He Called Me by Another Woman's Name

To pay for her mother's life-saving surgery, Holly Austin became the fiancée of the billionaire Kirk Knapp, and in her desperation, made the mistake of falling for him.

But when she confessed her feelings, he laughed.

He showed her a black leather ledger where he'd itemized her entire existence-the clothes she wore, the food she ate, her mother's medical bills-down to the last cent.

"This is what you are to me, Holly," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A transaction. An investment. Don't ever confuse my responsibility with affection."

He made it clear his only real affection was for his young ward, Jaida-her uncanny lookalike. He would panic over a tiny scratch on Jaida's arm, yet dismissed the cost of Holly's mother's life as a simple task completed, like taking out the trash.

The moment her mother was safe, the transaction was over. She walked out of his life without a word.

He would soon discover that the 'asset' he'd so casually dismissed was the only thing holding his world together.

Chapter 1

The phone buzzed on the nightstand. Holly Austin didn't move.

It was Kirk Knapp. The screen glowed with his name.

She stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster with her eyes.

Her mother's surgery was tomorrow. The final payment was due.

That was the only reason she was still here, in this cold, ornate bedroom that felt more like a cage than a home. It was the last link in the chain holding her to the price of her mother's life.

She finally reached for the phone, her fingers stiff.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Kirk's voice was clipped, impatient.

"In the bedroom."

"Jaida took a tumble. Scraped her arm. Get the first-aid kit and bring it to the living room. Now."

The line went dead.

Holly closed her eyes for a moment. Jaida Goff. She was the daughter of Kirk's late best friend, a man who had died saving Kirk's life years ago. Kirk had become her guardian, and though she called him 'Uncle,' their age gap was barely a decade. She was the real center of his universe-the reason for his moods, his anger, and the rare, fleeting moments of kindness he sometimes misdirected at Holly.

She got up. Her own body ached with a dull, persistent pain. The bruises on her back were a deep purple, hidden beneath her silk pajamas. A gift from him two nights ago, after she'd accidentally served his coffee a few degrees too cool.

She found the first-aid kit in the bathroom. It was fully stocked. Antiseptics, bandages, salves for every conceivable injury. Kirk was a fanatic about health and safety.

Just not hers.

When she entered the living room, Kirk was kneeling by the sofa, dabbing at a tiny red mark on Jaida's forearm with a silk handkerchief. Jaida was sobbing, her shoulders shaking dramatically.

"It hurts so much, Uncle Kirk," she whimpered, her eyes welling with fresh tears.

"I know, sweetheart. I know." Kirk's voice was a low, soothing murmur Holly had never heard directed at herself.

He looked up and saw Holly standing there with the kit. His face hardened.

"What took you so long?" he snapped. "Do you want it to get infected?"

Holly said nothing. She walked forward and opened the kit on the coffee table.

Kirk snatched a sterile wipe and began cleaning the minuscule scratch with painstaking care. "I'm calling Dr. Evans. We need to make sure there's no nerve damage."

Jaida sniffled. "Will it scar? I have that photoshoot next week."

"Of course not," Kirk said, his voice softening again. "I won't let anything mar your perfect skin."

He glanced at Holly, his eyes cold and sharp. "What are you staring at? Go make Jaida some warm milk with honey. It will calm her nerves."

Holly turned and walked toward the kitchen.

She remembered the day she'd met him. Her mother's diagnosis had hit like a freight train, and the medical bills were a mountain she could never hope to climb. A mutual acquaintance had made the introduction. Kirk Knapp, a man of immense wealth, needed a fiancée to satisfy the terms of his grandfather's will to secure his inheritance. Jaida was too young and, as he'd put it, "too important to be tangled in a business arrangement."

He'd looked at her not with pity, but with an assessing gaze, like a man evaluating livestock. He noted her resemblance to Jaida-the same dark hair, the same slender frame. "You'll do," he had said, his offer brutally simple. He would cover all her mother's medical expenses. In return, she would play the part. A presentable, desperate, and temporary solution.

She had thought, for a brief, naive moment, that he was a savior. He had paid for the initial consultations, the best doctors. He had given her hope.

Then Jaida had come to live with them. And the hope had curdled into a slow-acting poison.

Holly had tried once, months ago, to bridge the gap between them. She'd told him she was grateful, that she was starting to see him as more than a benefactor. He had laughed. A harsh, ugly sound.

Then he'd pulled out a ledger bound in black leather. He opened it on the table. Every expense was itemized. Her mother's hospital bills. The clothes on her back. The food she ate. Each entry had a date and a dollar amount, calculated to the cent.

"This is what you are to me, Holly," he had said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A transaction. An investment. Don't ever confuse my responsibility with affection. You are not entitled to it."

He had stripped her bare, not of her clothes, but of her dignity. He was the master; she was the purchase.

She brought the warm milk to the living room.

Jaida took it, her eyes shooting a look of triumphant malice at Holly over the rim of the mug.

Kirk didn't even look at her. He was on the phone with his doctor, his voice tight with worry.

Holly retreated to her room. She sat on the edge of the bed.

This couldn't go on.

But her mother.

The thought was a physical anchor, holding her in place.

She picked up her phone and opened a hidden folder. It contained a single file. A scanned copy of an application form for a prestigious biomedical research program in another state. She had filled it out weeks ago, in secret. It was a fantasy. A lifeline to a world that didn't exist yet.

She needed a degree, a skill, a way out that was entirely her own.

She had to pretend. Just a little longer. Until her mother was safe.

She laid down, pulling the covers up to her chin.

She would endure.

She had to.

The day after her mother's successful surgery, Holly began to dismantle her life in Kirk's house.

She started not with the jewelry he'd bought her, but with a small, worn cardboard box in the back of her closet. Inside were things from her life before him. A faded photograph of her and her mother at a county fair. A handful of seashells from a family vacation. And a portfolio of her old design sketches-intricate, ambitious plans for sustainable architecture, the dream she'd shelved to become his fiancée.

She remembered a night, early on, when he'd found her sketching at the kitchen table. He'd looked over her shoulder, a rare, unguarded expression on his face. "You're talented," he'd said, his voice quiet. A week later, he'd presented her with a state-of-the-art drafting tablet. "An investment in my fiancée's hobbies," he'd called it, but for a foolish moment, she'd felt seen.

Now, she knew the truth. She'd overheard him on the phone with Jaida, who was then studying art in Paris. "Of course, I support your passion," he'd said. "In fact, I bought that girl a tablet to try out. I wanted to see if it was the right model before I sent one to you. Just a little product trial, sweetheart." The gift hadn't been for her; she was just quality control.

She carefully placed her old portfolio back in the box, sealing it with tape. This, she was taking. The tablet, she left on the desk, a cold, sterile monument to a borrowed dream.

Her eyes landed on the jewelry box. She thought of a specific piece-a simple silver locket. He'd given it to her on what would have been her parents' anniversary. She'd been crying, and he'd placed it in her hand without a word. She'd worn it for months, a secret symbol of his perceived kindness.

Then, at a family dinner, she'd seen an identical locket around Jaida's neck. "Uncle Kirk has the most wonderful taste," Jaida had gushed to his grandmother. "He had this custom-made for me, from a photo of my parents." Holly had felt the blood drain from her face. Her locket wasn't a thoughtful gift; it was a cheap replica of the real one, a thoughtless afterthought.

She now took each piece of jewelry-the locket, the diamond necklace, the emerald earrings-polished it, and placed it back in its velvet-lined case. She was preparing them for return. She was neutralizing them, turning them from shackles back into simple, meaningless objects.

Later that day, she came downstairs to find Jaida in the library, Kirk's personal sanctuary. Jaida was sitting in his large leather armchair, a book open in her lap. But she wasn't reading. She was running her hand over the worn leather, a proprietary air about her.

"Uncle Kirk said I could redecorate," Jaida announced without looking up. "He thinks it's too dark in here. I was thinking something lighter. More cheerful."

That evening, at dinner, Kirk seemed to be in a better mood. He spoke of a new business deal, of a trip he was planning.

"Jaida and I will go to Aspen for a few weeks," he said, looking at his niece. "The mountain air will be good for you."

He glanced at Holly as if suddenly remembering she was there.

"Oh, and Holly," he said casually, his tone flat, "I've arranged for the final payment to your mother's hospital. It's all taken care of."

He said it with the same tone he might use to announce the garbage had been taken out. A task completed. The single most important event in her life was a footnote in his.

It was the ultimate dismissal.

Her throat felt tight, but she managed a small, polite nod. "Thank you."

After dinner, Jaida cornered her in the hallway.

"Uncle Kirk is so good to you," she said, her voice deceptively sweet. "You should be more grateful."

She held out a small, ornate box. "He brought this back from Paris for me. It's a special skin cream. But my skin is too sensitive. You can have it. I noticed your complexion is a bit... sallow. It makes the house look gloomy."

Holly opened the box. Inside was a jar of thick, white cream. A bleaching cream, known for its harsh chemical components.

Holly looked at Jaida's smiling face. She understood. This was a test. A demand for submission.

She dipped her fingers into the cream. It felt cold and greasy.

She looked straight into Jaida's eyes. Then, instead of applying it to her own face, she slowly and deliberately rubbed the cream onto the back of her hand, right over a small, pale scar. "Thank you for the offer, Jaida," she said, her voice even. "But I'm quite fond of my skin. And my scars. They remind me of what I've survived."

She didn't flinch. She left the cream on her hand, a burning, visible rejection of Jaida's cruelty. The physical pain was a welcome distraction. With every searing sting, her resolve to leave hardened into something unbreakable.

The days that followed were a slow, grinding torture.

Kirk and Jaida were in their own world, a bubble of shared jokes and intimate glances that Holly was not meant to penetrate. She would hear their laughter from other rooms. She would see texts from Jaida pop up on Kirk's phone, filled with heart emojis. Each one was a small, steady drip of poison into her already exhausted mind.

The house itself felt suffocating. Jaida's presence was everywhere. Her clothes were draped over chairs in the living room. Her perfume lingered in the hallways. She had effectively erased Holly from the shared spaces.

One afternoon, Holly was in the garden when a car pulled up. It was a realtor. Jaida came out to greet him, linking her arm through his.

"This is the Knapp estate," Jaida said, her voice loud enough for Holly to hear clearly. "My uncle and I are the sole residents. We're considering some major renovations."

She gestured vaguely in Holly's direction. "Oh, that's just Holly. She helps around the house."

The realtor gave Holly a polite, dismissive nod. A household helper. That's what she had been reduced to. The lie was so blatant, so public, it stole the air from her lungs.

She tried to speak to Kirk that night. She found him in his study, reviewing some documents.

"Kirk, can we talk?"

He didn't look up. "I'm busy."

"It's about Jaida. What she said to the realtor-"

"Jaida is young," he cut in, his voice sharp. "She's sensitive. You've been moping around for weeks. It's upsetting her. Can't you at least pretend to be happy?"

"Pretend?" Holly's voice was barely a whisper.

Jaida appeared at the door then, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Uncle Kirk," she said, her voice trembling. "I think I upset Holly. I was just trying to explain our living situation, and she got so angry. I think... I think maybe she's jealous of me?"

She looked at Holly, her expression a perfect mask of hurt innocence. "Holly, I know you've been through a lot with your mother, but you can't take it out on me. I'm just trying to make this a home for all of us."

It was a masterful performance.

Kirk's face darkened. He stood up and walked over to Holly, his shadow falling over her.

"Is that what this is about?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Jealousy?"

He looked from Jaida's tear-streaked face to Holly's pale, defiant one.

"Holly, you are here on my terms. A role you should be grateful for. Jaida is my family. My responsibility. Do not ever make me choose between my responsibility and a business arrangement. You will lose."

He turned to Jaida, his expression softening instantly. "It's alright, sweetheart. She's just not feeling herself."

He put his arm around Jaida's shoulders, pulling her into a protective embrace. "She can be a bit... unstable. We have to be patient with her."

Fragile. Unstable. The words were a public branding, a verdict delivered in front of her accuser. He was painting her as mentally unwell to justify his cruelty.

He used to bring her a glass of warm water before bed, a simple gesture she had clung to as a sign of something more. Now, as he led Jaida from the room, he paused.

"Jaida, you look cold. I'll bring you some warm water."

The reversal was so complete, so final, it felt like a physical blow.

The next day, a large, celebratory dinner was held at the house. Kirk had closed a major deal. His business partners and their families were all there.

Throughout the evening, Kirk kept Jaida by his side, introducing her as "the light of my life." At one point, he stood to make a toast.

He raised his glass. "To new beginnings," he said, his eyes fixed on Jaida. "And to the family that makes it all worthwhile."

Everyone applauded. Holly stood among them, her hands frozen at her sides. She felt like a ghost at a feast.

She had to excuse herself. She went to the powder room and splashed cold water on her face. Her reflection stared back at her, a stranger with haunted eyes.

She had to leave. Not soon. Now.

When she returned to the party, Kirk and Jaida were dancing. He was smiling down at her, a genuine, unguarded smile that Holly had never received.

She walked over to the host's assistant.

"Could you please call me a cab?" she asked, her voice steady.

It was time to go. For good.