Chapter 2: The Gilded Noose
The door clicked shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent suite. Elara collapsed onto the velvet vanity stool, her knees finally giving out.
He knows.
The thought screamed in her mind. But wait—Julian hadn't called her "Elara." He had called her "Chloe." He didn't know she was a double; he knew about the pregnancy. He thought she was the one carrying another man's child.
"You have thirty seconds to stop shaking," a sharp voice snapped.
Elara looked up. A woman in a charcoal power suit stood by the door—Chloe's personal fixer, no doubt. She held a sleek tablet and a velvet box.
"I'm Sarah. Chloe's 'logistics' coordinator," the woman said, her eyes scanning Elara with clinical coldness. "Julian Vane is the smartest man in the hemisphere. If you show a single crack in that facade, he'll ruin us all. Do you understand?"
"He's already suspicious," Elara whispered, forcing her hands to be still. "He mentioned an 'accident.' He knows about the baby."
Sarah's expression didn't flicker. "Then use it. Chloe is a flighty, scandalous socialite. If you're acting strange, let him think it's the pregnancy hormones or guilt. Just get through the ceremony. Once the papers are filed, the first five million hits your account."
Five million. Elara pictured her mother's hospital room. She pictured the "Discharge" notice. She stood up, her spine stiffening.
"Give me the rings," Elara said.
The wedding was a blur of blinding camera flashes and the scent of overpriced lilies. The cathedral was packed with people who didn't love them, all waiting to see the union of two billion-dollar balance sheets.
When Elara walked down the aisle, the weight of the lace veil felt like a shroud. At the end of the path stood Julian. In his black tuxedo, he looked less like a groom and more like a grim reaper waiting to collect a soul.
As she reached him, he didn't offer a hand. He simply turned to face the priest.
The vows were a hollow ritual. When the time came for the rings, Julian took Elara's hand. His grip was firm, his skin searingly hot against her cold fingers. As he slid the diamond-encrusted band onto her finger, he leaned in, his voice barely a breath.
"This ring has a tracker, Chloe," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the priest. "Don't even think about running to him."
Elara's heart skipped a beat. The lover. Julian thought she was planning to elope with the baby's father. She looked him dead in the eye, channeling every ounce of Chloe's remembered arrogance.
"Why would I run, Julian? I finally got what I wanted. Your name."
A flicker of something—was it rage or intrigue?—crossed his face. Then, the priest pronounced them husband and wife.
"You may kiss the bride," the priest announced.
The crowd held its breath. Elara braced herself for a cold, clinical brush of lips. Instead, Julian grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against his hard chest. He didn't kiss her lips. He pressed a lingering, possessive kiss to the pulse point on her neck.
"I own you now," he whispered against her skin. "And I keep what is mine."
The reception was a nightmare of "Face-Slapping" opportunities. Every socialite in the room seemed to have a barb prepared for Chloe Vane.
"Oh, Chloe, dear," a woman in a garish yellow dress sneered, stopping Elara near the champagne fountain. "I heard Julian only agreed to this because your father signed over the lithium mines. It must be so romantic to be traded like a commodity."
Elara felt the old Elara—the server who took insults with a silent nod—start to surface. But she caught her reflection in the glass. She wasn't Elara tonight.
"Actually, Lydia," Elara said, her voice dripping with honeyed venom, "Julian insisted on the mines just so he'd have a place to bury the reputations of people who bore him. You should be careful where you walk."
The woman's jaw dropped. The circle of socialites went silent. Chloe Vane was usually a whiner, but this... this was a bite.
Behind her, Elara heard a low, dry chuckle. She turned to see Julian watching her from a few feet away, a crystal glass of scotch in his hand. He looked... impressed?
"Careful, wife," he said, stepping beside her. "People might start to think you actually have a spine."
"Maybe I just grew one for the occasion," she retorted.
Before he could respond, his assistant hurried over and whispered something in his ear. Julian's face darkened instantly. The slight warmth Elara had felt disappeared, replaced by an aura of pure ice.
"Change of plans," Julian said, grabbing Elara's arm. "We're leaving. Now."
"The reception isn't over! We haven't even cut the cake—"
"The cake can rot," Julian hissed, dragging her toward the side exit. "There's been a security breach at your father's estate. Someone broke into your private safe, Chloe. Someone who knew exactly what they were looking for."
Elara's blood ran cold. The safe. That's where the real Chloe had left the signed contract—the one that proved Elara was an impostor.
As Julian shoved her into the back of a blacked-out SUV, Elara realized the "boring" year Chloe promised was a lie. She wasn't just in a marriage; she was in the middle of a war.
"Julian, wait—"
He slammed the door and loomed over her in the cramped, dark space of the car. He pinned her wrists to the leather seat, his eyes glowing with a terrifying intensity.
"Who did you give the code to?" he demanded. "Who are you working with?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He turned the screen toward her. It was a grainy security feed of a man in a hoodie leaving the estate. He was holding a folder—the blue folder that contained Elara's real ID and the contract.
But that wasn't the twist.
The man in the video stopped and looked directly at the camera. Even through the blur, Elara recognized the face.
It was her brother. The brother who had been missing for three years. The brother she thought was dead.
"He looks familiar, doesn't he?" Julian whispered, his face inches from hers. "Tell me his name, or I swear this marriage ends tonight—in a courtroom or a morgue. Your choice."