Chapter 2

The next morning, the atmosphere at the breakfast table was thick with unspoken tension. Cecil picked at her food, the taste of ashes in her mouth.

Cleve watched her, his brow furrowed with concern. "You're barely eating, Cecil. Are you still feeling unwell?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice flat.

The butler, an old man who had been with the Drake family for decades, chimed in. "Mr. Drake, Mrs. Drake didn't come home until very late last night."

Cleve's expression darkened instantly. The concern vanished, replaced by a possessive glint in his eyes. "Where did you go, Cecil?"

His tone was no longer gentle. It was an interrogation.

She met his gaze without flinching. "I went for a walk."

Then, she added, "Where did you go last night, Cleve? You said you had a late meeting."

A flicker of something-guilt, perhaps-crossed his face. He fell silent, not pressing her further. The lie hung between them, a dead thing.

He reached for her hand across the table. "Cecil, don't be like this. You know you're the only one for me. The thought of losing you... I can't bear it."

His words were poison. She felt the urge to laugh, a bitter, hysterical sound. He was afraid of losing her, yet he had already thrown her away.

She pulled her hand back.

As soon as he left for work, Cecil drove back to the city hall. The same tired clerk looked up, surprised to see her again.

"I'm here to apply for a visa," Cecil said, her voice firm.

The clerk, recognizing her from the day before, softened. "Ma'am, for someone of your status, we can have someone handle this for you. Your husband's assistant usually takes care of these matters."

The mention of her "husband" was another twist of the knife.

"I'll do it myself," Cecil said. "I'm immigrating."

She filled out the paperwork with a steady hand. She had to leave. But first, there was one last thing. Her younger brother was in a private hospital, battling a chronic illness. Cleve had been paying for his treatment. She had to make arrangements.

After leaving the city hall, a small weight lifted from her shoulders. For the first time in twenty-four hours, she could breathe a little easier. The decision was made. The path was clear, even if it led into darkness.

She decided to go shopping, a small act of normalcy in a world that had become a nightmare. She walked through a high-end department store, not really seeing the clothes.

Then she saw her.

Ivanna was in a heated argument with another woman near the escalators. This was not the shy, gentle Ivanna Cecil knew. Her face was twisted in a sneer, her voice sharp and vulgar.

"You think you can blackmail me? You're dreaming!" Ivanna spat, shoving the other woman hard.

The woman stumbled back, losing her balance. She dropped a folder, papers scattering across the floor.

"You'll regret this!" the woman shouted, before turning and storming away.

Ivanna, flustered, quickly gathered her composure, her face transforming back into its familiar, innocent mask. She didn't notice the fallen folder.

Cecil waited until Ivanna was gone, then walked over and picked it up. Curiosity, a doctor's instinct for diagnosis, compelled her.

She opened it.

Inside were medical records. Invoices from a plastic surgery clinic in Korea. And before-and-after photos.

The "before" photos showed a plain-faced girl. The "after" photos showed... Ivanna. But the face was not just improved. It was sculpted.

The file contained a detailed breakdown of the procedures. Rhinoplasty. Blepharoplasty. A jawline reconstruction. The goal, stated in the surgeon's notes, was explicit: "Patient requests features to closely resemble Ms. Cecil Farley."

A chill went down Cecil's spine. Every change, every cut, was designed to make Ivanna look more like her. The shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the line of her jaw.

She remembered the first time Cleve had brought Ivanna to the house. The girl had been so timid, so full of admiration.

"Mrs. Drake, you're my idol," Ivanna had said. "I hope I can be a great doctor like you one day."

It was all a lie. A long, horrifying con. She hadn't been admiring Cecil. She had been studying her.

The imitation wasn't a coincidence. It was a strategy. A hostile takeover of her life.

Cecil felt a surge of fear, a primal terror that went beyond betrayal. This wasn't just about an affair. This was about a woman who wanted to erase her and become her.

She drove back to the hospital, her mind numb. She felt Ivanna's presence before she saw her. The cloying sweet scent of her perfume.

"Dr. Farley," Ivanna chirped, her voice a perfect mimicry of polite deference. "You look pale. Are you feeling okay?"

The sound of that voice, which she now knew was a carefully crafted imitation, made Cecil's stomach turn.

Just then, a young resident, Dr. Phillips, approached Ivanna, his face full of admiration. "Dr. Mccarty, your presentation this morning was brilliant."

Ivanna blushed, a picture of modesty. "Oh, it was nothing. I still have so much to learn."

She looked so innocent, so harmless. No one would ever suspect the chilling ambition that lay beneath.

Suddenly, Cleve was there. He appeared as if from nowhere, his face a thundercloud. He stepped between Ivanna and the young resident.

"Dr. Phillips," Cleve's voice was ice. "Is there something you need from Dr. Mccarty?"

The resident paled. "No, sir. Mr. Drake. I was just... complimenting her."

"Her work is my business," Cleve said, his authority absolute. "Get back to yours."

He dismissed the young doctor with a wave of his hand, his possessiveness on full display. He then turned to Ivanna, his expression softening as he pulled her close.

"You need to be more careful," he murmured, loud enough for Cecil to hear. "Men can't be trusted."

He then looked at Cecil, as if for her approval. "I'm just looking out for her, Cecil. She's so naive."

Cecil said nothing. The irony was so thick she could choke on it. He was protecting his "naive" mistress from other men, right in front of the wife he had secretly discarded.

As Cleve was lecturing Ivanna, his eyes fell on the folder in Cecil's hand. The folder she had forgotten she was holding.

His eyes narrowed. "What's that?"

Cecil's heart leaped into her throat. He recognized the logo of the law firm representing the woman Ivanna had argued with.

He walked toward her, his hand outstretched. "Let me see that."

But before he could take it, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting. "I have to take this."

He walked away, leaving Cecil and Ivanna alone.

Without a word to Ivanna, Cecil turned and walked away.

Later that evening, Cleve called. "I have to work late tonight, Cecil. A deal came up. Don't wait up for me."

She knew where he was going. He was going to deal with the woman Ivanna had argued with. He was cleaning up his mistress's mess.

Cecil didn't care. She hung up the phone and walked out of the hospital, not to their empty, cold house, but toward a future he would have no part in.