Chapter 2

Living as Carter' s wife was like being a ghost in my own life. I lived in his luxurious penthouse, wore the clothes he picked out, and smiled when cameras were on us. But inside, I was hollow. He had crafted my face into a perfect replica of Gia Salazar, and in doing so, he had erased me.

I soon understood that my only purpose was to be a placeholder, a perfect wife to the public while he waited for his true love to return.

The day Gia came back to New York was like a storm hitting our cold, quiet home. Her face was everywhere-on billboards, in magazines, on TV. My face.

Carter was a different person when she was around. He was distracted, his eyes always searching for his phone, a small smile playing on his lips whenever a text came through.

The first time I met her was at a Long Holdings gala. Carter led me into the ballroom, my hand on his arm. Then he froze.

Gia was standing across the room, surrounded by admirers. She wore a red dress, the same shade as mine. When she turned and saw us, a slow, triumphant smile spread across her face. My face.

The air crackled with unspoken tension. People glanced between us, a confused and awkward murmur rippling through the crowd. I was the wife, but she was the original. They looked at me with pity. I was the cheap copy.

Carter' s hand tightened on my arm, his knuckles white. He didn' t look at me. His entire being was focused on Gia.

Later that night, he came into my bedroom. It was the first time in weeks he had sought me out.

"I' m sorry about tonight, Alysha," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

I didn' t answer.

"It was a mistake. I should have prepared you. I promise, I will handle things. You are my wife. I won' t let anyone disrespect you."

For a fleeting, foolish moment, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he saw me. Maybe he had some shred of decency left.

It was a lie.

His promises were just words to keep me compliant. Over the next few weeks, he proved where his loyalty lay. He was constantly with Gia, citing work obligations. They were launching a new product line together. I saw their pictures online, laughing, touching, looking every bit the perfect couple.

I was left at home, a prisoner in our penthouse.

One evening, Carter was supposed to take me to an important dinner with a potential investor. It was our anniversary. He had promised. An hour before we were meant to leave, he called.

"Something' s come up with Gia," he said, his voice rushed. "She' s having a panic attack. I have to go to her."

"Carter, you promised," I said, my voice small.

"This is important, Alysha. Gia needs me."

He hung up. I stood in my expensive gown, staring at my reflection. He had chosen her. Again. I knew then that I would always be second. I wasn't just a substitute; I was disposable.

My marriage was a sham. My life was a lie. The love I felt for him curdled into something cold and hard in my chest.

A week later, a new scandal erupted. A gossip site published an article claiming that Gia Salazar had a shellfish allergy so severe it could kill her. The story was accompanied by a photo of me, at a restaurant with Carter, a platter of oysters on the table in front of us. The headline read: "Wife Tries to Poison Look-Alike Rival?"

The public backlash was immediate and brutal. I was a monster, a jealous wife trying to eliminate the competition.

Carter stormed into the apartment, waving his phone in my face.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"You know I don' t have a shellfish allergy, Carter," I said, my voice flat. "That' s Gia' s allergy."

"You did this to make her look bad!" he yelled. "To make it look like I' m dining with a woman who has a deathly allergy. You' re trying to ruin her!"

I just stared at him, the absurdity of it all washing over me. He had made me look like her, and now he was blaming me for the consequences.

"This is your fault," I said quietly. "All of it."

His face hardened. "Gia is distraught. Her campaign is at risk. You need to fix this."

"Fix it? How?"

"You will issue a public apology," he commanded. "You' ll say you have a bizarre condition where you compulsively lie and mimic others. You' ll say you became obsessed with Gia and had surgery to look like her without my knowledge. You will take all the blame."

I felt a bitter laugh escape my lips. "You want me to tell the world I' m insane?"

"I want you to protect Gia," he said, his voice dangerously low. "It' s the least you can do after I saved your life."

Gia played her part perfectly. She gave a tearful interview, talking about how she feared for her safety, how she felt sorry for the "poor, troubled woman" who was obsessed with her. She looked at the camera with my eyes and cried my crocodile tears.

The public devoured it. I was vilified. The comments online were a torrent of hate. "Crazy bitch." "She should be locked up." "What a psycho." I felt like I was suffocating.

I locked myself in my room, the curtains drawn. That night, I made a decision. I couldn't live like this anymore. I had to get out.

I called my lawyer. Then I went to find Carter.

He was in his study, on the phone, no doubt with Gia. I waited until he hung up.

"I' ll do it," I said.

He looked up, surprised. "You' ll make the statement?"

"Yes," I said. "But I want something in return."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"The Hamptons beach house. And fifty million dollars."

He stared at me for a long moment, then a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "So, the little bird has claws after all."

Gia must have been whispering in his ear, telling him I was a gold digger. This played right into her narrative.

"Is that your price for your silence? For your reputation?" he sneered.

"It' s my price for my freedom," I said, my voice steady. "And I want a divorce. I' ll sign the papers right now. The money and the house are my severance package for playing your sick game."

He leaned back in his chair, a flicker of something-annoyance? surprise?-in his eyes. He probably thought I' d just roll over and die.

"Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "I' ll have my lawyer draw up the papers. You get your money after you' ve done what I asked. And after you do one more thing for me."

A cold dread filled me. "What?"

"Gia is supposed to attend a yacht party tomorrow night. A publicity event. But she' s received threats. She' s too scared to go." He paused, his gaze pinning me to the spot. "You' ll go in her place."

My heart pounded in my chest. It was another setup.

"She' ll be safe, and you' ll get your money. A win-win," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

I looked at his cold, handsome face, the face I once adored. All I saw now was a monster.

But I saw no other way out. I was trapped.

"Fine," I whispered. I took the divorce papers from his lawyer the next morning, my hands shaking as I signed my name. I felt a bitter pang as I wrote my signature on the line that would end my sham of a marriage.

It wasn't freedom. Not yet. It was just a transaction. My soul for a way out.

And I had a feeling the price was going to be much higher than fifty million dollars.