Chapter 9 0009

It seemed I'd be cocooned in the comfort of his room tonight.

Alexander's cold voice still echoed in my ears, lingering like a cruel aftertaste from everything that had happened in the dining hall.

We had no other choice at least not if we wanted to keep up appearances in front of his stepmother, Gratia. Sleeping in separate rooms would only raise suspicion. And so, I found myself standing awkwardly in his space for the first time.

His room was nothing like mine.

Where mine was airy and soft, his was dark, bold, unapologetically masculine.

The scent of sandalwood and musk wrapped around me the moment I stepped in intoxicating, commanding, and undeniably him.

Alexander moved toward the bed, casually tossing extra pillows at the center as a divider. His eyes flicked to me, cold and unreadable.

"So," he said flatly, "there's no way I'm sleeping on the floor. The bed's big enough for both of us. You stay on your side."

I crossed my arms tightly. "So we're just going to pretend like nothing happened earlier?"

He didn't respond. Just gave me that icy, detached look again.

"I'm seriously tired," he muttered. "Don't stress me tonight."

"Oh, really?" I snapped, stepping closer. "You're tired? You didn't even tell me your stepmother was coming today. Or that I was supposed to pretend to be Beatrice. You just threw me into this mess without even a warning!"

He exhaled, clearly irritated.

"And how do we even look alike, Alexander? How did you even find me in the first place? How-"

"Shut up," he growled suddenly, closing the distance between us.

His hands clamped down on my shoulders, his grip firmer than before. I winced under the pressure.

"Just shut up, Isla. I don't have time for this."

"Answer me!" I cried. "You owe me that much!"

His jaw clenched. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes rage or regret, I couldn't tell.

"I didn't know, okay?" he snapped. "I only found out about you a few months ago."

My brows furrowed. "What does that even mean?"

"I did my research," he said tightly. "I found you. Yes, I used your mother's condition. Yes, I tied you into this arrangement. That's what you want to hear, right?"

My heart pounded. "So I was just convenient? A mirror image of someone you needed to manipulate your family?"

He released me sharply, stepping back like my words had burned him.

"That's it," he muttered, grabbing one of the pillows. "Sleep here if you want. Or go back to your room. I don't care."

He turned toward the door.

"So that's it?" I called out, my voice trembling. "You'll just keep running? Keep me in the dark while I play this role for you?"

He paused.

"I need to know what to say in front of your stepmother, Alexander," I said, quieter this time. "I don't want to disappoint you."

He turned slowly, eyes hard and cutting.

"You won't disappoint me, Isla," he said coldly. "Because you know what happens if you do."

My stomach twisted.

"If you disappoint me," he continued, voice like ice, "your mother dies."

Then, without another word, he walked out slamming the door behind him.

I had no other choice but to sleep in Alexander's bed that night.

the performance had to go on. Gratia couldn't suspect we weren't truly living as husband and wife.

His room remained dark and heavy, the scent of sandalwood clinging to the sheets. As I sat on the edge of the bed, something caught my eye-a photo frame on his bedside table.

But only half of it was there.

Curious, I opened the drawer. Beneath a stack of old letters, I found the other half of the photograph.

My breath hitched.

There she was-Beatrice. My mirror image.

I pieced the photo together beneath the warm glow of the lamp. She stood beside Alexander in a snow-covered landscape, bundled in winter coats. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled with affection. Her arms were wrapped around him intimately, possessively.

And Alexander...

He was smiling.

Truly smiling, in a way I'd never seen before. Soft. Unburdened. Happy.

They looked perfect.

I swallowed hard and quietly slid the photo back into the drawer. Then I slipped under the sheets, trying to erase the image from my mind.

Hours later, I heard the door creak open.

Alexander returned, his footsteps slow and steady. The sound of the shower followed. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

A moment later, the bed dipped beside me.

"Good night, Isla," he said softly. "I know you're not sleeping yet."

My cheeks flushed.

"Good night," I mumbled, turning toward the pillow.

Sleep eventually claimed me. uneasy and restless.

Morning sunlight streamed through the windows.

I stirred awake just as the door clicked open. Lucy entered quietly, holding fresh sheets and a dress. I rubbed my eyes, only to notice Alexander's side of the bed was already perfectly made as if he had never been there at all.

Of course. He'd vanished again.

Lucy smiled gently, opening the curtains to let the light spill in.

"Lucy," I said, brushing my hair at the dresser, "can I ask you something? And I want the truth."

She paused, then nodded slowly. "Yes, Ma'am."

I watched her closely her warm brown eyes, the gray streaks in her hair, her calm demeanor.

"Tell me about Beatrice."

Her hand froze on the curtain.

The color drained from her face. She looked as though she'd seen a ghost.

"Don't lie to me," I said softly. "I already know who she is."

Lucy fidgeted nervously. "Ma'am... we all thought... we believed you were her."

"What?"

"Sir Alexander told us you'd lost your memory," she whispered. "He said we shouldn't say anything that might confuse you."

My heart dropped.

"He told you I was Beatrice?" I repeated in disbelief.

"Yes, Ma'am," she said. "You were always so... different with Madam Gratia. We assumed you simply didn't remember."

I stared at her, a bitter taste forming on my tongue.

I wasn't Beatrice. But to them... I was.

Everything was a lie. And Alexander had painted it so perfectly.

Later that day, I stayed in the kitchen, helping Lucy bake cookies just to feel normal for a while. We laughed over flour-covered hands and shared stories until an unwelcome voice shattered the peace.

"So now you bake cookies with the maids?"

Gratia's voice sliced through the air like a knife.

I froze, turning slowly to see her standing in the doorway dressed in a black checkered dress, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with venom.

"Why not wash my sheets too?" she sneered. "That's all you are, after all Trash in disguise."

I stiffened.

"If you have a problem with me, Gratia, say it clearly," I replied calmly. "I have no issue with you, but whether you like it or not, I'm Alexander's wife. And this is my home."

Her expression twisted into something feral. A storm brewed in her eyes.

"You little bitch how dare you speak to me like that!"

Her palm cracked hard against my cheek.

I stumbled backward in shock.

"Don't touch me!" I cried, but another slap followed before I could recover.

I yelped, raising my arms to protect my face.

"You disgusting, low-class tramp!" she shouted, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me forward.

"Mom! What are you doing?!" Drew burst into the room, pulling her away.

"She insulted me! This rat thinks she belongs here!" Gratia shrieked, shoving him aside and lunging again.

She dragged me by my hair across the floor, my knees scraping against the tiles as I screamed.

"Mom, stop! You're hurting her!" Drew shouted, trying to hold her back.

She immediately dropped me like i was burning her fingers and headed for the kitchen like she didn't just grab a fistful of my hair just now.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

Alexander's voice boomed through the hall like thunder.

Everything halted.

He stormed in, eyes locking onto my red face, trembling and crumpled on the ground.

He rushed to my side, lifting me carefully, his fingertips grazing my cheek in horror.

"What did she do to you?" he asked, voice trembling with fury.

"Alex-" Drew stammered.

"Shut the hell up," he snapped. "I'm talking to my wife. Darling... what happened?"

Before I could even speak, Gratia sauntered out of the kitchen, swirling a glass of wine in her hand with casual elegance.

"Oh, calm down," she said, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Your dear wife just tripped and fell."

Her cold, venom-laced voice sliced through the silence.

Then she took a slow step closer, her eyes locking on mine with icy delight.

"You're just so clumsy, darling," she purred sweetly.

And as her sinister gaze lingered on me,

I realized something chilling.

She was here to destroy me.