"Madison!"
I dropped to my knees, ignoring the wetness soaking into my jeans. I grabbed her shoulders, shaking her harder than I should have. "Madison! Madison, wake up!"
Her skin was ice.
"No, no, no..." I frantically pressed my fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse. It was there, but it was faint. Thready. Like a candle flickering in a storm wind.
"Who did this?" I sobbed, my tears dripping onto her pale, made-up face. "You were just celebrating... you were just..."
I fumbled for my phone with blood-slicked hands, my vision blurring. I needed an ambulance. I needed—
Creak.
The sound came from behind me.
It was the distinct, protesting groan of a floorboard under weight.
I stopped breathing. The air in my lungs turned to lead.
The door to the hallway was still open. I hadn't closed it in my panic. But the sound hadn't come from the hallway.
It had come from inside the suite. From the shadows of the bedroom.
I wasn't alone.
My hands were slick with sweat as I gripped the steak knife I'd snatched from the kitchenette. My back pressed against the cold wall, I moved through the shadows of the hotel suite, my eyes darting into every dark corner. The silence was heavy, oppressive. It felt like the air before a thunderstorm, charged with static and violence.
Someone had been here. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones.
I crept toward the open hallway, the knife trembling in my grasp. Empty. Whoever had done this to Madison—whoever had left her bleeding on the marble floor—had slipped away into the night like a ghost.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
I gasped, spinning around, nearly dropping the knife. On the nightstand, Madison's phone lit up, vibrating angrily against the wood.
Hubby ❤️
Julien.
My heart slammed against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate to escape. I stared at the name, paralyzed. I should answer. I should scream for help. I should tell him his wife was dying.
I snatched the phone up, my thumb sliding to accept. "Julien, please, you have to—"
"Where the hell are you?"
His voice wasn't panicked. It was low, dangerous, and laced with a terrifying authority that made my words die in my throat.
"I—"
"The guests are waiting, Madison," he cut me off, his tone sharp, leaving no room for argument. "You disappear in the middle of our anniversary without a word? Do you have any idea what tonight means?"
The realization hit me like a physical blow. He didn't know. No one knew.
"Julien, listen—"
"No, you listen," he growled. "Fred Alo is here. The merger with the French house depends on tonight. If we don't present a united front, the deal is dead. They want you, Madison. If you don't show up, I lose everything I've worked for."
I swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in my mouth.
I looked down at Madison. Her skin was turning a terrifying shade of gray. The blood was slowing, pooling dark and thick beneath her.
I hated her. God, I hated her for the years of torment, for stealing the life I was supposed to have. But I loved him. I had loved Julien from the shadows for seven years. If this deal fell apart, it would destroy him.
"I'll be there," I whispered, the decision made before my brain could catch up.
The tension on the other end evaporated instantly. "Good," Julien said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming intimate, husky. "Fix your face, darling. We have an empire to run."
The line went dead.
I dropped the phone and turned to my sister. Panic clawed at my throat, but I shoved it down. I had to be cold. I had to be her.
I ripped open her suitcase. My hands flew, pulling out a backup dress—crimson, backless, scandalous.
I moved to Madison's unmoving body. I tried not to look at her face as I unzipped her ruined dress. It felt violating. It felt like a sin. I stripped her down to nothing, my stomach churning at the sight of her pale, bruised skin.
Bruises? I paused for a split second. Those were old. Yellowing.
I shook my head. Focus.
I pulled the fresh dress onto my own body. It was a perfect fit. It clung to my curves like a second skin, transforming me into the woman I despised. I shoved my feet into her heels, grabbed her diamond clutch, and transferred the items.
I looked at my own phone, lying on the floor. I left it there. I took hers.
With shaking fingers, I dialed 911 on the hotel landline.
"Ambulance," I said, my voice eerily calm. "California Dream Hotel. Room 210. A woman is dying."
I dropped the receiver.
I didn't look back. I stepped out into the hallway, leaving my sister—and my identity—behind.
Forty minutes later, I was a different person.
I had bribed a salon owner two blocks away with a wad of cash from Madison's purse to stay open. A high-end blonde wig, styled and cut to match Madison's, now sat securely on my head.
I stared at my reflection in the cab window. The resemblance was terrifying. We were identical twins, yes, but it was the eyes that scared me. They were cold. Hard.
I was Madison.
The cab screeched to a halt in front of the Grand Hall. The venue was a fortress of light and luxury.
I stepped out, the cool night air hitting my bare shoulders. I checked Madison's phone. Julien was inside.
I walked up the marble steps, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Don't trip. Don't stutter. Don't let him see you shaking.
I entered the foyer, the sound of my heels echoing off the stone.
Suddenly, a hand shot out, grabbing my wrist.
I gasped, spinning around—
And slammed right into a wall of solid muscle.
"I was about to tear this city apart looking for you, darling."
Julien. Oh, I had memorized that honey-like tone like my favorite poem.
He towered over me, his presence consuming all the oxygen in the room. Up close, he was devastatingly beautiful. The paparazzi photos didn't do him justice. The sharp jawline, the faint shadow of stubble, the smell of him—expensive scotch, amber, and something dark and masculine like wood and cedar that made my knees weak.
His grip on my wrist was firm, not painful, but his thumb brushed over my pulse point with a tenderness that contradicted the storm in his eyes.
"I..." My voice failed me. I stared up into those piercing green eyes—the eyes I had dreamed about for years.
"Well?" he murmured, leaning down, his face inches from mine. "Where were you?"
The tension between us was instant and violent. It wasn't just fear; it was a magnetic pull that made my insides liquid. He looked at me not like a husband looks at a wife, but like a predator looks at a meal he's been denied.
I forced my chin up, channeling Madison's arrogance. "I needed air. The pressure... it was too much."
"Pressure?" He stepped closer, his thigh brushing against mine. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. "You thrive on pressure, Madison. You usually eat pressure for breakfast."
He was testing me.
"Maybe I lost my appetite," I countered, my voice breathless.
His eyes searched mine, scanning my face. He was looking for a lie. He was looking for a crack in the mask.
"You changed your dress," he noted softly, his gaze dropping to the neckline, lingering on the swell of my breasts before dragging back up to my lips.
"I spilled wine," I lied smoothly. "I couldn't have you seen with a messy wife, could I?"
For a second, he didn't move. Then, the corner of his mouth quirked up. The anger vanished, replaced by a smoldering heat that stole the air from my lungs.
"You look breathtaking," he whispered, his voice rough. "Red is dangerous on you."
"Is that a complaint?" I dared to ask.
"It's a warning."
He released my wrist and slid his hand down to my lower back, his large palm spreading heat through the thin silk of the dress. He pulled me flush against his side. The contact was electric.
"Let's go," he said, his lips grazing my temple. "Don't leave my side again, Madison. I don't like chasing things that belong to me."
My breath hitched. Belong to me.
We walked into the ballroom, and the world shifted.
As we moved through the sea of tuxedos and gowns, the crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Heads bowed. Conversations stopped. Julien didn't acknowledge anyone. He walked with the arrogant grace of a king, and I was the imposter queen on his arm.
His grip on my waist tightened possessively every time a man looked at me for too long. I felt safe. I felt terrified. I felt alive.
He led me to a private alcove near the front, away from the prying eyes of the press. A massive cake towered nearby, gold lettering spelling out Happy 1st Anniversary.
I turned to him, my nerves fraying. "Where is Fred Alo? The French delegation?"
Julien turned to face me, blocking out the rest of the room. He reached out, his knuckles grazing my cheekbone. The touch was so gentle, so reverent, it made my heart ache.
"I lied," he murmured, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.
I froze. "What?"
"There is no meeting. No deal on the line." He stepped closer, crowding me against the table, his body heat radiating into mine. "I just needed you back here. I couldn't stand the thought of celebrating tonight without you."
My stomach dropped.
He hadn't cared about the business. He had just wanted her.
The guilt crashed into me. I was standing here, wearing his wife's face, enjoying his touch, while the real Madison was—
"I have a surprise for you," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. "Later. When we get home."
He pulled back, giving me a look that promised things that made me blush, and turned to grab two glasses of champagne.
My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't do this. This was too much. The lie was too big.
I looked down at the clutch in my hands. Madison's phone buzzed again.
I opened it, shielding the screen from Julien.
Unknown Number: Where are you? Are you seriously going to keep me waiting? You know what happens if you don't pay up.
Ice water flooded my veins.
Whoever had been in that hotel room... whoever had hurt her... they were waiting for her. And they thought I was her.
I looked up at Julien. He was watching me, his expression unreadable, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He looked like safety. He looked like the only person who could save me.
I couldn't lie to him. Not about this.
I took a step toward him, grabbing his free hand. The contact sent sparks flying up my arm.
"Julien," I said, my voice trembling.
He stilled, his gaze locking onto mine with laser focus. "What is it?"
I took a deep breath, clutching his hand like a lifeline.
"I have to tell you something," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "I'm not—"
"Shh." He cut me off, stepping in close again, his thumb brushing my bottom lip, silencing me. "Whatever it is, tell me later. Right now, I just want to look at you."