Chapter 5 The Wrong Face

The door creaked open, spilling light into the stone cell. My heart hammered so loud I thought it might give me away. For a split second, I expected him - Matteo, with his cold eyes and cruel mouth.

But it wasn't him.

The man standing there looked like him, yet... not. His face shared the same sharp bone structure, the same strong jaw, but softer, less carved from ice. His dark hair fell loosely across his forehead, not slicked back with control. And his eyes, oh, his eyes weren't the obsidian void that had swallowed me whole before. They held warmth, curiosity, even pity.

"I'm Matias," he said, his voice lower, smoother, carrying none of the jagged edges of Matteo's. "And I know you're not the girl my brother thinks you are."

The words stole the air from my lungs. My throat tightened, but no sound came out. My lips parted, trembling, and for the first time in hours, maybe days, hope sparked.

"You..." My voice cracked like glass. "You believe me?"

Something flickered across his face. A hesitation. Then a small, almost imperceptible nod. He stepped closer, his footsteps softer than the guards', not meant to intimidate. His gaze dropped briefly to the bruises on my wrists, the torn fabric clinging to my shoulders. His jaw clenched, but not in anger, in something else. Something almost human.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. The words seemed foreign on his tongue, but he meant them. I felt it. "I can't undo what he's done. But I believe you."

The apology sliced through me. I had braced myself for more cruelty, more disbelief, and instead here was... him. A twin, a shadow of the same blood, but not the same man.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

But just as quickly, his expression shuttered. He straightened, retreating from the doorway. The warmth in his gaze dimmed, replaced by caution. "I shouldn't be here." His voice lowered, sharp with warning. "If he finds out I've spoken to you, it'll make things worse."

"Please!" I lurched forward, my bare feet slapping against the cold stone, my hands clutching the iron bars between us. "Don't leave me here. Please, you know it's not me!"

His face twisted, pain flashing in his eyes. But he shook his head. "I can't."

And then, without another word, he closed the door. The lock scraped, the iron groaned, and the silence returned, heavier than before.

---

Matteo Loki wasn't a man given to hesitation. His empire thrived because he acted swiftly, decisively, never second-guessing. Yet tonight, as he sat in his study with a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, her scream echoed louder than his own heartbeat.

He had heard women cry before. Some begged. Some lied. Some even laughed through pain, thinking they could manipulate him. But hers... hers had cracked something inside his chest.

He brought the glass to his lips, but the scent of whiskey turned his stomach. With a sharp motion, he slammed it down onto the desk, glass splintering, amber liquid spilling across the polished wood like blood.

A guard appeared in the doorway at the noise, but one look from Matteo sent him retreating back into the hall.

Alone, Matteo crossed the room and yanked open a drawer. His hand closed around a thin file, and he pulled it free. Photographs slipped loose, scattering across the desk.

Porsche Wolff.

The thief. The seductress. The woman who had dared steal from him, not just his mother's necklace, but his pride.

He picked up one photo, staring at her smirk. That same golden hair. Those same lips. The resemblance was undeniable. But the eyes...

He cursed, slamming the photo face-down.

The girl downstairs hadn't looked at him with fire. She hadn't taunted or mocked. She hadn't lied with a smile. No, she had fought like an animal in a snare, trembling, desperate, her eyes filled not with defiance but with innocence.

His mind betrayed him, replaying the moment he'd stilled, the blood, the broken cry, the way she'd whispered, "I don't even know you."

He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened. "No... it has to be her. It *has* to be."

And yet, doubt gnawed at him like rot under steel.

Matteo dragged his hand across his face, pacing the length of the study. Every instinct screamed that he couldn't afford mistakes, couldn't afford weakness. But her voice lingered. Her scream haunted.

Finally, he stopped. His gaze hardened, obsidian once more.

He turned toward the door and barked at the command.

"Bring me every detail about her. Now."

The guard outside stiffened, then nodded quickly and disappeared into the shadows.

Matteo Loki stood alone in the silence, the untouched whiskey still staining the desk, the file on Porsche still open.

For the first time in years, he wondered if he had punished the wrong woman.

But if she wasn't the one... then who was she? Did Porsche have a twin? A sister who looked exactly like her?

If what Matias said was true...

Matteo's jaw tightened. His brother was just as furious as he was over losing their mother's necklace. Matias would never defend Porsche , not after what she did. He had known her for years. He knew her arrogance, her selfishness, her inability to play innocent. She wasn't good at acting. She wouldn't break into tears the way that girl had. She wouldn't bleed.

His chest rose sharply, a shadow crossing his face. Or was I so rough on her?

The silence cracked when the study door opened.

Matias stepped inside, his expression grim, his movements deliberate. His eyes, so like Matteo's yet carrying a different fire, flicked once to the scattered photos on the desk before pinning his brother.

"I already told you," he said, his voice low, edged with steel. "I've done the research myself. If you don't do something..." He leaned in just enough to make the threat real. "...I will."

Matteo's jaw clenched, but before he could speak, Matias turned on his heel and strode out, the door slamming shut behind him.

The room fell quiet again, but this time the silence carried a new weight. Not just doubt. Not just guilt.

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