Chapter 2

Clara POV:

I stared at his name, the cheerful photo of us on a sailboat mocking me from the screen. My thumb hovered over the red decline button. Denying the call would be an admission of guilt, a signal that something was wrong.

I couldn't afford that. Not yet.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, I swiped to answer, pressing the phone to my ear with a hand that felt disconnected from my body.

"Lynn? Thank God. Are you okay?" Liam's voice was a frantic rush of perfectly feigned concern. "Your mother said you saw someone who looked like Sera? Where are you?"

The lie came to my lips with terrifying ease. "I'm in the car, just a few blocks from the restaurant. And yes, it was strange. For a second, I really thought it was her. It just threw me off."

There was a pause on the other end, a split second of dead air where I could practically hear the gears in his head turning, calculating.

"Well, that's impossible, sweetheart," he said, his tone shifting back to the smooth, reassuring cadence I knew so well. "She's thousands of miles away. You're probably just tired. We've had a busy week."

"You're right," I said, my voice flat. "I'm just being emotional. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Okay. We're waiting for you. I love you."

The words, once the anchor of my existence, were now just noise. "You too," I whispered, and ended the call before he could hear the tremor in my voice.

I sat in the silence of my car for a full minute, the curated reality of the last five years replaying in my mind, now tainted and grotesque. Every shared laugh, every tender touch, every promise for the future was a lie. I wasn't his beloved fiancée. I was a placeholder. A political shield.

Driving to the restaurant was an out-of-body experience. I navigated the familiar streets of Georgetown like a ghost. When I walked into the dimly lit, exclusive restaurant, they were all there at a corner table, a perfect portrait of a powerful, loving family. My father, Senator Walsh, looked distinguished. My mother, elegant. And Liam, my handsome, treacherous fiancé, stood up as I approached, his face a mask of relief.

"There you are," he said, pulling me into a hug.

**His body felt alien against mine. I forced myself not to flinch as his familiar scent of sandalwood and expensive cologne filled my lungs like poison. I let my arms hang limp at my sides.**

He pulled away slightly, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just a headache," I murmured, sliding into the booth.

The dinner was torture. They talked about my father's upcoming bill, my mother's charity gala, and my wedding. Our wedding. They discussed flower arrangements and guest lists while the image of Liam with his son-his real family-was burned onto the back of my eyelids.

I excused myself to the restroom and locked the door, leaning against the cold marble counter. I stared at my reflection. The woman looking back at me was a stranger. Her eyes were hollow, her face pale. The happy, trusting Clara-or Lynn-was gone. In her place was someone I didn't recognize, someone cold and sharp.

I knew what I had to do. I couldn't confront them. Not yet. They were masters of manipulation. They would twist my words, call me hysterical, and maybe even try to have me committed. They had done it before, subtly, suggesting therapy when I was "too emotional" about Seraphina's betrayal.

No, I needed proof. Hard, undeniable proof.

When I returned to the table, I put on the performance of my life. I smiled. I laughed at my father's jokes. I even offered an opinion on the color of the napkins for the wedding.

Later that night, back at the ridiculously opulent apartment Liam and I shared, I waited until I heard the steady sound of his breathing from the master bedroom. My heart hammered against my ribs as I slipped out of the guest room, where I'd claimed my headache was too bad to share a bed.

His study was my first target. He was always so careful with his things, so private. I had always respected that. Now, I saw it for what it was: secrecy.

His laptop was on the desk, closed. I opened it. It was password protected, of course. **My mind raced. A brilliant congressman wouldn't use something obvious like a birthday or an anniversary. It had to be something meaningful but obscure. My eyes scanned the room, searching for a clue, anything.**

**On the corner of his desk sat a small, silver-framed photo of Finn I hadn't noticed before, clearly taken when he was a baby. It was turned slightly away, almost hidden. I picked it up. Etched into the bottom of the frame was a date: 10.26.18.**

**Not his birthday. I knew from overhearing Liam in the park that Finn was four. This date was more than five years ago. What was it? An adoption day? The day he found out?**

**My fingers trembled as I typed the numbers. 102618.**

The screen flickered and unlocked, revealing his desktop.

A gasp escaped my lips, raw and painful. It wasn't the emails or the files that made my blood run cold. It was the wallpaper.

It was a professional photograph. A family portrait. Liam, Seraphina, and their son, Finn, sitting on a picnic blanket in a field of wildflowers. They were all dressed in coordinating shades of blue, smiling radiantly at the camera. They looked like the picture that should have come in the frame.

They were a family. A real, secret family. And I was just the lie that made their life possible.