Chapter 3

~ LENA ~

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. No matter how many times I closed my eyes, my mind wouldn’t turn off.

Each time I began to drift off, Sofia’s face flashed before me like a guilty conscience, jolting me awake again.

Forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours before my sister could lose her life.

Actually, it wasn’t up to that anymore. Julian was right. Time was running out. I had to make a decision quickly.

I lay on my back, staring at the wall clock in my room, counting the seconds as they ticked by, counting all the reasons I should walk away from Julian’s offer.

Every logical part of me screamed that it was insane—stepping into another woman’s life, marrying a man I didn’t know, lying on a scale so massive it could destroy me.

Besides being insane, it was dangerous. Illegal.

Prison.

The word made my stomach knot. If this went wrong, I would lose everything—my freedom, my future.

But then I remembered Sofie, her pale face against the white pillow, the beeping machines, the tubes connected to her body as her chest rose and fell weakly. The life was slowly draining out of her.

I remembered her words to me earlier.

“Lena… You’ll…take care of Mamá, right?”

She knew she was running out of time.

“Sofie, don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine.”

She hadn’t smiled. She’d only squeezed my fingers weakly, insisting, “Promise me.”

To put her mind at ease, I had.

That promise echoed in my head now as I lay awake in the dark, thinking.

I thought of my mother. Isabella Martinez had looked like a ghost in the hospital. A woman worn down by worry and fear. A woman watching her child slip away while having nothing—absolutely nothing—to stop it.

I could still see her trembling hands as she clutched her rosary, still hear the silent sobs she thought no one noticed. Sobs of a mother drowning.

I sat up abruptly.

If Sofia died because I was too afraid to do something, I would never forgive myself.

By morning, the fear had burned itself into hard resolve. I picked up Julian’s card, which he’d given me the previous day, and called.

The phone rang only once before he picked.

“I accept,” I said before he could speak. “I’ll do it. Please, I’ll do anything.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. Then, “Meet me in an hour. Same café.”

He was already there when I arrived. A folder sat neatly on the table between us.

“This is a non-disclosure agreement,” he said, sliding it toward me. “In the course of this, you’ll be exposed to private matters involving my family,” Julian said quietly. “You cannot, under any circumstances, reveal anything about our arrangement or the Blackwood family to anyone. Anything you see or hear stays private. Is that understood?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded. Fear had begun clawing its way back to my heart. As I skimmed the pages of the agreement, it only got worse. The penalties were severe. Threats of swift legal action that Julian restated in words. After which he went ahead to explain everything the contract entailed in precise, clinical detail.

Six months. That was how long I was to be married to his cousin for. Six months of being legally bound to Nathan Blackwood. Six months of living as Kimberly Hayes—taking over her name, her identity, her life.

I was to become Nathan Blackwood’s wife in every sense of the world, publicly and privately. I would have to quit my job, move to New York, live under the same roof with him while meeting all social expectations and emotional obligations associated with the role of his wife.

My hands shook as the implications of everything he was saying sank in.

“I’m supposed to be his wife…for real?” I asked quietly, the question sounding ridiculous even to me.

Julian met my flushed gaze without blinking. “In every way that matters.”

My pulse pounded in my ears. “And if he wants…intimacy?”

“Then you handle it as Kimberly would.”

The thought of that was enough to unnerve me. I didn’t let myself think, because if I did, I would flee.

“Pen,” I asked Julian, releasing a huge fortifying breath as he handed one over to me from his coat pocket.

With trembling fingers, I signed the document.

Julian nodded with a satisfied look after he inspected it. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

Julian kept his word. The money hit my account that same morning. One million dollars. My mouth dropped wide open. My legs turned weak. I had to grab a seat.

I couldn’t believe it. But there was no time to waste. I had to pay for the surgery.

The surgery was arranged immediately. The best doctors. The best care. There were no delays.

My mother was both confused and overwhelmed by joy. She insisted on knowing where the money had come from.

I lied to her, told her my boss had offered me a loan from the company, which she believed. I was relieved because there was no other lie that I could think of that would have made sense.

The surgery commenced and lasted for several hours. Mother sat silently beside me, her fingers locked around her rosary so tightly, her lips moving nonstop in whispered prayers.

The hours passed slowly, like punishment. When the doctor finally stepped out and said, “The surgery was successful,” something inside both of us broke loose. We turned to each other, hugging and sobbing in relief.

Sofia was going to live.

Nothing else mattered. Not my life, which I had just signed away for the next six months.

Whatever the deal demanded of me, whatever it would cost, Sofia’s life was worth it.

“She’s okay,” I told Julian later in the hospital corridor. “The surgery went well.”

He looked pleased. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “None of this would have been possible without you.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded, as if that part was settled business.

“Now that Sofia’s safe, are you ready to fulfill your end of the deal?”

My heart sank. My excitement turned to apprehension.

“Are you ready,” he continued, his voice low and firm, “to become Mrs. Blackwood?”

*      *      *

The drive to New York didn’t feel real.

Everything happened so fast. One moment, I was Lena Martinez, sister of a recovering patient in New Jersey.

The next, I was in the back seat of a sleek black Range Rover, heading towards Manhattan like property being delivered.

Julian sat beside me in the chauffeur-driven car, calm and composed as usual.

“Lena, you have nothing to worry about.” He’d noticed how tense I was. Anyone could see it just by looking at my face.

I almost laughed.

Nothing to worry about. As if I hadn’t just signed away my freedom. As if he hadn’t reminded me softly that my mother’s undocumented status could easily become a problem if I stepped out of line.

“Your mother seems like a good woman. She’s worked very hard to build a quiet life for herself here. It would be a shame if anything disrupted that.”

His words had been delivered softly, but they paralyzed me with fear.

Of course, he knew. A man who could wire a million dollars without blinking was a man who knew everything about me, including the right buttons to push.

For the next six months, my life belonged to them. I belonged to Nathan Blackwood.

Before leaving, I had resigned from my job. I told my mother my boss had sent me on an important assignment to New York. That I’d be gone for some months. She believed me.

I felt bad lying to her, but I couldn’t imagine the horror on her face if she knew what I’d just signed up for.

At least she wouldn’t be alone. Her younger sister, Aunt Celeste, would stay with her through Sofia’s recovery. That was the only thought that put my mind at ease.

The rest of the journey passed in a blur. Soon, we were in Manhattan, pulling up in front of a cozy, private little townhouse on the Upper East Side. Julian led me inside.

“Where is this?” I asked him, eyes sweeping over the tastefully furnished living room.

Julian closed the door behind us. “This is Kim’s house.”

The words landed heavily. At the same time, I noticed the different framed pictures of Kimberly on the walls and shelves. Kim alone. Kim smiling and striking a seductive pose for the camera. Kim standing in front of Nathan Blackwood, his arm around her waist from behind, smiling like a man deeply in love.

“You’ll be staying here till the wedding,” Julian announced. “You need to familiarize yourself with this space and everything about Kim. To make it easy for you, Dahlia will be assisting.”

Before I could ask who Dahlia was, a woman stepped out of the kitchen as if on cue. He introduced her as Dahlia, his trusted Personal Assistant.

“Dahlia is going to assist you with everything you need. She’s going to make this whole process easy for you. Listen to her and do everything she tells you.”

With that, he left us alone.

Dahlia didn’t waste any time after Julian left.

“Come along, Miss Martinez,” she said, her voice calm and professional. “We have work to do.”

She was all poise and sophistication. Perfectly styled blonde hair, polished nails, and a subtle, expensive perfume trailing after her.

I swallowed hard, trying to calm the storm of nerves twisting in my stomach as I followed her outside to where her sleek car was waiting.

Dahlia drove us straight to a high-end boutique, which, upon entering, I realized had been reserved exclusively for us. Aside from the staff, we were the only two there.

“To become Kim,” Dahlia pointed out, “you have to match everything about her, starting with your wardrobe. Kimberly has a very specific style—sleek…elegant…effortlessly glamorous.”

I nodded, though inside I was panicking. Sleek and effortlessly glamorous wasn’t me.

At Dahlia’s request, attendants moved quickly, selecting outfits, lingerie, shoes, handbags, jewelry, everything. Everything was carefully chosen to match Kimberly’s signature style. I tried on dress after dress, modeling them before Dahlia for her approval. Every curve-hugging outfit felt alien to my body. Yet, the more I tried them on, the more familiar they began to feel.

Next stop was the beauty salon.

My thick waves were silk-pressed into sleek perfection, a few inches of it trimmed to match Kimberly’s exact mid-back length.

 My nails were flawlessly done. Makeup sculpted carefully with subtle contour, smoky eyes, and glossy nude lips completing the look.

When I finally looked in the mirror, the face staring back wasn’t Lena Martinez. It was Kimberly. My lips parted in shock. The resemblance was frightening.

The only thing that told us apart now was the way I carried myself and Kim’s little mannerisms which I had to learn to mimic. Dahlia reminded me that those were just as important as matching her looks.

“Rest,” Dahlia said once we got back to the house. It was already getting late. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”

Thankful, I slipped out of the car, grabbing the shopping bags from the back seat. I was exhausted, and all I wanted was to go to bed.

*      *      *

The next morning, the knock on the door came just as I finished fastening the zipper of my dress and putting finishing touches to my makeup—Kim’s style.

I opened the door to Julian, immediately feeling his gaze sweep over me, slow and assessing, from head to toe.

I was wearing one of the dresses Dahlia had chosen the day before. A casual, dusty rose bandage dress that hugged my body like it was made for me. Being Latina had blessed me with the natural hourglass figure that most women go under the knife to achieve. And it was a shocking coincidence that Kim and I had the same kind of body.

Julian’s mouth curved slightly. “Impressive,” he said. Then, to Dahlia standing beside him, “You outdid yourself, Dahlia. I can’t tell the difference.”

I already knew why they were here. And once we settled into the living room, the schooling began.

Dahlia took the lead. She drilled me relentlessly, teaching me how to stand, walk, talk and act in the same graceful, poised manner as Kimberly. Our voices already matched, but every other thing had to be the same to make the transformation believable.

She played short videos of her, showing me who the real Kimberly was and how to impersonate her perfectly. Every little detail, from the tilt of her chin to the way she smiled.

Julian filled in the rest, explaining everything I needed to know.

Kimberly was an influencer. He showed me her social media pages. Her last post had been about two weeks ago, before she left. He told me how Nathan had met her, everything about their relationship.

“Nathan is a man who loves with all his heart,” Julian explained. “And when he hates, it’s the same.”

My breath hitched at that statement. Why did that sound like a warning?

He told me everything about his cousin, all the important things about his life. I soaked up the information like a sponge.

“We’re expecting him back in two days. That gives you time.”

After they left, the apartment settled into silence once more. I wandered through it slowly, touching furniture, looking at photos. I picked up a framed picture of Nathan, studying his incredibly handsome face with a frown.

How on earth could any woman walk away from a man like this?

While I was still wondering, a sudden knock echoed through the apartment.

Could it be Julian? Had he forgotten something?

I opened the door, and my heart just stopped.

It wasn’t Julian. It was Nathan Blackwood.

I didn’t get a chance to speak. He pulled me into his arms, crushing me against him as his mouth came down hard on mine with a hunger and urgency that knocked the breath out of me.