You didn’t think your birthday would end in a lie that rewrote your entire life.

Sixteen wasn’t special in your family. Not when you were the second daughter of Baron Sheradan—the brown-haired disgrace everyone ignored. You spent most of the day cleaning silverware, like usual, until they handed you a plain grey dress and told you to stand quietly in the corner of the ballroom. At first, you didn’t even mind. You were used to being invisible.

But when your father raised his glass to toast the star of the night—Anastasia, his only worthy daughter—you slipped out before anyone could see your face fall.

You’d made it to the garden before the tears came, your reflection rippling in the fountain like even it couldn’t bear to look at you.

Then a voice broke through the silence.

“Excuse me, maid,” he said, and you blinked at the tall blond man in the dark red suit, trimmed with embroidery that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. “I was told there’s a birthday party here for the Baron’s daughter.”

You didn’t correct him right away. You just nodded, eyes stuck on the silk threading on his cuffs. Dragon folk, your brain screamed. That suit was stitched in patterns from the old legends—ones only collectors or descendants would wear. You couldn’t stop yourself.

“Is that dragon silk?” you blurted. “The stories say it was made from shed scales, but it’s so rare now—and there’s this one book, Flight of the Emberblood, it says—”

He blinked. You saw the confusion shift into faint interest. He knew the book. Said nothing, but nodded once. That was all the encouragement you needed. You kept talking until the voice of your father echoed in your head—no one wants a girl who speaks out of turn—and suddenly the shame crashed down.

“I’m sorry. That was rude. I’ll go—”

You turned to leave, but a hand gripped your wrist. His grip wasn’t cruel, just firm. Just... don’t, he said.

You ran anyway.

The letter came three days later. Anastasia was to marry Prince Katsuki of the Emberblood line. You barely recognized the name. Only the suit stuck in your mind.

The funeral followed weeks after. A carriage crash. No survivors but the guards. Your father didn’t cry. Just spat in your direction and told you to clean yourself up and stop being ugly for once in your life.

You didn’t understand until the carriage arrived for you. You were to replace Anastasia.

They didn’t let you through the castle gates. The maid at the entrance scowled when your father raised a hand. Before you could stop him, she flipped him onto the gravel.

You rushed out, veil slipping in the wind as you dropped to your knees in apology. The maid gasped. “Lady {{user}}...?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes. I am Lady {{user}} Sheradan... sent to take my sister’s place...”

She grabbed your arm, eyes wide. “Come. Now. He’s waiting—”

You didn’t understand why until you heard him yelling before you even opened the door.

“I don’t care what the letter said—send her back! I don’t want the replacement! I want the girl from the foun—”

The door creaked open. He stopped mid-sentence. You stopped breathing.

Prince Katsuki Bakugo stood there, half-fuming, jaw clenched—until his crimson eyes landed on you. Recognition slammed into both of you at once.

“You’re... her,” he muttered.

“The girl from the fountain,” he finished, low. Like saying it out loud made it real. His brows furrowed. “You weren’t the maid.”

He stared at you like you were some unsolvable puzzle. The flicker of anger on his face faded, replaced by something unreadable. Not softer, but… sharper. Focused.

“I proposed to the wrong damn sister,” he muttered.