Lana POV
Vienna isn’t loud the way New York is. It hums. It watches. It waits.
I think that’s why I ended up here.
When I arrived, I was nothing but a shadow—a woman with someone else’s face and no name. But in this quiet city, where I didn’t know a soul, I found something that almost felt like freedom.
I could breathe without being recognized. I could walk without whispers following me.
Here, I wasn’t Lana Sterling. I wasn’t anyone’s wife or twin or mistake.
I was just Mirelle.
The name came to me on the train ride into the city. I whispered it to myself like a prayer, letting the syllables coat the raw edges of my past.
Mirelle.
Mirelle doesn’t cry over men who choose her sister.
Mirelle doesn’t beg.
She designs. She reinvents. She disappears into silk and sketches and sti
