Chapter 4

The world outside the hospital was a fresh hell. Carter and Gia were New York' s tragic, beautiful couple, and I was the villain of their story. The narrative was set in stone: I was the crazy, obsessed look-alike who had been cast aside and couldn't handle it.

My face-the face Carter had given me-was splashed across every tabloid. They called me "The Counterfeit," "The Psycho Stalker." Every article was a fresh wave of humiliation. They dissected my appearance, comparing me to Gia. "A cheap copy," one headline read. "Notice the dead eyes. The original shines with life."

They didn't know the truth. They didn't know I hadn' t even heard of Gia Salazar before the fire. They didn't know Carter had sculpted me into this person, that he had forced me into this nightmare. I was a product of his obsession, and now the world was punishing me for it.

Carter, of course, remained silent. He didn't defend me. He didn' t correct the lies. His silence was a tacit confirmation of everything they said. He let the world crucify me to protect Gia.

I called him once, in a moment of weakness. The online hate was relentless, and I felt myself starting to crack.

"Carter, you have to say something," I begged. "Tell them the truth."

"The best thing you can do right now is stay out of the public eye," he said, his voice cold and impatient. "Let it blow over."

An hour later, he posted a photo of himself and Gia on Instagram. The caption read: "Protecting what matters most. #TrueLove."

The comment section was a cesspool of my name, dragged through the mud. I felt a wave of nausea. He was actively feeding the fire that was burning me alive.

I retreated into the penthouse, a prisoner waiting for my sentence to end. My sentence was the divorce. The fifty million dollars and the beach house felt like blood money, but it was my only ticket out. I just had to endure a little longer. I started packing my things, quietly, when Carter wasn't home. I planned to disappear the moment the money was in my account.

A few days later, he called me into his study.

"There' s a charity gala tonight," he said, not looking up from his computer. "Gia is the guest of honor."

I said nothing.

"She' s been getting more threats since the yacht incident," he continued. "Her security team thinks it' s too risky for her to attend the main event."

A cold feeling washed over me. I knew what was coming.

"You will go in her place."

It wasn't a request. It was an order.

"No," I said, my voice shaking. "Absolutely not. I' m not your pawn anymore, Carter."

He finally looked at me, his eyes hard as stone. "You don' t have a choice. This is part of our deal. You do this, and you get your money, and you' re free. You refuse, and I' ll make sure those pre-surgery photos of you end up on the front page of every newspaper in the country. Let' s see how you disappear then."

I stared at him, my blood running cold. He was a monster. There was no line he wouldn't cross.

I felt trapped, cornered. I had to play his game one last time.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

I went to the gala, dressed in a gown identical to the one Gia was supposed to wear. I entered through a private back entrance, the same way I had at the yacht party.

Gia was there, in a private suite, looking flawless and smug.

"Don' t worry, Alysha," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "It' s just for a little while. You just have to walk through the crowd to the stage. I' ll take over from there."

Carter stood beside her, his hand on her back. He looked at me with a mixture of annoyance and impatience.

"Just get it over with," he said to me. "And try not to cause a scene this time."

He offered me a glass of champagne. "To make sure you' re relaxed," he said with a tight smile. It was a threat.

He gave me one last instruction. "I' ve arranged for a car to take you to a hotel for the night. Do not try to contact me. Stay there until I tell you it' s safe."

He was already planning to discard me.

I took the champagne, but I didn't drink it. I wouldn't make that mistake again.

He then tried to pretend he cared. "I know this is hard," he said, his voice softening into the fake tenderness I now hated. "After this is over, I promise I' ll make it up to you. We can go away somewhere, just the two of us."

I almost laughed in his face. He was still trying to manipulate me with empty promises, even now.

"Shut up, Carter," I said, my voice flat.

I walked out of the suite and into the glittering, crowded ballroom. I was a lamb walking to the slaughter. I thought of the beach house, the money. Freedom. It was just a few more steps away.

I was a substitute. A fake. A target. And I was walking right into their trap.