The Imposter

~CAMILLA

The ceremony passed in fragments, like a dream I was having where I was living someone else's life.

Arthur's hand was warm when he took mine at the altar, but his eyes were distant. The officiant talked about love and partnership and forever, words that felt obscene given the circumstances. I repeated vows that meant nothing because they weren't meant for me.

When Arthur said "I do," his voice was steady and completely emotionless.

When I said the same words, I sounded like I was confessing to a crime.

The kiss was brief, professional. His lips barely touched mine before he pulled away, and I caught something flash across his face like confusion? Suspicion? But then it was gone, quickly replaced by that same cold mask.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the officiant announced, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Bellingham."

The guests applauded. The corners of my lips lifted in a smile because that's what brides do on their wedding day. And Arthur led me back down the aisle with his hand on my lower back, a gesture that would seem intimate if I couldn't feel how rigid his fingers were through the fabric of my dress.

The reception was held in a massive ballroom that I didn't even know existed on the property. Everything was white and gold and perfect, and I felt like I was acting in someone else's fantasy.

"You did beautifully," Mom whispered when she found me near the champagne fountain. "Everyone believed it."

Everyone except maybe Arthur. I wanted to say

I just accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and tried not to think about how Pamela would have loved this; the attention, the elegance, the way every eye in the room kept drifting towards the bride.

"Pamela!"

I turned to find a woman approaching, beautiful in the way that women with unlimited budgets tend to be. Her dress was exquisite and her smile was wide and genuine.

"Victoria!" The name comes out before I can stop. Thank God Mom mentioned her. I pulled the woman into a hug that I hoped looked natural. "It's so good to see you."

"I can't believe you actually did it." Victoria pulled back, her hands on my shoulders, studying my face with an intensity that made my skin coil nervously. "I mean, I knew you would eventually, but I didn't think... are you happy?"

It was such a simple question. Such an impossible question.

"Yes," I lied. "Very happy."

Victoria's smile faltered slightly. "You seem different. Quieter. Are you sure you're okay?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Just overwhelmed. It's been a crazy day."

"Of course." But Victoria was still watching me with that thoughtful expression. "We need to have lunch soon. Catch up properly. I feel like it's been forever since we really talked."

"Absolutely," I said, knowing that lunch can never happen. Knowing that the more time I spent with people who actually knew Pamela, the faster this whole charade would fall apart.

Arthur appeared at my elbow like he's been summoned. "Victoria. Good to see you."

"Arthur." Victoria kissed his cheek, and I noticed how her entire demeanor changed around him. She was more careful, more measured. "Congratulations. You got the girl you wanted."

"I'm aware." His hand found my waist again, possessive and strange. "If you'll excuse us, I need to steal my wife for a moment."

My wife. The words sound wrong in his mouth and wrong in my ears.

He guided me away from Victoria and toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, near windows that overlooked gardens lit up with thousands of tiny lights.

"You're doing well," he said quietly, his back to the crowd. "Better than I expected."

The comment made me freeze. "What…do you mean?"

Arthur turned to look at me, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I saw something real in his expression. Something calculating.

"You've been distant since I proposed. Cold, even. I assumed you'd changed your mind about the arrangement." He paused, studying my face the way Victoria did, but with far more intensity. "But today, you seemed... softer. Like a different person entirely."

My throat went dry. "People change."

"Do they?" He stepped closer, and I caught the scent of expensive cologne and something else; whiskey, maybe. "Or do they just pretend to be something they're not until everyone, including themselves, believes the lie?"

I couldn't breathe. He knew. He had to know.

But then Arthur smiled, and his eyes twinkled in a way I didn't know it could. "I'm looking forward to getting to know my wife. The real version, not the one who's been keeping me at arm's length for four months."

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He checked it, and his entire demeanor shifted. The calculating expression was replaced by something more urgent.

"I need to take this." He looked at me. "Wait here."

Then he was  gone, disappearing into the crowd, leaving me standing alone by the windows with my heart trying to break through my ribs.

I watched him weave through the crowd, watched him step into a hallway, watched him put the phone to his ear with an expression that made me certain that something was very wrong.

A hand touched my elbow, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Sorry!" A man about Arthur's age was smiling at me apologetically. "Didn't mean to startle you. I'm Damian. Arthur's best friend. We met at the engagement party, but I'm terrible with names so forgive me if I forgot yours.”

"I remember," I said quickly, though I had no memory of any engagement party. "Good to see you again."

Damian's smile faltered slightly, the same way Victoria's did. "You seem different. Did you change your hair?"

"No."

"Huh." He was still looking at me with that thoughtful expression that made me want to run. "Maybe it's the dress. Or the lighting. Or..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Sorry, ignore me. I'm being weird. It's probably just the stress of the wedding."

"Probably," I agreed, desperate to end this conversation.

But Damian didn't move. Instead, he said something that made my blood turn cold: "I'm glad Arthur finally married you. He's been in love with you for so long. But I have to admit, I always worried you didn't feel the same way. You always seemed so... guarded around him. Like you were playing a part or something."

I forced a laugh that sounded wrong even to my own ears. "Just nervous, I guess. Marriage is a big step."

"Yeah." Damian was still watching me. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Someone called his name from across the room, and he excused himself, but I could feel him glancing back at me as he walked away.

Arthur reappeared a few minutes later, his expression carefully neutral, but his jaw remained tense.

"Everything okay?" I asked, because that's what a concerned wife would do.

"Fine." The word was clipped. "Just business."

We didn't talk for the rest of the reception. We smiled for photos, we cut the cake, we danced to a song I didn't recognize, and through it all, Arthur held me gingerly, like I'm made of glass—careful, distant, like he's afraid I might shatter if he held on too tight.

When the reception finally wound down, when the last guest had left and the staff started cleaning up, Arthur took my hand.

I shivered.

"Come with me."

He led me through the mansion, up a grand staircase, down a hallway lined with art that probably belonged in a museum. We stopped outside a door at the end of the hall.

"This is our room," he said, and there was something careful in his voice. "I had everything prepared the way you like it."

He opened the door, and my heart sank as I stepped into a nightmare.

The room was beautiful, huge, with tall windows and expensive furniture and a bed that could fit six people. But that's not what made my stomach drop.

Everything in this room was wrong. The colors were all bright; yellows and creams and soft pinks. There were fresh flowers everywhere, the kind Pamela loved and I've always found suffocating. The closet door was open, and I could see racks of clothes in vibrant colors, designer labels, accessories that sparkled even in the dim light.

This room was designed for Pamela. Down to every last detail.

"I hope you like it," Arthur said, watching my reaction. "I wanted you to feel at home."

I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe.

Arthur stepped closer, and I forced myself not to flinch. His hand came up to touch my face, gentle but strange, and he said quietly, "You're trembling."

"I'm tired," I managed.

"Of course." He dropped his hand. "It's been a long day. I'll give you some privacy to change. The bathroom is through there, and your things are already unpacked."

He moved toward the door, and relief flooded through me.

But then he stopped. He turned back to look at me, and there was something in his expression that I couldn't read.

"Pamela?" My sister's name in his mouth made me flinch. "Are you sure you're okay? You've been acting strange all day."

"I'm fine," I replied too quickly. "Just overwhelmed."

"Hmm." He studied me for another long moment, then nodded. "Get some rest. I'll be in my office if you need anything."

"Your office?" I couldn't help but ask. "You're not..."

"Sleeping here?" He shook his head. "I thought we'd take things slowly. Given how nervous you've seemed about all of this."

Then he was gone, and I was alone once again, in a room that belonged to my sister, wearing her dress, living her life, and I had no idea how I was going to survive tomorrow, let alone the rest of this nightmare.

I sunk into the edge of the massive bed and pulled out my phone with shaking hands, pressing down at its edge and powering it on.

There were seventeen missed calls from Mom. Three texts from my landlord asking about rent. And one new message from that same unknown number:

"Welcome to your new home, Camilla. Sweet dreams."

I deleted it immediately, powered down the phone, and buried it in the bottom of a drawer.

Then I locked the bedroom door, collapsed onto the bed still wearing Pamela's wedding dress, and cried as quietly as I could manage while the mansion settled around me like a trap built for me.