Chapter 2

Chloe led me to a rundown motel on the outskirts of the city, a place where questions weren't asked.

"She' s in here," Chloe whispered, unlocking a door.

The room stank of stale cigarettes and desperation.

On the bed, a woman lay unconscious. Isabelle Moreau. Or what was left of her. Her beautiful face was pale, her breathing shallow. Drugged. Heavily.

"She' s been like this since I found her," Chloe said, a little too quickly. "Just sleeping."

Liar.

"Marcus Thorne," Chloe breathed, her eyes shining with a feverish light. "He' s offering a huge reward for her return. Millions, Maya. Enough for us to finally get out of that dump Mom and Dad call home. Enough for me to have everything I' ve ever wanted."

Her ambition was a raw, ugly thing.

"He' s a dangerous man, Chloe," I said, my voice flat. "People say he' s ruthless. What if he finds out?"

Chloe waved a dismissive hand. "He won' t. He' ll be so grateful to get Isabelle back. He adores her."

She actually believed that. She hadn' t seen the coldness in Thorne' s eyes, the kind of coldness that could freeze hell over. I had, in news clippings, in whispered stories from the ER about men who crossed him.

"She' s not just drugged, is she?" I asked, looking at Isabelle. There was a faint bruise on her temple, cleverly hidden by her hair.

Chloe' s smile didn' t waver. "She was struggling. I had to... calm her down. Don' t worry, she' ll be fine. Once she' s back with Thorne, she' ll have the best doctors."

The implication was clear. Isabelle Moreau was an obstacle, now neutralized.

My stomach turned, but my face remained impassive. Chloe was more depraved than I ever imagined.

"So, what exactly do you want me to do?" I asked.

"First, check her vitals. Make sure she' s stable. Then, the fun part." Chloe pulled out a bag filled with expensive makeup, hair dye, and styling tools. Stolen, no doubt.

"I' ve had a few... minor things done already," Chloe said, touching her cheek. "Nose tweaked, a little filler. But with the right makeup and hair, I can be her twin. You' re good at this stuff, Maya. You always were."

It was true. Growing up, I was the one who did everyone' s makeup for school dances, proms. A skill I never thought would be used like this.

"I need to look exactly like her," Chloe demanded, her voice hardening. "Her mannerisms, her accent... I' ve been studying her for months."

She wanted me to help her erase Isabelle Moreau and step into her life.

And I would.

I would make her the perfect copy. So perfect that when the real Isabelle' s fate was discovered, Chloe would have no escape.

"Alright," I said, picking up a makeup brush. "Let' s get to work."

Later, back at our parents' cramped house, Chloe paraded her new look.

The resemblance to Isabelle Moreau was uncanny. The subtle changes from the surgeon, combined with my careful application of makeup and the newly dyed hair, had transformed her.

"Well?" Chloe asked, striking a pose she' d obviously copied from a magazine photo of Isabelle.

Our mother, Maria, gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Chloe! My darling! You look... just like her! It' s a miracle!"

Our father, Hector, a man whose only god was money, was already counting his chickens. "Millions, Maria! We' re going to be rich! Thorne will pay anything to get his precious Isabelle back."

They didn' t ask how Chloe had "found" Isabelle. They didn' t care that a woman was lying drugged in a motel room. All they saw were dollar signs.

"Maya, you did a wonderful job," Maria said, a rare compliment. "See, Hector? I told you she had some use, even with that dead-end paramedic job."

I said nothing. Their greed was a familiar sickness.

They fawned over Chloe, praising her brilliance, her daring.

"This is our ticket out, Chloe-girl," Hector said, patting her shoulder. "You' ll marry Thorne, and we' ll all live like kings."

Delusional. All of them.