Chapter 1
Three years into her marriage with Damien Blackwood, Elara Vance received the good news.
She could finally leave him.
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“Your sister will be back in a month. For this last month, you will continue to play her part perfectly.” On the other end of the line,
her mother’s voice was as cold and remote as ever. “When it’s all over, I’ll give you five million dollars. You can go live the life you’ve
always wanted.”
“I understand,” she replied softly, her voice as still and lifeless as a stagnant pool.
Hanging up, Elara looked up at the enormous wedding portrait hanging on the wall.
In the photo, Damien was breathtakingly handsome in a tailored suit, a man who looked sculpted by the gods. And she, adorned in
a priceless designer gown, wore a gentle, captivating smile.
“Three years…” she murmured, her fingertips tracing the edge of the frame. “It’s finally ending.”
Three years ago, the union of the Vance and Blackwood dynasties was the society event of the year, a merger of fortunes that sent shockwaves through the global elite. Her twin sister, Seraphina Vance, was the bride handpicked by the Blackwood family.
But on the eve of the wedding, Seraphina had vanished, leaving behind a single, defiant note:
Mom, Dad, I refuse to be a pawn in your corporate games. But I know my duty. Give me three years to find my own freedom. After
that, I’ll come back.
To salvage the multi–billion–dollar alliance, the Vance parents had no choice. They summoned their other daughter, the twin they had cast away to the countryside years ago, and brought her back under the cover of night.
And just like that, Elara Vance–the girl raised in obscurity, who had never even been invited to a family gathering–stepped into her sister’s life, put on her sister’s dress, and became the substitute bride.
“Damien doesn’t love your sister. He loves the scholarship student his family sponsored,” her mother had warned her on the night before the wedding, her words like shards of ice. “Life with him won’t be easy. But all you have to do is keep your head down, wear
your sister’s name, and survive these three years.”
Elara remembered simply nodding, her obedience a practiced shield.
Of course, she knew who Damien was. A permanent fixture in financial magazines, the most celebrated prince of Manhattan’s
elite, the object of desire for countless socialites.
She had also heard the stories about him and Isabelle Croft.
Isabelle was the brilliant, struggling student the Blackwoods had sponsored, the girl who got into a top university on a full ride. Damien had loved her with a fierce passion, ready to defy his family to be with her. But Isabelle, proud and fiercely independent, refused to accept a love that came without blessing. She broke it off and left the country.
The Blackwood family, overjoyed, immediately arranged Damien’s marriage.
Married life was even harder than Elara had imagined.
Damien’s study was a shrine to Isabelle, filled with her photographs. Every week, he would take a private jet to Paris, just to catch a glimpse of her from afar. Meanwhile, Elara, his wife, was not even permitted to enter the master bedroom. She slept in the guest
room at the far end of the hallway.
Elara was meticulous, playing the role of Seraphina to perfection. To ensure the corporate alliance remained intact, she had spent
the last three years being impossibly, almost insanely, good to Damien.
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When he worked late, she left the porch light on, waiting for the sound of his car in the drive. When his stomach acted up, she woke at five every morning to prepare the simple broth he could tolerate. He loved quiet, so she became the quietest thing in the house, a ghost in her own home.
Slowly, whispers began to circulate through their social circle: Mrs. Blackwood was devastatingly in love with her husband. And the way Damien looked at her… it seemed to change, to soften.
The photos of Isabelle in his study disappeared. The weekly flights to Paris stopped. He started remembering her birthday. He wou- Id come home early if he heard she had a cold. He even began to… share her bed.
For a dizzying moment, Elara almost let herself believe that something real, something true, had begun to grow in the ashes of this
substitute marriage.
Until three months ago, when Isabelle Croft came back.
Everything snapped back to the way it was.
Damien Damien’s heart was once again entirely captivated by Isabelle. He started staying out all night. The photos of Isabelle reappeared in his study, more numerous than before. Everyone in their circle laughed at Elara, calling her a pathetic joke. But she simply smiled her quiet smile, never raising her voice, never making a scene.
Because she had never, ever loved Damien.
The only reason she stayed was for the money and the freedom her parents had promised. His affection would have made her life easier, yes. But his indifference? It didn’t matter.
No one knew that while Elara and Seraphina were twins, their fates were worlds apart.
When their mother gave birth to Elara, she suffered a major hemorrhage and nearly died. From that day on, her mother’s eyes alw- ays held a flicker of revulsion when she looked at her. Her father, who doted on his wife, saw Elara as nothing more than a harbing-
er of disaster.
When she was five, she was sent to live with a distant, paid caretaker in a forgotten town upstate.
She remembered one winter when the caretaker’s furnace broke. She had shivered uncontrollably, with not even a single thick coat to her name. Meanwhile, Seraphina was in their warm city mansion, dressed in expensive cashmere, cherished and adored by
their parents.
Eighteen years of such disparate treatment had long ago scoured away any hope she had for familial love.
Now, just one more month. One month, and she would collect her five–million–dollar payment for playing Seraphina and leave this city forever. She would finally have a life that was truly her own.
As a wave of genuine pleasure washed over her, her phone vibrated. The caller ID flashed on the screen.
Damien Blackwood.
She took a deep breath and answered. “Hello?”
“I need you to bring some feminine products to Eclipse within twenty minutes,” Damien’s voice was as cold as steel. “The overnight
kind.”
The line went dead. Elara clutched the phone, understanding instantly who they were for.
Isabelle’s cycle. Damien remembered it more clearly than the date of his company’s IPO.
Outside, a torrential downpour lashed against the windows. The drive from the Blackwood estate to the Eclipse nightclub would take at least forty minutes in this weather.
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Chapter 1
But Elara grabbed an umbrella and walked out the door.
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Halfway there, traffic came to a dead stop. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Twelve minutes left. Gritting her teeth, she pushed open the car door and ran into the storm.
The rain soaked through her clothes in seconds. Her high heels slipped on the slick pavement, and with a sudden lurch, she fell
hard into a puddle, a sharp, searing pain shooting through her knee.
She ignored it, scrambling back to her feet and forcing herself to run faster. Finally, in the nineteenth minute, she arrived at the
club.
As she reached the door of the private suite, she was about to knock when she heard a burst of laughter from within.
“Seriously, Damien? You really made your wife bring you that in this storm? It’s a forty–minute drive from your place, minimum.”
“Isabelle’s in a lot of pain,” Damien’s voice was flat, detached. “She’ll find a way to get here.”
“I guess so. Everyone knows how madly in love she is with you. For three years, she’s stood by you without a single complaint, even knowing your heart was with someone else.”
Another voice chimed in, teasing, “But for real, Damien. A stunning woman who adores you like that… you’re telling us in three years, you haven’t been tempted? Not even a little?”
The room fell silent.
Elara held her breath, listening. She heard Damien pause for a few seconds before he spoke.
“Whenever it comes to a choice between Isabelle and her, I will always choose Isabelle.”
The words were merciless, yet Elara felt no pain. Instead, a wave of relief washed over her. She waited for the conversation inside to resume before raising her hand to knock.
When she pushed the door open, all eyes turned to her, wide with shock.
“Holy shit, she’s right on time!”
“Mrs. Blackwood… what happened? You’re completely soaked!”
Damien stood up, his brow furrowed deeply. “Why are you such a mess?”
Elara held out the package of sanitary pads, which she had managed to keep perfectly dry. “You said you needed them in twenty minutes. I was worried you were in a hurry, so I got out of the car and ran.”
She didn’t mention the fall, nor the fact that her knee was now throbbing so painfully her leg was trembling.
Something shifted in Damien’s eyes. He abruptly took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders. “Put this
on.”
Then he gestured to the package in her hand. “Take it to the women’s restroom.”
Elara nodded, obediently turning toward the restroom.
When she knocked, she heard Isabelle’s delicate voice from within. “Who is it?”
“It’s the delivery.”
The door opened a crack. Elara passed the package through the opening and turned to leave without another word.
Back home, she took a hot shower, the wound on her knee stinging beneath the water.
Lying in bed, the thought of her impending freedom filled her with an indescribable sense of peace.
Chapter 1
Just as she was drifting off to sleep, her bedroom door was thrown open with a violent kick.
Damien stormed in and grabbed her by the wrist. “Get up!”
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Before Elara could react, she was yanked brutally from the bed, stumbling as he dragged her out of the room and to the top of the
grand staircase.
“Damien? What are you do-”
Her words were cut short as a massive force slammed into her. She was thrown backward, her head cracking hard against the edge of a step as she tumbled, again and again, down the long flight of stairs.
An explosion of pain ripped through her entire body.
She lay crumpled at the bottom, her vision blurring, as a warm liquid trickled down from her forehead.
“Why…” she managed, pushing herself up with trembling arms. “Why would you… do this to me?”
Damien stood at the top of the stairs, a dark silhouette against the light, his expression unreadable. His voice, however, was a
blade of ice.
“Did you or did you not push Isabelle?”
Elara stared up at him, bewildered. “What?”
“Stop pretending!” he descended the stairs, each step a hammer blow of fury. “You’ve been playing the part of the magnanimous wife for months, just waiting for a moment like this, weren’t you? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You pushed her from a window! She has multiple fractures! She almost died!”
“I didn’t…” she shook her head weakly, the movement sending a fresh wave of dizziness through her.
Damien knelt, his fingers digging into her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Seraphina, did my kindness these past few years give you some kind of delusion? Let me tell you again. We are a contract. There are no feelings involved.”
He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper in her ear. “The love you want? I will never, ever be able to give that to you.”
The pain was making her vision go black, but a sudden, hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat.
Because she had never… she had never wanted his love at all.
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