CHAPTER 17 — THE VISIT
Vivian Cheng called us to dinner on a Tuesday.
Not a casual “come by.”
A command disguised as warmth.
When Ethan and I arrived at her townhouse on the Upper East Side, the housekeeper opened the door with eyes that refused to meet mine.
In the living room, Vivian sat upright on the sofa, expression carved from restraint.
Across from her sat Mr. and Mrs. Tang.
Stella’s parents.
Their posture was stiff, their smiles practiced, like they’d come to negotiate a merger.
Ethan’s hand tightened around mine.
“Mom,” he said evenly, “why are they here?”
Vivian didn’t answer him first.
She looked at me.
“Ava,” she said, voice quiet but steady, “whatever happens in this room, you don’t owe anyone your calm. But you will not be alone.”
My throat tightened.
Not fear.
A strange, sharp gratitude.
Mrs. Tang leaned forward, eyes too bright.
“Ava,” she began, and my name sounded unfamiliar in her mouth. “We—this is… this is difficult.”
Mr. Tang cleared his throat.
“We took a DNA test,” he said, as if announcing quarterly earnings. “The results indicate you are our biological daughter.”
He slid a folder across the coffee table.
Inside was a lab report, clean and official, with a Manhattan address.
Probability of relatedness: 99.99%
Ethan went still beside me.
Vivian didn’t move at all.
I stared at the page.
I didn’t cry.
Not because it didn’t matter.
Because the timing made it feel like strategy.
Mrs. Tang reached for my hand.
I pulled mine back gently before she could touch.
“Ava,” she said, voice trembling now, “you and Stella… you’re twins.”
The air in the room changed.
Not with magic.
With motive.
And then, exactly as I expected, Mrs. Tang said the part she had come to say.
“So,” she rushed on, “this lawsuit—this fight—it’s tearing everyone apart. Stella is your sister. You can’t do this to your own family.”
Ethan’s head snapped toward her.
Vivian’s eyes hardened.
I looked at Mrs. Tang calmly.
“You didn’t come here because you found me,” I said. “You came here because you want me to withdraw the complaint.”
Mrs. Tang’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
Mr. Tang’s expression tightened.
“We’re trying to resolve this privately,” he said.
“Privately,” I repeated softly. “Meaning quietly.”
Mrs. Tang’s eyes flashed with frustration.
“We can compensate you,” she said quickly. “We’ll make it right. We’ll announce you as our daughter. We’ll take care of you.”
Take care of me.
The words sat wrong in my mouth.
I glanced at Vivian.
Her jaw clenched as if she was holding back something violent.
Ethan’s hand stayed on my knee, steady pressure, grounding.
I looked back at the Tangs.
“I don’t want your announcement,” I said. “I want accountability.”
Mr. Tang leaned forward, voice hardening.
“You have to understand,” he said, “Stella is—she’s unstable. She needs help.”
“Then get her help,” I replied. “Not immunity.”
Mrs. Tang’s face tightened, irritation slipping through her performance.
“You’re punishing her,” she snapped. “For loving Ethan.”
I smiled without warmth.
“She’s punishing me,” I said, “for existing.”