The text message from Chloe Davis burned a hole in Zoe's borrowed phone, a tiny beacon of a past life – or rather, Original Emily Miller's past life – flickering in the oppressive grandeur of Sterling Manor. "Em? Is that really you in those crazy headlines? Are you okay? It's Chloe. Call me. Please."
Zoe Carter, now Emily Miller by default and by contract, stared at the words. Chloe. The novel, Manhattan's Ice King, had mentioned her briefly: Emily Miller's art school roommate, her only friend in the daunting sprawl of New York City. A kind, somewhat flighty girl who had, according to the sparse narrative, been horrified by Emily's scandal and had subsequently faded from her life.
Could this Chloe be an ally? Or just another complication in Zoe's already impossibly tangled existence? She needed information – about Original Emily, about the gallery opening, about anything that could help her navigate this treacherous new reality. But she also needed to be careful. One wrong word, one slip of the tongue revealing knowledge Original Emily shouldn't possess, and her entire charade could crumble.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to risk it. She needed a friendly voice, even if it was a voice that belonged to a stranger who thought she was someone else. She dialed Chloe's number.
It rang twice before a breathless, anxious voice answered. "Emily? Oh my god, Emily, is that you? Are you okay? I've been trying to reach you since… since those pictures… and the engagement! To Alexander Sterling! What on earth is going on?"
Zoe pitched her voice to match the soft, slightly bewildered tone she was cultivating for Emily Miller. "Chloe? Hi. Yes, it's… it's me. I'm… I'm okay. It's all been a bit of a whirlwind." Understatement of the millennium.
"A whirlwind?" Chloe shrieked, a mixture of disbelief and excitement in her voice. "Emily, you disappear after the gallery party, no one can find you, and then BAM! You're engaged to the most notorious billionaire bachelor in New York! You have to tell me everything! How did it happen? Was it love at first sight? Did he sweep you off your feet at the gallery? Because honestly, you seemed a little out of it that night…"
Out of it. Zoe's internal antennae twitched. "Out of it how, Chloe?" she asked, trying to sound innocently curious. "I… I don't remember much about the end of the party. I think I had a bit too much of that pink cocktail Isabelle Thorne recommended." She deliberately dropped Isabelle's name, testing the waters.
"Isabelle Thorne was there?" Chloe sounded surprised. "Wow, big leagues. But yeah, you were definitely a bit wobbly. You said you felt dizzy and wanted some air. I offered to get you a cab, but you insisted you were fine, just needed a moment. Then… well, then I couldn't find you later. I was so worried!"
So, Original Emily was drugged, just like in the book, Zoe confirmed silently. And Isabelle was definitely in the vicinity. Useful.
"It's all a blur after that, honestly," Zoe (Emily) continued, sticking to her cover story. "Next thing I knew… well, Mr. Sterling was there, being very kind, and… things just happened very fast." She injected a dreamy, slightly dazed quality into her voice. "It's like a fairy tale." A fairy tale written by the Brothers Grimm, maybe, with a heavy dose of Machiavelli.
Chloe squealed. "Oh, Emily, it is like a fairy tale! I can't believe it! But… are you sure you're okay? He's not… you know… forcing you or anything? He has a bit of a reputation, doesn't he?"
"Oh, no, Chloe, he's… he's wonderful," Zoe lied, trying to sound convincing. "Just a little… intense. And very private. That's why everything was so sudden. We just… wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while."
They talked for a few more minutes, Zoe carefully extracting small details about Original Emily's life – her art, her dreams, her quiet personality – while offering vague, romanticized platitudes about her "sudden love" for Alexander. It was a delicate balancing act, playing the part of a naive girl in love while her mind was a steel trap, cataloging every piece of information. She ended the call promising to see Chloe soon, a promise she had no idea how she'd keep.
The conversation left Zoe feeling strangely melancholic. She'd gotten some useful intel, but she'd also had a glimpse of the simple, unassuming life of the girl whose body she now inhabited, a life that had been so cruelly cut short by Isabelle's ambition and the machinations of a fictional plot. I owe it to her, to Original Emily, Zoe resolved, to not just survive this, but to make Isabelle Thorne pay for what she did.
Her somber reflections were interrupted later that afternoon by Mrs. Albright, who appeared at her door with the same stoic efficiency as Marcus Wayne.
"Miss Miller," the housekeeper announced, her voice a neutral monotone. "Mr. and Mrs. Sterling senior, along with Mr. Julian Sterling and Miss Caroline Sterling, will be expecting you for dinner this evening at eight o'clock. Formal attire is required. A selection of appropriate gowns has been placed in your dressing room."
Zoe's stomach did a nervous flip. The Sterling Inquisition, Part Two: The Formal Dinner. This would be a far more intense affair than the brief, chaotic confrontation at the gala, or the passive-aggressive breakfast with Catherine Sterling. This was the entire pride of lions, gathered to inspect the new, unexpected addition to their gilded den.
She spent the next few hours in a state of high alert, replaying everything she knew about the Sterling family from Manhattan's Ice King. Richard Sterling, the patriarch: shrewd, ruthless in business, emotionally distant. Catherine, his wife: the iron-willed matriarch, obsessed with lineage and appearances. Julian, Alexander's younger (or was it older? The book had been inconsistent) brother: the charming, possibly duplicitous understudy. And Aunt Caroline: the family's moral enforcer, a woman whose disapproval could make grown CEOs weep.
Zoe chose her "armor" carefully – a deceptively simple, long-sleeved gown in a deep sapphire blue that matched Emily Miller's (now Zoe's) eyes, elegant but not ostentatious. She wanted to project an image of quiet dignity, a subtle defiance against their expected image of a gold-digging, star-struck ingénue.
At precisely eight, Marcus Wayne appeared to escort her to the main dining hall, a cavernous room dominated by a long, polished mahogany table that could probably seat thirty. The Sterlings were already assembled, a tableau of intimidating wealth and power. Alexander stood by the fireplace, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, looking every inch the Ice King in his domain. He gave her a curt nod as she entered, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary, an unreadable expression in their depths.
Dinner was an excruciatingly polite affair, each course served with silent, almost invisible precision by a fleet of staff. The conversation, however, was anything but anodyne. It was a masterclass in veiled interrogation.
Richard Sterling, at the head of the table, was a man of few words, but his keen, assessing gaze missed nothing. "So, Miss Miller," he began, his voice a low rumble, "Alexander tells us you're an artist. From Indiana, I believe?"
"Yes, Mr. Sterling," Zoe replied, her voice calm and steady. "I… I studied Fine Art. My focus was primarily on contemporary sculpture, though I also enjoy landscape painting." Thank you, Original Emily's forgotten sketchbook, which Zoe had found and studied meticulously.
Catherine Sterling chimed in, her smile as brittle as spun glass. "Sculpture? How… robust. One wouldn't necessarily associate that with… well, with your rather delicate appearance, my dear."
Translation: You look like a gold-digger, not a serious artist, Zoe thought. "I find there's a surprising strength in shaping unyielding materials, Mrs. Sterling," she said sweetly. "It requires patience, vision, and a refusal to be easily deterred." A subtle message, she hoped, that she wasn't as fragile as she looked.
Julian Sterling, handsome in a softer, less intimidating way than his brother, leaned forward with a charming smile. "And what brought you to the bright lights of New York, Emily? Surely not just the art scene? Or was it perhaps a different kind of… masterpiece… you were hoping to discover?" His eyes twinkled with a mischief that felt more predatory than playful.
Zoe met his gaze coolly. "New York offers unparalleled opportunities for any aspiring artist, Mr. Sterling. And sometimes," she added, a faint smile playing on her lips, "the most valuable discoveries are the ones you least expect." She let her gaze drift towards Alexander for a fraction of a second, playing her part.
Aunt Caroline, who had been silently observing her with the intensity of a hawk, finally spoke. "Indeed. And some 'discoveries,' Miss Miller, come with… considerable entanglements. One hopes you are prepared for the… responsibilities… that come with an association with this family."
The threat was unmistakable.
Zoe took a delicate sip of water. "I understand that any significant relationship comes with responsibilities, Miss Sterling. I am prepared to honor those that come with being Alexander's fiancée." She chose her words carefully, emphasizing "fiancée," not "wife," not yet a permanent fixture.
The verbal sparring continued throughout the meal. They questioned her family ("Modest, hardworking people, Mr. Sterling, who taught me the value of integrity"), her ambitions ("To create art that speaks to people, Mrs. Sterling, and perhaps, one day, to be self-sufficient"), her views on… well, on everything they could think of to trip her up or expose her as an unsuitable addition to their pristine lineage.
Zoe, drawing on every ounce of Zoe Carter's corporate negotiation skills and her (admittedly patchy) knowledge of the Sterling family's neuroses from the novel, managed to hold her own. She was polite, respectful, even a little self-deprecating when appropriate, but she refused to be cowed. She answered their questions honestly (within the confines of her assumed identity), and when their inquiries became too invasive or a Sarcastic remark from Julian too pointed, she would deflect with a quiet grace that seemed to disarm them more effectively than outright defiance would have.
Throughout it all, Alexander remained largely silent, a brooding, watchful presence. He neither helped nor hindered her, merely observed, his expression a carefully blank mask. Zoe couldn't tell if he was impressed, amused, or simply waiting for her to implode.
As the dinner finally drew to a close, and the family began to disperse, Zoe felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. She had survived. She had faced the Sterling pride in their den and had walked away, if not unscathed, then at least unbowed.
Alexander escorted her back to her wing of the manor. The silence between them was thick with unspoken thoughts.
"You were… competent tonight, Miss Miller," he said finally, as they reached her door. It wasn't a compliment, not really. More like a grudging admission.
"Thank you, Mr. Sterling," Zoe replied, equally formally. "I endeavor to be."
He paused, his hand on the doorknob, his gaze unreadable. "My mother and aunt are not easily impressed. Or deterred. This is only the beginning."
"I'm aware of that," Zoe said, meeting his eyes.
He nodded slowly. "See that you remain so." And then he was gone.
Zoe stepped into her suite, the heavy door clicking shut behind her, a sound of finality. She leaned against it, a long, shaky breath escaping her. She had faced them down. She had played their game and hadn't broken.
Her new, secure phone, lying on the antique writing desk, suddenly lit up with an incoming message. Not Chloe this time. An unknown number.
The message was short, chillingly simple.
"Enjoying the Sterling hospitality, little mouse? Some cages are prettier than others. But they're all still cages. Don't get too comfortable."
No signature. But Zoe didn't need one. Isabelle Thorne had just made her next move. The game was far from over. It was, indeed, only the beginning.