CHAPTER 2

"What did the bastard say?"

Eduardo’s voice grated like bone on stone. His cane hammered the gravel of the Cruz Bay Estate, a rhythmic, frantic thud. I stood still, watching the dust settle where Santiago Rivera’s car had vanished. My grandfather reached me, his chest heaving, his face a mask of gray skin and desperation. He grabbed the courtyard wall, knuckles white. He wouldn't touch me. He never touched me. The act was over. The strongman routine he’d performed for Santiago had drained him to the marrow. He needed a hospital bed, but he was too full of pride and poison to admit it.

He spat on the ground. "Soft. The man is obsessed with consent."

"He wanted to know if I was in on the deal."

Eduardo let out a wet, mocking sound. It turned into a hack that rattled his entire skeleton. The black suit he wore looked two sizes too big for his shrunken frame. I reached out. He slapped my hand away. A string of bloody phlegm hit the rocks. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, turning back toward the mansion. I trailed him, hands twitching, waiting for him to drop.

"Weakness," Eduardo wheezed. "He’s a shadow of his father. A glitch in the Rivera bloodline."

He was lying to himself. Rivera Global wasn't just a business; it was a war machine. Santiago had swallowed three rival families in as many years. Cruz Holdings was a gutted carcass in comparison, drowning in debt and bad blood. I’d read the reports. I knew the math.

"It’s going to be beautiful." Eduardo’s eyes gleamed with a feverish light. "Watching that arrogant prick realize he’s been gutted from the inside. I’ll make him pay for what his father did to us."

"Did he suspect?"

"He’s an idiot. He saw a pretty face and a Cruz name. That’s all men like him ever see."

Santiago’s eyes hadn't felt like an idiot’s. They were gray. Cold. They’d stripped me bare in that room. Being near him was like standing next to a live wire. My skin still buzzed. I’d seen his file, but the photos didn't capture the heat he gave off. The sheer, suffocating weight of him.

Eduardo grinned. "The surgery was worth every cent. You’re a mirror image of her now."

My fingers grazed the bridge of my nose. Nine weeks. The bandages had been off for a month, but it still felt like a mask. A foreign piece of cartilage stitched into my identity.

"What happens when Camila comes back?"

Eduardo stopped. He turned, his eyes narrowing into slits. "She’s not coming back. Not until I say so."

"We lied to his face, Eduardo. This isn't just a scam. This is a death sentence if he finds out."

"Camila will be thrilled to wake up and find out she’s married to the most powerful man in the state. She gets the protection. We get the routes."

"But she’s not the one marrying him." I stepped into his space. "I am. My face. My body. Her name on the paper. What happens to me?"

"You get paid. You get more than you’re worth."

We hit the foyer. Marco Alvarez was waiting by the door, a silent, hulking shadow. Two nurses hurried forward with a wheelchair. Eduardo snarled at them, throwing a slur that made the younger one flinch, but his knees gave out. He crashed into the seat. They wheeled him toward the master suite. Marco stayed behind, his gaze level and unreadable. He gave me a look that made the hair on my neck stand up. He knew. He always knew.

I climbed the stairs, my boots heavy on the wood. My room was a cage of silk and expensive furniture. I wasn't hungry. I was nauseous.

My chest felt like it was being crushed by a vice. When Eduardo first brought up the 'impersonation,' it sounded like a game. Then came the money. Then came the surgery. By the time I realized I wasn't just standing in for my cousin at a gala, the trap had already snapped shut. He didn't just want a proxy. He wanted a mole in the Rivera bed.

I leaned against the door. I was dead. I was a walking ghost in a dead woman's shoes.