still beautiful.

Obviously.

Beauty like mine survived hardship.

What didn't survive was my patience.

I brushed my hair back slowly while studying my reflection.

No expensive jewelry.

No luxury skincare.

No polished image.

Yet somehow…

I still looked powerful.

Just sharper now.

More dangerous.

Like something stripped down to its rawest form.

Interesting.

A tiny unfamiliar feeling stirred in my chest.

Not fear.

Not sadness.

Something colder.

Something observant.

For the first time since waking up, I stopped thinking:

"How fast can I leave?"

And started thinking:

"What exactly happened to me?"

The woman's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Breakfast is getting cold."

I grabbed the bag hanging beside the mirror before walking toward the doorway.

The little girl skipped beside me happily while I mentally prepared myself for whatever "poor people breakfast" meant.

Still, one thought remained firmly rooted in my head:

My father would come eventually.

He had to.

Because there was absolutely no universe where someone like me simply disappeared.

Right?

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