Chapter 3

The next morning, Sebastian acted like nothing had happened.

He was already dressed for work when I woke up, his Alpha composure perfectly back in place. No trace of the broken man who'd sobbed in my arms just hours ago.

"Good morning," he said politely, adjusting his tie. "I'll be back late tonight. There are meetings."

Just like that? We're pretending he didn't call me Ana while crying about his dead fiancée?

"Sebastian, about last night—"

"I need to go." He grabbed his briefcase. "We'll talk later."

But his eyes said we wouldn't talk at all.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving me alone in the pristine apartment that felt more like a museum than a home.

Ana is dead. She looked exactly like me. And Sebastian is trying to turn me into her.

The pieces were clicking together now. Why my clothes fit so perfectly. Why he knew my measurements. Why he was so insistent on changing everything about me.

He's been planning this. But how long? How did he even find me?

I had eight hours before Sebastian came back. Eight hours to find answers.

His home office was off-limits—he'd made that clear on my first day. The door was always locked when he left.

But everyone keeps spare keys somewhere.

I started searching. Kitchen drawers, bedroom nightstands, the obvious places first. Nothing.

Think, Iris. Where would an Alpha hide something important?

I checked the bookshelf, feeling behind picture frames. Still nothing.

The plants. Sebastian had several expensive-looking ones near the windows. I dug my fingers into the soil of the largest one, a huge peace lily, and felt something hard.

Bingo.

A small silver key.

My hands were shaking as I unlocked his office door.

The room was all dark wood and leather, very masculine, very Alpha. His desk was perfectly organized, computer locked, files stacked neatly.

The desk drawers.

The first few opened easily—pens, business cards, nothing personal. But the bottom drawer was locked.

This has to be it.

The key fit perfectly.

Inside was a leather photo album.

This is it. This is her.

I opened it with trembling fingers.

The first photo made me gasp.

It was me. Or someone who looked exactly like me. Same dark hair, same eyes, same face. But she was laughing at something off-camera, wearing a sundress I could never afford.

We don't just look similar. We're identical.

I flipped through page after page. Her at restaurants I recognized from magazines. Her at charity galas wearing jewelry worth more than cars. Her with Sebastian, his arm around her waist, both of them looking perfect together.

She lived my fantasy life. She was everything I'm pretending to be.

But it was the last photo that destroyed me.

A wedding photo.

She was wearing a dress that probably cost more than I'd made in five years. Silk, lace, beading that caught the light like diamonds. Sebastian stood beside her in a perfectly tailored tux, looking at her like she hung the moon.

They were getting married. This wasn't just a girlfriend. This was his bride.

My fingers found the back of the photo. In Sebastian's handwriting:

"Anastasia Blackwood, 1998-2021. My beloved fiancée."

Blackwood.

The room started spinning.

Same last name. Same face. Same—

"Iris?"

Sebastian's voice from the living room. I looked at the clock. Only 2 PM. He wasn't supposed to be back for hours.

"You in there?" Footsteps approaching the office.

Shit. The key, the drawer, the album—

But I couldn't move. I was staring at that photo, at Anastasia Blackwood who looked exactly like Iris Blackwood, who was supposed to marry the man currently keeping me as her replacement.

This can't be a coincidence. Same face, same name? What are the odds?

The footsteps stopped outside the office door.

I heard Sebastian take in a sharp breath—probably catching my scent, that Alpha sense of smell picking up my fear.

He knows I'm in here. He knows I found everything.

The door opened.

Sebastian stood there, his face cycling through emotions. Shock, resignation, something that might have been relief.

"The meeting was canceled," he said quietly.

I held up the wedding photo, my hands shaking.

"She is me," I whispered. "Or I'm her. I don't understand."

Sebastian stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His Alpha energy was carefully controlled, but I could feel the tension radiating off him.

"You weren't supposed to find that yet."

Yet? Like he was planning to tell me eventually?

"Same name, same face." My voice was getting higher. "That's not possible. That doesn't just happen."

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. "Iris—"

"Don't." I stood up, backing away from him. "Don't lie to me anymore. Not when I'm holding proof that you've been lying about everything."

I looked at the photo again. Anastasia's radiant smile, Sebastian's adoring expression.

He loved her. Really loved her. Not the way he looks at me—like I'm a broken toy he's trying to fix.

"She was your fiancée," I said. "You were going to marry her."

"Yes."

"And she died."

"Yes."

"And then you found me." I met his eyes. "How? How did you find someone who looks exactly like your dead fiancée and happens to have the same last name?"

Sebastian's jaw tightened. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

He was quiet for a long moment, and I could see him calculating how much to reveal.

He's deciding how much of the truth I can handle.

Finally, he spoke. "The name isn't a coincidence."

My stomach dropped. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Sebastian said carefully, "that you have more in common with Anastasia than just your appearance."

More in common. Like what? Family?

The thought hit me like a punch to the gut.

"She's my sister," I breathed. "Isn't she?"

Sebastian's expression confirmed everything I'd feared.

"Anastasia Blackwood is my sister. Was my sister."