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The first thing I noticed was the silence.

It wasn’t the peaceful kind. No. This one was suffocating, heavy, eerie like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

The Blackwood estate was unlike anything I had ever seen. More like a fortress than a home. A sprawling mansion built from polished gray stone, lined with steel gates, surveillance cameras, and perfectly trimmed hedges that looked like they had never known chaos.

Just like him.

The driver dropped me off at the entrance and left without a word. I stood there for a moment, suitcase in hand, feeling like an outsider about to trespass into a world I didn’t belong in.

The massive double doors opened, and a woman in a dark uniform appeared.

“Mrs. Blackwood,” she said, bowing slightly. “Welcome.”

Mrs. Blackwood.

The words made my chest tighten.

I wasn’t a wife. Not in the way anyone imagined. Not in the way I once dreamed of.

No love. No vows. No warmth. Just a signature on paper and a ticking clock counting down my six months of captivity.

“Come with me. I’ll show you to your quarters,” she said softly, leading me inside.

The moment I stepped in, I was swallowed by the grandeur. The marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers. Every piece of furniture looked like it belonged in a museum. Everything smelled of money, power, and coldness.

No family photos. No signs of life. Just sterile perfection.

“This way,” the woman said, guiding me down a long corridor.

As I walked, I caught glimpses of staff moving in the background, cleaners, cooks, housekeepers all silent, all efficient, all avoiding eye contact.

It felt like stepping into a palace of ghosts.

“This is your room, ma’am,” she said, opening a door.

The room was beautiful. A queen-sized bed, velvet curtains, gold trimmings, even a fireplace. It was more luxurious than any hotel I’d ever dreamed of staying in.

But it still didn’t feel like mine.

It felt borrowed. Temporary. Like I was a guest in a place that didn’t want me here.

“There’s a dressing room already arranged for you. Mr. Blackwood had it tailored based on your measurements.”

I blinked. “He… had my measurements?”

She nodded, unbothered. “Everything you need is in there. If you require anything else, dial zero on the intercom.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

She bowed again and left.

I sat on the bed and stared at the room. Everything was perfect. Everything was wrong.

Minutes passed. Hours, maybe. I unpacked in silence, trying to distract myself. But even the act of hanging clothes felt surreal like I was playing a role in someone else’s life.

And the clothes I brought with me looked completely mismatched with the fancy ones hanging in the dress closet.

That evening, dinner was served in the formal dining room. A table that could seat twenty, with only one end set.

I sat there, awkward and alone, pushing food around my plate, waiting for him.

I was dressed in a light pink silk dress with tiny straps, and my hair was tied in a loose ponytail.

But Alexander didn’t come.

Later, I found out he rarely did.

That became the routine.

Wake up, get dressed by one of the many maids, meals eaten alone, rooms walked alone, silence everywhere.

I barely saw him.

When I did, it was in passing. A fleeting glance as he left the mansion in the mornings or returned late at night.

He never said much. Never looked at me long enough to read his expression.

He was a ghost in his own home. And I was a stranger floating in his shadow.

Days passed. The mansion grew colder.

I tried to stay invisible.

I read books in the garden after finding a favorite spot near a cute waterfall. I wandered through hallways. I sometimes talked to the maids just to hear another voice. But even they kept their conversations short, their eyes wary like they were scared of me.

It wasn’t just the mansion that was cold.

It was him.

Until one night… everything changed.

I couldn’t sleep. Again.

The walls felt like they were closing in, so I decided to walk.

I thought some air might help or at least tire me enough to collapse into a dreamless sleep.

I was already dressed in a dark brown nightgown and furry sleeping flats.

The hallway was quiet, as usual. Lit by low wall sconces that cast eerie shadows across the floor. I wandered aimlessly, taking turns, passing closed doors and unfamiliar corridors.

One door in particular grabbed my attention.

Its coloring was different from the rest. Dark brown, aged, and slightly ajar.

Curiosity tugged at me. I hesitated, then gently pushed it open and peeked inside.

What I saw made me freeze.

The room was unlike the others. Warmer. More personal.

Shelves of books lined the walls, soft rugs covered the floor, a fireplace flickered with dying embers… and a bed.

But what caught my attention was a painting.

A large portrait above the fireplace.

A woman in a red dress.

Her head tilted slightly, a soft smile on her red painted lips, her hands clasped gracefully in front of her. Her hair was styled in elegant curls. She was beautiful. Elegant.

And she looked……. just like me.

My blood ran cold.

Same long dark hair except hers was curled. Same cheekbones. Same eyes.

It was like staring at a more polished version of myself.

I stepped closer to the fireplace, heart pounding.

Who was she?

Why was she here?

And more importantly… why had no one mentioned her?

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

His voice made me jump.

I had been so engrossed in the portrait I didn’t even hear footsteps behind me.

I turned sharply to see Alexander standing at the doorway his eyes narrowed, expression thunderous.

He wore a loose dress shirt, slightly unbuttoned, revealing his neck and a hint of his ivory chest.

“I—I couldn’t sleep,” I stammered. “I was just walking and… I didn’t mean to intrude.”

His gaze flicked to the portrait behind me, then back at me.

“You’re not allowed in this room.”

“I didn’t know,” I said quickly. “… who is she?”

He didn’t answer.

“I asked you a question.”

His jaw clenched. “Leave.”

“I have a right to know who she is,” I pressed. “You brought me here because of her, didn’t you?”

“Get. Out.”

His voice was sharp. Final.

But I stood my ground. “You said I resembled someone. It’s her, isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t push boundaries you don’t understand.”

“I deserve to know what I’m being compared to every time you look at me!”

He stepped forward, his presence suddenly overwhelming.

“You’re not her,” he said coldly. “You never will be.”

“Then who was she?” I whispered.

He didn’t respond. His face remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. Pain… maybe. Regret. Or something darker.

“She was no one,” he said finally, turning his back to me. “Now leave before I remind you of your place.”

I stood there, stunned.

The woman who looked exactly like me?

No one?

I turned and walked out, my heart racing, my thoughts a storm.

So that was it.

I was just a ghost in her image. A shadow cast by a woman I knew nothing about. A doppelgänger.

And suddenly, the walls of this mansion felt colder than ever.

I didn’t know who she was. But something in Alexander’s eyes told me—

She wasn’t gone.

And whatever story she left behind… I was now part of it.

Whether I wanted to be or not.