Then, something caught my attention. On the large screen in the airport terminal, a news report flashed. The royal family was making headlines. It was a story about the king and queen searching for their real daughter—their stolen daughter.
I froze. The royal family had been searching for their real daughter for over 20 years. She was taken from them right after birth, and they had never stopped looking for her. They claimed to have seen a birthmark on her left wrist—a sign of her true identity.
I glanced down at my own left wrist, the wrist where I had always known there was a small mark, a crescent-shaped birthmark. My mind raced, but I quickly shook my head. No, it couldn’t be. It was just a coincidence, wasn’t it?
But my thoughts couldn’t settle. I kept staring at the screen, my heart pounding. I ignored the thought, pushing it aside. There was no way it was true. It was just some random coincidence, a random birthmark. Before I could think about it any further, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at the screen, and my heart sank.
Eros.
I refused to answer.