Two

NADIA POV

My mother used to say that the best way to disarm someone was to tell them what they least expected. I don’t know what I thought this stranger was going to say, but “be my wife” certainly wasn’t it.

For a few seconds, I could only stare at him, completely stunned by the absurdity of his request. My mind kept replaying his words as if somehow, I had heard him wrong.

But he remained perfectly calm, sitting there with one leg crossed over the other as though asking a woman he had just rescued from being buried alive to become his wife was the most ordinary thing in the world.

He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t joking. He simply watched me, waiting for my answer.

“Excuse me,” I said softly, trying to sit up so I could get a better look at his face.

“I told you to stay still,” he said.

He stood from the chair and walked toward me, his steps slow and unhurried. As he came closer, I finally got a proper look at him, and my breath caught.

His eyes were the bluest I had ever seen, striking against his dark hair and sharp features. There was something cold and almost unsettling about them, yet I could not seem to look away.

The most reasonable reaction to his ludicrous offer would have been to laugh, but I couldn’t bring myself to find anything funny about it. Besides, judging by the look on his face, I doubted he would appreciate me bursting into laughter in front of him, neither did I have the strength.

He was painfully serious. It showed in his expression, in the way he carried himself, and even in the way he spoke, as though smiling was something he had forgotten how to do.

“You didn’t hear me wrong,” he said, watching the shock on my face. “I want you to be my wife.”

“Be your wife?” I repeated, my voice low, but the disbelief in it was impossible to hide. I wondered what kind of joke this was or what I had done to deserve being dragged into such a mess.

He nodded.

I studied his face before my eyes dropped to the wedding ring on his left hand. “You’re already married.”

His gaze followed mine to the ring, as though he had forgotten it was there all along. His thick black lashes framed his blue eyes as he stared at the band for a moment, and something strange crossed his face.

When someone thought about their spouse, they would ordinarily soften with adoration or grow grim with sadness and despair. He did neither.

Instead, his lips thinned into a hard line, as though he wanted to strangle the ring and whoever had placed it on his finger.

Before I could make sense of his reaction, his attention shifted back to me, and whatever emotion I thought I had seen in his eyes disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said. “I need you to pretend to be my wife.”

““Pretend?” I asked, still in shock.

“My wife passed away a few weeks ago, and I need you to act like her for six months.” His expression remained cold as he looked at me. “That’s the thank you I need for saving your life.”

I might have ended up buried alive, but at least my instincts were still intact. They could recognize danger when they saw it.

And this man was the definition of danger.

His good looks, strong physique, and effortless confidence did nothing to fool me. If anything, I saw them as weapons, tools he could use to get whatever he wanted from people.

“I’m sorry about your wife,” I said as calmly as I could. “But I can’t help you.”

“I don’t need your insincere apologies. Just do as you’re told.”

My eyes widened.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I can’t be your wife.” I tried to keep my voice calm despite the irritation building inside me. “I’m grateful that you saved me, but I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. In fact, you’re the only one who can fit that role.”

“The only one?” I repeated. “Have you even looked at me? You don’t know anything about me.”

He tapped his fingers against his thigh as his gaze slowly traveled from my face to my torso and then down to my bare feet.

I was the one who had asked if he had seen me, but now that I was trapped beneath his scrutiny, I wished I hadn’t.

What exactly was he seeing?

A weak woman who had allowed herself to be deceived for seven years?

Someone who had trusted the wrong man and nearly paid for it with her life?

“I do see you,” he said slowly, as though his words carried another meaning entirely. The tapping of his fingers stopped. “Clearly.”

My brows pulled together. “Then…” I swallowed. “You must see that I’m not fit to be anyone’s wife.” His eyes met mine. “Let alone yours,” I added.

He said nothing.

Instead, he reached into the pocket of his coat and slowly pulled out a black leather wallet. He opened it, took out a photograph, and held it between his fingers for a moment before extending it toward me.

I hesitated before taking it. The moment I looked down, a small gasp escaped my lips. It was a photograph of a woman in a wedding dress.

A solo shot. Her dark brown hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, framing a face that made my heart stop.

She looked exactly like me.

The woman in the photograph wore a wedding dress with a neckline that fell gracefully off her shoulders, exposing the delicate curve of her collarbones. Her dark brown hair framed her face in soft waves, and her makeup was subtle enough to make her natural beauty stand out rather than hide it.

Her nose was small and perfectly shaped, while the gentle curve of her face gave her an almost delicate appearance. Her full lips were painted a soft nude, matching the muted shade of her eyeshadow.

But it was her eyes that held my attention. They were the same strange shade of hazel as mine. . The kind of hazel that looked almost unnatural, as though she could see straight through whoever stood in front of her.

A small smile rested on her lips, but there was something unsettling about it. It wasn’t quite warm, and it wasn’t quite cold either. It was the kind of smile that made me wonder what she knew that everyone else didn’t.

Yet none of that was the reason my fingers had started trembling.

It was her face. I was staring at myself.

Not exactly, but close enough to make my stomach twist. She had my features, my eyes, the same shape of lips and almost the same delicate curve of my jaw. The only obvious difference was her hair.

She had brown hair. Mine was dark.

I stared at the photograph for several seconds, unable to look away.

I could barely remember the last time I had looked this clean and put together.

“How is this possible?” I whispered.

“That’s why it has to be you.” I startled at the sound of his voice. For a moment, I had completely forgotten that he was still standing there.

I slowly lifted my gaze from the photograph to him. “But how?”

His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean by how?”

“How can we look so much alike?” I glanced back at the photograph. “I am an only child. I don’t have a sister.”

“She isn’t your sister.”

“Then what is she?”

His eyes remained fixed on me. “She’s not related to you by blood.”

I frowned. “Obviously cause if I had a sister outside my mom would have told me.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Do you believe in doppelgängers, Nadia?”

I almost laughed but my chest hurt so much and I barely had strength. “Doppelgängers?”

“Yes.” He said his eyes watching me.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it sounds ridiculous.”

His expression didn’t change. “Do I look like the kind of man who makes jokes?” The calm authority in his voice made me call myself to order.

“No.”

I looked back at the photograph, my fingers tightening around its edges. “So, you’re telling me that she and I are doppelgängers?”

“Yes.”

“How is that even possible?”

“It happens more often than you think.”

I shook my head slowly. “No. I still don’t believe this.”

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine.

“It doesn’t matter whether you believe it.” His eyes dropped briefly to the photograph in my hands before returning to my face. “You’re looking at the proof.”

I stared at him, the photograph suddenly feeling heavier between my fingers. “So, you’re going to be my wife,” he said. “That’s final.”

“I never agreed to this.” I held the photograph out to him and forced myself to push the blanket aside.

“I’m not pretending to be someone else’s wife.” The moment my feet touched the floor, a sharp wave of pain shot through my body, but I ignored it and tried to steady myself.

I barely managed to straighten before his hand closed firmly around my shoulder.

“What makes you think you have a choice?” His voice dropped, turning cold. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

I looked up at him, anger rising despite the fear twisting inside me.

“Look, I’m grateful you saved my life, but that doesn’t mean you own me. I’m free to leave.”

“Free?” He scoffed, his grip tightening slightly before he released my shoulder. “How do you define freedom?”

I said nothing.

“The last time I checked, you were buried alive.” His eyes hardened as he stared down at me. “You are sitting on my bed because I found you. Because I saved you.”

I swallowed hard.

“So don’t stand here and talk about freedom.”

He stepped closer, his presence becoming even more intimidating.

“You have two choices, Nadia.”

My heart pounded.

“You pretend to be my wife for six months…” He paused, his cold eyes holding mine. “Or I put you back in the ground and make sure you actually die this time.”