Chapter 6: The Replica

Dominic's Pov

"Miss May is just so pretty and kind! I like her so much!"

Leila bounced in the backseat, her voice filling the car.

I kept my eyes on the road, a cold smirk touching my lips. "Is she?"

I picked Leila up from preschool every day, though my assistant could have done it. I did it for a glimpse of May. She never knew how closely I watched her.

"Mm!" Leila grinned. "She's like an angel! Unlike Mrs. Rodrick, who's always grumpy. Miss May likes playing with us." She crossed her arms and pouted. "I'm happy Mrs. Rodrick doesn't come to class often anymore. She used to say mean things to Miss May."

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Mean things? I knew Mrs. Rodrick was the lead teacher. I hadn't bothered to look into it.

Apparently, I had overlooked something.

"What kind of mean things?" I asked casually.

Leila scrunched up her face, then imitated Mrs. Rodrick's grating voice. "Ms. Anderson, do I have to explain everything to you? You're an assistant teacher, not a child! Stop acting so useless! And don't smile at me like that!"

Leila's face fell. "She says things like that when Miss May is only trying to help. Sometimes she makes Miss May do everything while she sits in the office. It's not fair."

I stared straight ahead.

Interesting.

"Seems like your Miss May has it rough," I replied.

"She does," Leila nodded sadly. "But Miss May never gets angry. She just smiles and tells us everything is okay."

Of course she did.

Maybelle Anderson. Twenty four years old. Five feet four tall. Short brown hair, dark green eyes, and a face that had no business looking so painfully familiar.

She wasn't the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. But May had something that pulled at my sanity.

She always looked lost, like a stray animal. But the strangest thing was that damn smile. Always smiling at the kids, the parents, even beside that trashy excuse for a husband. But her smile never reached her cold, emotionless eyes. Like someone had carved those curves into her lips. Like she had grown completely numb.

And yet, when she thought no one was watching, that fake smile vanished. What remained was a terrifyingly empty shell—a woman exhausted by the simple act of existing.

Most people saw a hardworking, happy teacher. They didn't know about her useless husband. And they certainly didn't know about the bruises.

I knew everything. Where she lived, her friends, her secret routine of attending university behind her husband's back. I monitored her dead social media accounts, checking every scrap of her digital life.

Some might call it stalking. I called it keeping inventory of the woman I was currently playing with.

She was my project. My final, perfect project.

Because May was the spitting image of Her.

Their features were so identical it was uncanny. You would swear they were the same soul in different bodies. But their personalities were opposite. The original was warm, glowing, soft. May was dead inside, wearing a pathetic mask of happiness every day.

She played the pitiful victim, letting the world think she was an innocent prisoner of an abusive marriage. But shit was far more complicated.

It didn't matter. I could fix her. Break her down and reshape her into the exact replica I needed.

"Daddy?" Leila's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Don't you think Miss May almost looks like Mommy?"

My grip on the steering wheel turned my knuckles white.

Like Mommy? If only the child knew.

I had spent years searching for that face. Hunting through rumors, photographs, shadows. Some women had the same eyes. Some had the same jawline. A few were convincing enough to fool a stranger. Some were spies sent by my enemies. After playing with those imposters, I killed them all. They were enemies. I disposed of trash.

None were right.

Until May.

May wasn't just a resemblance. She was a living, breathing replica. From the first moment she walked into Leila's classroom, my world stopped spinning.

I had stood near the entrance, staring, half-believing a ghost had returned. But when she smiled that dead, polite smile, I knew. It wasn't her. But it was close enough to drive me insane.

That was why I approached her. Offered her money—something she desperately needed—in exchange for bending to my will. No rules, no commitments, just a dark arrangement.

At first, she was just a replacement. But somewhere along the way, my obsession morphed into something darker.

I thought of those bruises she hid under layers of makeup. They came from James Collins—that worthless piece of trash she called a husband.

Every time I pictured his filthy hands touching my project, my blood boiled. The urge to hunt him down and teach him the true meaning of agony clawed at my throat.

Soon.

James Collins was still a useful pawn. The cage keeping May isolated, making her desperate enough to lean on me. But once he outlived his usefulness, I would make him pay for every mark he left on her skin. Strip him of everything before I ended him.

"Daddy?" Leila whined, waving a hand through the rearview mirror. "Why aren't you answering me? Does she look like Mommy or not?"

I exhaled slowly, my voice dropping. "Perhaps a little, princess."

"A little?" Leila gasped, offended. "They look so much alike!"

"Maybe they do," I muttered, turning down our street.

My mind snapped back to May. Her pale skin. Those haunting green eyes.

I wanted to rip away that polite, fake smile once and for all. I wanted to hear her shatter. I wanted to back her against a wall, wrap my hand around her delicate throat, and squeeze just enough to make her gasp while I thrusted deep inside her. I wanted the dead look in her eyes to vanish, replaced by raw fear and forbidden wet pleasure.

I wanted her to beg. To crawl willingly to my feet, whimpering like a broken little pet, desperate for my approval. I wanted her to realize she didn't belong to the world, and certainly not to her husband. She belonged to me.

The violence of the fantasy made my body lock up, blood rushing south.

Down, boy, I growled inwardly, forcing my breathing to steady as I pulled into the driveway.

Leila was already unbuckling her seatbelt, chattering about ice cream and school drawings.

I switched off the engine and stepped out into the crisp air. I had waited years to find the right piece for my collection. I could wait a little longer.