Chapter 4

Fawn’s POV

I waited until the room cleared, until the last nurse checked my vitals and promised to be right back, before carefully swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My muscles responded with surprising strength. Yeah, I was a little shaky, but nothing like what six months of bed rest should have done to them. I knew it was going to take time to build my strength up.

The IV tugged uncomfortably against my skin as I moved. I hesitated only a moment before carefully peeling back the tape and sliding the needle out with a slight wince. A tiny bead of blood formed at the puncture site, which I dabbed away with my fingertip. The bleeding stopped soon enough.

My balance wavered, then steadied. I took one step, then another, my bare feet silent on the cold floor. The hospital gown gaped open at the back, but I didn’t care. I needed to see.

The bathroom was small, institutional, with harsh fluorescent lighting and a mirror above a basic sink. I didn’t expect more, this was a hospital, not a five-star hotel. I braced myself against the counter, finally raising my eyes to the reflection.

A stranger stared back.

So, it wasn’t an illusion or a dream. I really was a supermodel.

I pressed my palm to the mirror, touching my reflection. No—not my own. Cassandra’s. Icy blue eyes, not brown. High cheekbones, not the rounded ones I’d grown up hating. Full, plump lips. Whoever had been taking care of Cassie hadn’t let her beauty diminish. Her lips were a little dry, but her skin and hair were clean and in good condition.

“Who were you?” I whispered. “Why does Blake want to divorce you? Why does he hate you?”

The woman in the mirror didn’t answer. She just looked scared, those light blue eyes wide with disbelief.

I traced my new face, feeling the unfamiliar angles. This body was taller than my old one, the limbs longer, the waist more defined. My fingers moved down my neck, across a collarbone that jutted more sharply than mine ever had, to the curve of a breast that was definitely bigger.

A laugh bubbled up, edging into hysteria. “Did you pay for these?” I cupped them, feeling their weight. “Christ, what else did you upgrade?” After having a good feel, I snorted. “Shit. They’re real. You lucky bitch.”

I turned, examining my profile in the mirror. Then I reached back and tugged the gown open, letting it fall from my shoulders to pool at my feet.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

I knew I should be freaking out… I mean, I was in another woman’s body. But I wasn’t dead. That had to be better than being dead, right?

And what a body. It was perfect—the kind that graced magazine covers and made women hate themselves. Smooth skin with defined shape, just enough softness to be feminine. The breasts were full and high, natural despite what I’d initially thought. No scars. No imperfections except a small birthmark on my left hip shaped like a love heart.

I ran my hands down my sides, over my stomach, my thighs. Everything felt foreign. Like wearing a costume made of flesh.

The door clicked open behind me.

I spun, about to grab for the gown, but it was too late.

Blake stood frozen in the doorway, his grey eyes locked on my naked body for one long, charged second before he slammed them shut and turned his back.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I knocked.”

He acted like he’d never seen me naked before.

“Well, I didn’t hear you,” I shot back, heat flooding my cheeks as I yanked the gown back on. My fingers fumbled with the ties. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I left my phone.” He kept his back to me, one hand braced against the doorframe, rubbing the other over his face. “The nurse said you were most likely sleeping. When I didn’t find you in the bed…”

“Does it look like I’m sleeping?”

“No.”

For a man who didn’t want this body, he sure had looked. But then again, I really wasn’t surprised Cassie had been smoking hot and sexy. I finished tying the gown, then crossed my arms over my chest. “You can turn around now.”

He did, slowly, his expression neutral. But something flickered in his eyes, something that made my stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I needed to see.” I gestured to the mirror. “Needed to know if I was losing my mind or if this was real.”

Blake’s gaze swept over my face, searching. “And?”

I shrugged. “Still deciding.”

He stepped into the small bathroom, making the space feel even smaller. There was just something about him that filled a room.

He smelled like expensive cologne and something darker, richer. It had to be his own scent. Nothing like Richard’s overpowering aftershave that always made my nose itch. Richard bathed in the stuff. He hadn't in the beginning. Maybe I should have drowned him in it.

“The doctors want to start running the tests,” Blake said. “A lot of them. Brain scans, neurological assessments, psychiatric evaluations. Are you up for it?”

“Psychiatric?” I barked out a laugh. “Oh, let me guess. Because I’m claiming to be someone who drowned?”

“Because you woke up from a six-month coma spouting details about being murdered in a bathtub.” His voice stayed level, but his jaw tightened. “Can you honestly blame them?”

I met his gaze in the mirror. “Can you blame me for telling the truth?”

“The truth.” He said it like he was testing the word. “Your truth is that you were murdered by your husband… namely me?”

“Yes. No. Not you.” I rolled my eyes. “But that is what happened.”

He stared at me for a moment before his features reset. “Can you hear yourself? You sound crazy. If your accident wasn’t well documented, I think the hospital would’ve called the police by now. What game are you playing, Cassie? Is this some sort of payback because I wanted a divorce?”

“I drowned.” I kept my voice flat, let the words land. “I remember putting lavender oil in the water. Gemma’s bracelet clinking against the bath while she held my arms down. His voice, so calm, as he pushed my shoulders into the water.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Cassie, listen to me.” His tone hardened. “You were in a crash. Driving too fast on a wet road, you went through a guardrail. You wrapped your car around a tree. You had a broken ankle and some bruising; the worst damage was to your head. You had a lot of swelling on the brain.”

A chill slid under my skin. This body’s skin.

“I wasn’t driving,” slipped out before I caught it.

His gaze sharpened. “No?”

“I mean…” I licked my lips; his eyes flicked down and watched the movement, before moving away just as quickly. “I don’t remember the car. I remember water. Not—” I pulled in a slow breath. “You really think I’d confuse a bath with a wet road?”

I could see in that moment I couldn’t tell him, or anyone, who I really was. I was still too confused myself.

“Brains do weird shit, Cassandra.” His tone cooled. “Six months with no input? They start filling gaps with whatever they can reach. Old fears. Half-remembered stories.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Nurses talking about another patient.”

“You think I heard about another patient and… what? Stole her murder?” My laugh scraped my throat. “You think I want all this?” I spread my arms wide.

But I did. I wanted another chance. It was my last vow as Fawn… to come back for revenge. To make Richard and Gemma pay.

He watched me too closely. “I think you sound like someone the psych team will be very interested in.”

The words hit like ice water down my spine.

Psych team.

Frigging great. He wanted to lock me up.

White rooms. Padded edges. Soft voices with sharp drugs in tiny cups, dulling my mind. I’d never set foot in one, but I’d seen enough daytime TV to fill in the blanks. That was not the place for me.

“I’m not crazy,” I said, quieter than I liked.

“No,” he agreed, and that surprised me enough to look straight at him instead of the mirror. “You’re not. That’s the problem. What are you after with this charade, Cassie?”

My fingers tightened around the edge of the sink. “Explain to me why you think this is a charade.”

“Because you’re coherent. Lucid. You know who I am.” His eyes held mine, unblinking and cold. “A rant from someone who can’t string a sentence together is one thing. When it comes out of your mouth like this? It’s a game. What are you up to, Cassie? What do you think you can gain from the act?”

The look he fixed on me made the bathroom suddenly feel airless.

I turned back to the mirror. My new reflection stared at me—too pretty, too tall, not mine. But it was the life I’d been given.

I swallowed against the tightness in my chest. “So what, I’m supposed to shut up? Pretend I didn’t get murdered? Because you think I’m playing some sort of game.”

Maybe I needed to be Cassie Huntington for a while.

The thought slid in, quiet and brutal. But I had thought that before hadn't I. Everything was still mixed up like 52 cards thrown up in the air.

Play along. Nod for the doctors. Answer to Cassie. Learn this body, this life, this man who looked at me like I was a problem he couldn’t solve.

Use it. Use her. Use him.

I didn’t feel great about that one.

But I needed to get my revenge

Footsteps were heard in her room, the squeak of rubber shoes on linoleum floors. A nurse’s voice floated closer, talking about scans and transfers and adding, “Your private room is ready.”

Blake glanced toward the door, then back at me. “You should get back into bed,” he said. “So they can transfer you. You only just came back. You need rest.”

Came back.

He wasn’t wrong.

I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and gave my reflection one last look. Fawn Jones was dead. The universe had made that very clear.

Cassandra Huntington, though? She was apparently alive—and I was wearing her skin. I heard the Twilight Zone theme play in my head.

And if I had to wear her face to get revenge on Richard and Gemma, so be it.

I slipped past Blake, brushing his arm as I went. The shock sent a jolt up my arm as I headed back to bed.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, climbing under the sheet, letting the good-patient mask slide into place. “Maybe the smart move is to stop talking.”

“That would be a first,” he muttered, but his gaze lingered on my face like he was trying to memorise this version of me.

The orderly came in moments later to move me into a private room.

Let them call me Cassandra. I might be Cassie on paper but underneath? I was the woman they drowned in that bath and I was done being the weak one.

I would bring them down piece by piece.