Chapter 2

Rain lashed against the windshield as Isla’s car cut through the midnight streets. The city lights bled through the glass, distorted by tears she refused to wipe away.

Her fingers clenched around the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Every image replayed in her mind, Axton’s stillness, the woman’s mocking smile, the mask, the mirror image of her own face.

Her chest hurt so much it felt like breathing was a punishment.

She had loved him. Despite knowing the marriage was a contract, she had believed he’d chosen her.

But he hadn’t.

He’d chosen a ghost she could never compete with.

By the time the car stopped at a red light, Isla’s vision had blurred completely. She couldn’t go home, not to the apartment that still smelled like him or to the shared bed that suddenly felt like a lie.

“Keep driving,” she told the driver hoarsely. “Anywhere.”

Minutes passed. The rain grew heavier, smearing the world into colors of neon and silver. When the car slowed again, she looked up through swollen eyes and saw the glowing signboard ahead:

HAVEN’S HOLLOW.

A notorious bar. The kind her father used to warn her about. It was crowded and loud, the kind of place people went to forget their lives.

“Here,” Isla whispered. “Stop here.”

Before the driver could respond, she pushed the door open and stepped into the rain. Water plastered her hair against her face, soaked through her silk blouse, but she didn’t care.

Inside, the bar was dim and warm, thick with the scent of whiskey and perfume. Music pulsed softly in the background. People laughed, flirted, lived, oblivious to her world collapsing.

She slid onto a stool at the counter. “Vodka,” she said, her voice low.

The bartender hesitated, she looked too polished, and too fragile to belong there, but he poured it anyway.

The first glass burned.

The second numbed.

By the third, she could almost convince herself that the ache in her chest wasn’t real.

She stared at her reflection in the bar mirror, and a laugh came out broken, halfway between sob and hysteria. She downed another glass, the sound of her emptying it drowned by the chatter around her.

When she turned, she collided with someone.

Her glass slipped, shattered on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, but the stranger caught her wrist before she could bend down.

“It’s fine,” he said. His voice was calm, deep, and laced with something steady, the opposite of everything she was.

She looked up. His eyes were dark, unreadable, framed by lashes too long for a man. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a faint concern in his expression.

“You shouldn’t drink any more,” he said.

“Who are you, my conscience?” Isla slurred, tugging her hand free.

“No. Just someone who doesn’t want to watch you fall apart in public.”

She laughed bitterly. “Too late for that.”

He sighed, glancing at the bartender. “How much did she have?”

“Three. Maybe four,” the bartender replied quietly.

The stranger turned back to her. “Care to tell me what's wrong?”

“I don’t need your help or sympathy,” she snapped, standing or atleast trying to. The room swayed violently, and she stumbled. His hand shot out, steadying her by the arm.

“Easy,” he said.

She glared at him through watery eyes. “Don't touch me!!!”

“I'm sorry.” He quickly apologized.

The gentleness in his tone made her throat tighten, and she loosened up. “Why do you even care?” she asked bitterly. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t have to,” he said softly. “You just look like someone who’s lost everything tonight.”

Something inside her cracked and before she could stop herself, the words poured out. She told him everything. Axton, the affair, the contract, the humiliation and even the doppelgänger.

He listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable, his silence more comforting than pity. When she finished, she found herself laughing.

They talked. They even laughed once or twice. Then, as the bar lights dimmed and her voice slurred, he leaned closer, his breath warm against her temple.

“So,” he asked quietly, “what do you plan to do now?”

Her head spun. The intensity in his eyes and the alcohol in her veins blurred her judgment.

Instead of answering, she reached out, fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “I just want to have... fun tonight,” she murmured.

He caught her wrist before she could say more. “I think you should rest,” he said.

But Isla swayed forward. Her lips parted as if to argue and then her expression changed.

Her stomach twisted violently. She clutched her mouth, but it was too late.

The stranger froze as warm liquid hit his shirt, the shock of it stealing his breath.

The bartender gasped. Isla stumbled back, mortified, tears welling in her eyes. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his voice firm but not unkind. “It’s fine.”

She looked horrified. “No, it’s not. I ruined your—”

He took her by the shoulders, steady but gentle. “It’s fine, hun. Let’s get you out of here.”

He turned to his driver, who appeared instantly at the door. “Prepare the car,” he ordered.

As the man disappeared into the rain, Isla’s body went limp. The fight, the shame, the alcohol all hit her at once. She slumped forward, gripping his shirt weakly.

“Don’t leave me…” she whispered.

His chest tightened unexpectedly. “I won’t,” he said quietly.

When he looked down again, her eyes were already closed, her breathing shallow but calm.

For a moment, he just stood there, half-exasperated, half intrigued. Then, with a quiet sigh, he shifted his hold and lifted her into his arms.

“Who are you?” he murmured under his breath as the rain hit his shoulders.

But she didn’t answer.

She had already fallen asleep against him.