Chapter Four — “The Stranger in the Mirror”

The silence in the mansion had a sound of its own. I’d only been here one night, but already it felt like I was being watched not by cameras, but by the walls themselves. Like they had eyes.

I didn’t sleep. Not really. Not after what happened in that room.

The woman in the photo haunted me. Blonde. Smiling. Familiar in a way that gnawed at me. I couldn’t ask Naomi. And Damian… I was sure asking him would cost me more than I could afford.

I kept hearing his voice in my head.

“Every room you enter in this house says something.”

Then why did that room scream?

⸻

Flashback

Yesterday.

The courthouse smelled like old ink and broken promises.

I wore a simple black dress. Damian wore navy because of course, he did classic, calculated, untouchable. There were no flowers. No smiles. No vows. Just cold signatures in a colder room with an even colder judge.

“Do you, Damian Kingsley, agree to enter into this legal union with Miss Ava Reynolds as detailed in this contract?”

His answer: “Yes.”

Like he was finalizing a merger.

When they asked me, my voice cracked.

“Y-Yes.”

Afterward, he didn’t glance at me. He spoke with his lawyer. Checked his watch. Walked out first.

Just like that — I was married.

⸻

Present

The drive to the gala was silent. Damian sat beside me, unreadable in black-on-black, scrolling through his phone like the world outside didn’t exist. Like I didn’t exist.

I watched my reflection in the tinted glass. The dress Naomi chose was navy, like his suit. My hair pinned back so tightly it pulled at my scalp. Everything about me is tailored, sculpted, and choreographed.

Not a wife.

Not even on paper.

Just an illusion they were dressing up and parading around.

“Smile tonight,” Damian said, eyes still on his screen. “If you must lie, do it well.”

I turned, slow and deliberate. “Are you afraid I’ll ruin your image?”

Finally, his gaze met mine. Still. Icy.

“No. I’m afraid you’ll remind people of Helena.”

The breath caught in my throat.

But before I could ask what that meant, the car stopped.

⸻

Naomi didn’t wait to be invited in.

“The stylist is here,” she said flatly. “You’ll wear the navy. Hair pinned. Minimal jewelry. You are not to speak to the press unless spoken to directly by Mr. Kingsley.”

I blinked. “Why navy?”

She stared like the question was offensive. “Because it matches his suit.”

Of course.

Two women swept into the room with racks of dresses and silver boxes of makeup. I stood still while they clipped, painted, and powdered me into a shape that barely felt human.

By the time they finished, the mirror didn’t show me.

It showed her.

The stranger I was becoming.

When Damian saw me, he paused, eyes moving down once, slow, detached. No reaction. No compliment. Just a nod like he was inspecting a product before a launch.

“Let’s go.”

⸻

The gala was a sea of champagne and sharp teeth.

Cameras flashed the moment we stepped onto the carpet. Damian took my hand like a brand, like a claim. His fingers were cold. His smile was empty.

He leaned down, close enough to brush my ear. “Smile.”

So I did.

We waved. We posed. We played the part of a couple in love or close enough for the press.

Inside, the ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and veiled intentions. Everything sparkled, the floors, the gowns, the lies.

Damian disappeared into a crowd of men who spoke in numbers. Women floated past like perfume with diamonds for fangs.

I stood near the champagne tower, untouched flute in hand, feeling like a statue no one had sculpted with care.

Then I heard it, two women behind me, sharp as whispers in a confession booth.

“That’s her. The new wife.”

“So fast. And after everything with Helena…”

The name dropped like ice water down my spine.

Helena.

The name from the forbidden room.

The photo. The blonde smile.

I turned away before they saw me listening. But the damage was done. The chill had already crawled under my skin.

Who was she to him?

Why did the way they said her name feels like a warning wrapped in velvet?

⸻

I drifted from Damian’s side. He didn’t even notice.

I found a quieter hallway: marble, shadowed, blessedly empty. My ribs ached from standing so straight. My heels pinched. The diamonds on my neck felt like a leash.

I leaned against the wall, my chest rising and falling too fast. Just one minute. Just one breath.

Then I felt the air change.

Damian.

He was suddenly in front of me, quiet and sharp like he’d stepped through the wall itself. His hand closed around my wrist. Gentle, but firm enough to remind me of what I was.

His voice dropped like a blade.

“You don’t wander off.”

“I needed air.”

He leaned in, his breath brushing my neck, warm and expensive.

“Don’t embarrass me.”

Then he let go. Just like that. Turned and walked away, back into the glittering lie we were supposed to live.

But I didn’t move.

Because for the first time, I saw something in the way they looked at me.

Not curiosity. Not jealousy.

Pity.

Like I was doomed. Like I’d walked into a storm with no shelter.

And for the first time, I wondered—

Had she looked like this once, too?

The woman in the photo.

Helena.

And had she smiled like me?

Pretending she could survive a man like Damian Kingsley…

Until she didn’t.