Chapter 4

One evening, my quiet existence was interrupted. Nicole Chavez let herself into my workshop. She looked more severe than I remembered, her ambition having carved sharp lines into her face.

"We need to talk," she said, closing the door behind her.

I didn' t look up from the prosthetic hand I was detailing. "I' m busy."

"This is about Matthew," she pressed. "And Jocelyn."

That got my attention. I set down my tools.

"What about them?"

"Jocelyn is driving him crazy," Nicole spat, her voice dripping with venom. "She won' t leave him alone, and she won' t stop talking about you. It' s affecting his work. His image."

"Sounds like a personal problem," I said, turning back to my work.

"It' s your problem now."

She stepped closer, holding out her phone. "Matthew found something. Evidence. That you' ve been feeding designs to a rival studio, Phoenix Gate. Corporate espionage. He' s going to take it to the Studio Head tomorrow. You' ll be ruined. Blacklisted."

I knew it was a lie. A fabrication. But in our industry, reputation is everything. An accusation like that, coming from a star like Matthew, would be enough to end me.

"What do you want, Nicole?" I asked, my voice calm.

"Take Jocelyn back," she said, her eyes gleaming with a desperate cunning. "Take her off Matthew' s hands. Mentor her, help her, whatever. Just get her away from him. If you do, I' ll make sure this 'evidence' disappears. I can convince him it was a misunderstanding."

I finally looked at her, really looked at her. I saw through the flimsy blackmail instantly. This wasn' t about protecting me or even Matthew' s career. This was about eliminating her rival. She wanted Matthew all to herself.

"You' re lying," I said softly.

"I' m not," she insisted, her voice wavering slightly.

"You don' t care if I' m ruined," I continued, standing up and walking towards the small mirror in the corner of my workshop. "You just want your sister out of the picture. You' re in love with him."

"That' s ridiculous!"

I ignored her, picking up a few containers of makeup and a palette. My hands moved with a blur of practiced efficiency. In under a minute, I began to reshape my own features. The line of my jaw sharpened. My nose became straighter. My eyes seemed to change shape, taking on a familiar, charismatic glint.

I turned to face her.

Nicole gasped, stumbling backward. She wasn' t looking at Andrew Lester anymore. She was looking at a perfect replica of Matthew Scott.

"What... how did you do that?" she stammered, her resolve crumbling. The anger in her eyes was replaced by a confused, painful longing. She was faced with the image of the man she loved, and it broke her. Her whole scheme, her whole motivation, was laid bare in her stunned silence.

Just then, the workshop door opened.

The real Matthew Scott walked in. He froze, his eyes wide, taking in the scene: me, wearing his face, and Nicole, staring at me with a look of raw, unguarded emotion. To him, it could only look like one thing.

Betrayal.