Chapter Five

Cheyanne.

I wanted to scream — no, I wanted to tear the heavy satin off my skin and just run anywhere but here, my hand wouldn’t stop shaking and my lips trembled.

But I couldn’t, Gia was the only person who would know I was actually missing and if they took her too—so I stepped on my toes and placed a feather light kiss on my husband’s lips. He didn't return the kiss, he just stared with a cocked brow. Acting like he expects more.

Around us, the small crowd erupted into cheers, a tear slipped out my eyes but I wiped it with the hem of my sleeve before it touched my cheeks.

A small breathless laugh escaped my throat, who’d have thought? Staring at the huge stone on my finger that burned into my skin itching for me to take it off. It seemed more like a shackle.

“Do you remember me now?” His voice was surprisingly deeply baritone and it terrified me more.

He wasn’t looking directly at me when he spoke. He had his face straight on as we walked down the aisle together and out of the church.

I had to pick my words so of course, I told him “Yes, I do”

“I’m sorry, you had to go through the accident” he responds as we walked over to the limousine.

What was he talking about?

“Yes, thank you.” I said. I played along again.

“You don’t have to worry, Ivy. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

My mouth itched to tell him I was not Ivy.

He tried to start little conversations in the car as we drove to God knows where. The windows were properly tinted, I couldn’t catch a glimpse of what outside even looked like.

I rubbed the hem of my sleeve, pulling a thread that seemed to have come loose when a tap on my hand brought me back from my reverie.

“Sorry, yes” I turned to look at him.

“Are you lying to me?” His tone was soft this time. Not threatening but demanding the truth.

I didn’t know what to tell him, if I said the wrong thing and destroyed whatever Dr Elena’s plan was. She’d kill Gia. She had that murderous stare that said she wasn’t kidding.

“I—I’m not lying.” I gasped. Trying not to meet the intimidating look in his eyes.

He picks my hand in his, “I thought you wanted this. Did you change your mind?”

His large palm against mine was warm and it made me stutter. “Y-yes, it’s the accident. I don’t feel well.”

“Tell me where it hurts?” He asked, worry written all over his face. “No, that won’t do.”

He slides open his phone and after several swipes he placed his phone by his ear.

“I need you at the estate.” He simply said and cut the call.

“That was a doctor, don’t worry… he’s excellent at what he does.”

I nodded.

Something bugged me, if he didn’t know I wasn’t the real Ivy, would he let me go or would they kill me to hide their crimes? Even if he did, that woman wouldn’t let me go freely.

The rest of the ride to the estate was quiet, save for him asking me if I felt better or not.

“Can we… can the windows be rolled down..” I said, placing a hand on my throbbing forehead.

The driver looked at my husband through his rear mirror.

“Do whatever she asks.” He commanded.

The moment the windows rolled down a bit, cool breeze filtered through the opening, and the limousine slowed as we approached a massive security gate. We entered what seemed like a private estate. Paved pristine roads, a few houses here and there, a complex gym and manicured woods.

“Where is this?” I asked.

“It’s my—our private estate.” He murmured, glancing at his expensive looking watch.

The car finally stops.

“We’re here Mr Vaughn.” The driver announced firmly.

Vaughn.

I had heard that name somewhere I just couldn’t remember where. Elena Vaughn. I put two and two together and realized he was related to her, probably her son and I’ve heard of arranged marriages amongst the rich but why me, I was of no importance and why does he think I’m Ivy. All of a sudden, it all clicked into place. Elena had said I looked so much like her.

God. I was being substituted as a bride to this man.

A counterfeit.

Just as we stepped out of the vehicle, a sports car tore around the driveway, tires screeching to a halt. A young, tall man slammed the door open. He bore a mild resemblance to my husband, though he lacked his imposing build and sharp, commanding handsomeness.

The man marched straight up to my husband, his face twisted in a mask of pure rage, and grabbed him violently by the collar of his shirt.

“It doesn’t belong to you, Ronan!” He spat. His voice shaking with fury. “Go back to where you came from, you murderer!"

My heart stopped. Murderer?