Chapter 5 The Mistress Wears Her Face

Amira didn't sleep that night.

Not truly.

She lay beside Jason, pretending to breathe evenly, feeling the heat of his body just inches away. His arm draped across her stomach like a chain. A comfortable chain. Familiar. Dangerous.

How could he hold her so tenderly when he had stood by as she died?

And yet... those photos. Why keep them?

Did he feel guilt? Regret? Or was he simply sick enough to treasure the memory of her humiliation?

She had no answers. Only a growing fire in her chest.

By morning, she had made a decision - it was time to step fully into Sasha's life. To play her part better than Sasha ever did. If she was to bring them all down, she had to earn Jason's trust.

And that meant pretending.

Smiling.

Lying.

Just like they had done to her.

---

Later that afternoon, a servant escorted her into a private spa suite in the mansion. "Mr. Lawson ordered this for you, Miss Kline," the woman said. "A little pampering to help you recover."

Amira nodded graciously. "How thoughtful."

Inside, two beauticians waited - both strangers, but one gasped when she saw her.

"You're... wow," the younger one whispered. "You look different. Did you get something done?"

Amira blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I mean-sorry-it's just... you don't sound like Sasha."

Amira's heart stopped.

"You knew her?"

"Only from last month. She came here once. Flirted with my brother, actually." The girl giggled. "But you... you seem softer."

Amira forced a smile. "Maybe the accident changed me."

---

When she returned home that evening, Jason was waiting in the living room, a bottle of wine open on the table.

"You were gone all day," he said. His voice was casual, but his eyes weren't.

"You sent me to the spa," she replied, pouring herself a glass.

"Yes," he said slowly. "But you didn't take your phone. You never go anywhere without it."

Amira shrugged. "Maybe I'm still not myself."

Jason stood. His gaze pinned her.

"Maybe not," he murmured.

He stepped closer, brushing her hair from her face. "But it's strange. You feel like someone I used to know."

Her stomach dropped.

"What do you mean?" she asked, voice tight.

He stared at her, long and hard.

Then smiled.

"Nothing," he said. "Just tired, I guess."

But something in his eyes had shifted.

And as Amira turned away, the wine in her glass trembled.

Had he figured it out?

Or worse...

Was he pretending too?