I impersonated my twin sister to marry the youngest son of the wealthy Pierce family. After the wedding, Julian Pierce saw me only as a gold-digging trophy wife. He took compromising photos of me and sent them to his frat boy group chat for laughs. He burned the lucky charm I prayed for at the cathedral for my sick foster mother. When anyone mentioned our marriage, his eyes dripped with sarcasm. "She’s desperate to lock me down. She marks the days on her calendar, counting down to our anniversary like it’s Christmas." But he didn't know. I wasn't counting down to forever. I was counting down to the day my sister returned. The day I would return the title of "Mrs. Pierce" and disappear from his life forever. 1 Midnight. The sound of fabric tearing woke me up. I opened my eyes to feel Julian’s hand on my lower back. His touch was so cold I shivered. "You're freezing..." His hand wandered lower with cruel intent, teasing every vulnerable spot. Julian had been drinking. When he kissed me, there was a faint scent of whiskey on his breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, trembling. I knew that resisting or begging would only fuel his aggression. Suddenly. The room was flooded with blinding light. I opened my eyes to see Julian pointing his phone camera directly at me. The lens focused on my face. It captured my silent endurance, my pain, the humiliation and panic of being exposed under the harsh light. "Julian!" I couldn't help but cry out, "What are you doing?" Julian pulled away with a look of indifference. He adjusted his clothes and sent the photo to his group chat. "A bet is a bet. Who wanted to see her face?" The chat exploded with voice messages. "Damn, Jules! You actually did it." "Your wife looks good like that. You're a lucky man." "Why just the face? Come on, let's raise the stakes next time." The click of a lighter. Julian walked out with a cigarette between his lips. His casual, mocking voice drifted through the crack in the door. "If it were Summer, I wouldn't dream of it." "But her? Doesn't matter. Just giving the boys a show." 2 The air smelled faintly of musk and tobacco. It was suffocating. I stiffly pulled the sheet up, trying to cover the shameful marks on my body. I pressed my hands over my eyes. But water still leaked through my fingers. This was my second month married to Julian Pierce. Or rather, impersonating my sister, Blair, to marry him. Blair and I are identical twins. But when we were born, our parents were struggling artists in Brooklyn. They kept the healthier sister, Blair, and left me on the steps of a church. I was raised by my foster mother, a woman with a bad leg and a heart of gold. Two months ago, Mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The treatment costs were astronomical. Just as we hit a dead end, my biological parents found me. They had made it big, becoming real estate moguls in Manhattan. But they didn't find me to welcome me home. They found me because Blair had run away two days before her arranged marriage to the Pierce heir. She left only a note saying she’d return in three months. Desperate, my parents found me to take her place. In exchange, they would cover all of my foster mother’s medical bills. 3 In the bathroom. I scrubbed my skin under the freezing water, over and over. But I couldn't wash away the feeling of him. One more month. Then I can leave. Blair’s flight back to New York is booked for next month. When she returns, the title of Mrs. Pierce goes back to its rightful owner. My biological parents promised me a huge settlement. I’ll take that money, grab my mom, and leave this city forever. At 3 AM. I saw a new post on Blair’s secret Instagram account. She never showed her face. It was a video of her skydiving in Dubai. From 13,000 feet, she leaped, arms spread like a bird in flight. Every strand of hair dancing in the wind screamed freedom. [4000 meters up. Reborn.] [Thanks, Mom and Dad, for these three months of freedom.] 4 I carried a thermos of chicken soup I’d simmered all morning to the hospital. The Vanderbilts—my biological family—were terrified I’d blow my cover, so they tried to stop me from visiting. I hadn't seen Mom in two weeks. But as I entered the hospital lobby, I ran straight into Julian. He had his arm around a young woman. He was looking at a scrape on her arm with a tenderness I’d never seen. "Does it still hurt?" I tried to hide. Too late. The girl saw me and nudged Julian. "Jules, isn't that... your wife?" Julian’s gaze snapped to me. Sharp. Cold. Like he wanted to pierce right through me. "What are you doing here?" He raised an eyebrow, disgust filling his eyes. "Stalking me?" "I'm not!" I shook my head frantically. "I came to..." I paused. I couldn't explain. Julian looked at me with amusement. "To do what? Speak up." I bit my lip, silent. The girl beside him let go of his arm, her voice soft and aggrieved. "My arm is fine, Jules. You should... go home with your sister-in-law—I mean, your wife." She lowered her eyes. "I don't want people to think I'm a homewrecker." "You're not." Julian raised his voice, dripping with sarcasm. "A woman like her, who clawed her way into my bed for money?" "She doesn't even qualify as a mistress." "If my family hadn't forced this marriage, do you think I'd look at her twice?" He wasn't quiet. Passersby looked over, whispering. Words like "gold digger," "shameless," and "desperate" floated to my ears, burning my cheeks. I turned to leave in a panic. But he blocked me. Julian seemed determined to prove his loyalty to his crush by humiliating me. He stared at the thermos in my hand. "What's this?" "Nothing..." He snatched it. Unscrewed the lid. Sneered. "Blair, do you really think a pot of soup makes you a wife?" "There's a limit to being delusional." "Do you think I'd drink this trash?" Before I could explain, he poured the soup down the front of my dress. It was warm, but the grease stained the white fabric, sticking wetly to my legs. Greasy and humiliating. He tossed the empty thermos at my feet. "Get lost."
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