Chapter 3

The imposter looked Ethan up and down, his smile never wavering. It was a smile of pity, the kind you give to a stray dog.

"Gentlemen, thank you," he said to the security guards and cooks. "I can take it from here. Go back inside. Make sure everything is ready for morning prep."

His voice was calm, authoritative. It was a perfect imitation of Ethan's own command tone.

"But Chef..." Carl started, gesturing toward Ethan.

"It's fine, Carl," the imposter said, placing a reassuring hand on Carl's shoulder. "This poor man is just confused. I'll speak with him."

The power in that simple touch was absolute. Carl, a man who took orders from no one but Ethan, nodded immediately.

"Yes, Chef."

He and the cooks turned and disappeared back into the kitchen, the steel door clicking shut behind them, leaving Ethan alone in the alley with the man who had stolen his life.

The silence was heavy. The imposter took a slow step closer. He was observing Ethan, studying him like a scientist studies a lab rat.

"You look terrible," the imposter said, his voice soft. "You shouldn't be out here. You should be getting help."

Rage, pure and hot, surged through Ethan.

"Who are you?" Ethan growled, his hands clenched into fists.

"You know who I am," the man replied smoothly. "I'm Ethan Miller."

He took another step, closing the distance between them. Before Ethan could react, the imposter's hand shot out and grabbed Ethan's arm. His grip was like iron.

"This has to stop," the imposter's voice dropped, losing its gentle tone and becoming hard as steel. "You're upsetting Sophia. You're scaring my staff. You are creating a problem."

The pressure on his arm intensified, and a sharp pain shot up to his shoulder. It was a clear, physical message of dominance.

Ethan tried to pull his arm away, but the man's grip was too strong. He was trapped.

"They're my staff!" Ethan choked out, the words tasting like poison. "She's my fiancée! This is my life! What have you done?"

He struggled again, a desperate, futile movement.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing," Ethan spat, "but it's over. I don't know how you faked that ID, or the news reports, or how you fooled them, but it ends now."

The imposter laughed. It was a low, chilling sound that didn't reach his eyes.

"Fooled them? Why would I need to fool them?"

He leaned in closer, his voice a whisper.

"They look at me, and they see their chef. They see their friend. They see the man they admire."

He paused, his eyes boring into Ethan's.

"They look at you... and they see a crazy person in an alley. A stranger. A threat."

He let go of Ethan's arm with a sudden shove, sending him stumbling back against the cold brick wall.

"So you tell me," the imposter said, adjusting the collar of his pristine chef's jacket. "Which one of us is the imposter?"

The question hung in the stale air, a final, crushing blow. The logic was twisted, insane, but in this upside-down world, it was horribly true. The man standing before him was Ethan Miller now. And Ethan... Ethan was nobody.