Chapter 5

Ryan was finishing up at his office when his phone buzzed. Astrid.

He considered ignoring it, but something in his gut told him to pick up.

"Ryan," Astrid’s voice was sharp, urgent. "It’s Giselle. She was in an accident."

His grip on the phone tightened.

"What?" His voice was calm—too calm.

"She was hit by a car outside the restaurant. The driver fled the scene."

His heart pounded, but he didn’t let it show. He had just seen her. They’d had lunch. And now she was fighting for her life?

"How did you find out?" he asked, suspicion creeping in.

"Stefan’s friend owns the restaurant. He called us when she was taken to the hospital.”

Ryan’s jaw clenched. Why was Astrid the one calling him? He didn't trust her. He trusted Stefan even less.

"I’m on my way."

Snapping his phone shut, he grabbed his coat.

"Sam, get the car ready. Now."

As they sped toward the hospital, his thoughts raced. He didn’t love Giselle. Their marriage was a deal, nothing more. But this wasn’t part of the plan.

And if Astrid and Stefan had something to do with it, he would find out.

Ryan arrived at the private suite to find Astrid sitting outside, her arms crossed.

"Astrid."

She turned to look at him, feigning concern.

"Ryan, you made it."

"What happened?" His tone was cold, controlled.

Astrid sighed. "She was waiting for her car after lunch. Then—out of nowhere—the accident happened. The driver ran. No one caught him."

Ryan’s jaw tightened. "Convenient."

Astrid scoffed. "Do you think I did this? I may hate her guts, but I’m not a killer."

Before Ryan could respond, Stefan walked out of Giselle’s hospital room.

Ryan cut straight to the point. "How is she?"

Stefan hesitated a second too long.

"She’s in a coma."

Astrid gasped.

Ryan’s stomach clenched, but he didn’t react. "Will she recover?"

"Yes," Stefan said quickly. "The doctor expects a full recovery. But for now, she needs rest. I’ve already handled everything. You don’t need to worry."

Ryan studied him carefully.

Something was off.

He moved toward the door, but Stefan stepped in front of him.

"The doctor advised against disturbing her," he said smoothly. "We should come back in three days."

Ryan’s gaze lingered on Stefan before he nodded. He would find out the truth himself.

"Let’s go," he told Astrid.

As they left, a strange feeling settled in his chest. Something wasn’t right.

Back inside the hospital room, Stefan stood over Giselle’s unmoving body.

The machines beeped softly.

The doctor had already told him the truth.

Giselle was brain dead.

There was no hope.

But he couldn’t afford to lose now.

Then, a memory flickered.

"I saw my doppelgänger today." Giselle had told him at the mall. "A girl who looks exactly like me."

A slow smile spread across Stefan’s lips.

Maybe all wasn’t lost after all.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number.

"Find the woman who looks like Giselle.”

***************

Irene walked out of work, her mind heavy with exhaustion.

Too much had happened in the past few days—her mother’s illness, Venus and the gun, Badur breathing down her neck. She felt like she was drowning.

"Irene, are you okay?" Jules asked, concern in her voice.

She forced a smile. "I’m fine."

Jules didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. "Alright. See you tomorrow."

As Irene walked through the mall, a strange feeling crept up her spine.

Someone was watching her.

She turned and met the gaze of a man in a sharp suit, staring at her with something between shock and intrigue.

Her heart picked up speed.

She nodded slightly and kept walking, but the man followed.

Irene spun around. "Do I know you?"

"No, Miss Garfield," he said smoothly. "But my boss would like to meet you."

"Your boss?"

"Stefan Montgomery."

Stefan Montgomery? The name sent a jolt through her. Why would someone like that want to talk to her?

Curiosity won over caution.

Minutes later, she found herself sitting across from Stefan in a sleek, high-rise office.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The man smiled.

"I’m Stefan Montgomery. And I have an offer for you."

Irene frowned. "What kind of offer?"

"One that will make you unimaginably rich."

She let out a small laugh. "And what do I have to do?"

Stefan leaned forward.

"You need to marry the grandson of the CEO of the Carrington Empire."

Irene blinked. Then, she laughed louder. "How do you expect me to do that?”

Stefan slid a photo across the table.

Irene’s laughter died.

It was her own face staring back at her.

But it wasn’t her.

"That’s Giselle Monroe," Stefan said. "She was in an accident. She’s brain dead. But her soon to be husband can’t know that. Which is why you’re going to take her place."

Irene’s breath caught in her throat.

"You’re insane," she whispered.

Stefan leaned back, his smirk widening. "I prefer the term strategic."

Irene shoved the photo back at him. "I could go to jail for this."

"You could," he agreed. "Or you could be rich beyond your wildest dreams. Live a life you never imagined. Take care of your mother. Your sister."

Her stomach twisted. "I won’t do it."

Stefan didn’t flinch. "You’ll be back."

Irene stormed out.

As she stormed away, her heart pounded.

She had done the right thing.

She had barely made it down the street when her phone rang.

She answered without checking the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Irene!" Aunt Ruby’s voice was frantic. "Badur and his men came to the house! They wrecked everything!"

Dread settled deep in her bones.

That bastard.

She grabbed a cab and went straight to Badur’s hideout.

The air was thick with cigarette smoke and alcohol. The moment she entered, Badur grinned, his gold tooth flashing.

"Ah, baby girl. I was wondering when you’d show up."

She threw the $5,000 in his face. "Take your damn money. Stay away from my family."

She turned to leave, but Badur moved fast, grabbing her waist.

"Hold on, sweetheart. Where’s the interest?"

Irene froze. "Interest?"

Badur stepped closer, his breath hot against her ear.

"Since your daddy can’t pay, you will. With that pretty little body of yours."

Irene’s stomach churned in disgust.

"Or," he murmured, his grip tightening, "we can settle this another way.”

Irene’s body tensed as Badur’s grip tightened around her waist. His breath, thick with the stench of alcohol and tobacco, fanned against her cheek as he pressed closer, his voice a dangerous whisper.

"I have always wanted to know what you taste like."

A sick shiver ran down her spine. Her stomach churned, but she refused to show fear. Not to him.

She tried to push him away, but his fingers dug into her flesh, nails pressing against her skin.

"You think you can just walk in here, throw some money on the table, and be done?" He chuckled, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

Irene swallowed hard. "The debt wasn’t mine to begin with."

Badur smirked. "Then you should’ve picked a better family, baby girl."

His hand slid lower.

Irene snapped.

She moved fast—faster than he expected. Her hands shot out, grabbing the heavy glass vase on the table beside her.

And then she swung.

CRACK.

The vase shattered against Badur’s skull. He stumbled backward, a gash splitting open across his forehead, blood dripping down his face.

He blinked in shock, his hands rising to the wound as if his body hadn’t yet processed what had happened.

"You… little… bitch," he slurred, his knees buckling.

Irene didn’t wait.

She rushed to the door, heart pounding, adrenaline flooding her veins.

Behind her, she heard a thud.

She froze.

Slowly, she turned back.

Badur lay motionless on the floor, his chest eerily still.

Her breath caught. Did I…?

Her hands trembled as she took a hesitant step closer.

"Badur?" her voice wavered.

No response.

A wave of nausea rolled through her.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she crouched beside him, hesitantly reaching out—

"Holy shit!" a voice shouted from the doorway.

Irene’s head snapped up just as Badur’s men stormed in.

They stared at their fallen boss.

"You killed him!" one of them yelled.

Irene staggered backward. "No—I didn’t—"

"Get her!"

Her survival instinct kicked in.

She bolted past them, shoving one out of the way as she sprinted toward the exit.

Footsteps thundered behind her.

Outside, her eyes darted wildly. She needed a car. Fast.

Then she saw it—a man stepping out of his vehicle, keys dangling from his fingers.

Without hesitation, she snatched the keys from his hand and threw herself into the driver’s seat.

"Hey!" the man shouted, but she slammed the door shut and started the engine.

Tires screeched as she sped out of the parking lot.

But she wasn’t alone.

Headlights flared to life behind her.

They were coming after her.

Her hands shook on the wheel, knuckles turning white.

"Come on, come on," she muttered, pressing the gas pedal to the floor.

The car lurched forward, speeding through the empty streets.

In the rearview mirror, two black SUVs closed in on her.

Her mind raced. The road ahead split into two—

Left, the highway.

Right, a narrow, winding forest road.

She swerved right.

The car barreled into the darkness, trees blurring past her.

The SUVs followed.

She gritted her teeth. They weren’t letting her go.

A sharp turn loomed ahead. She twisted the wheel, barely keeping control as the tires skidded violently over the gravel.

Then—

BANG.

A gunshot.

The rear windshield exploded into shards of glass.

She screamed, ducking as the pieces rained down on her.

They were shooting at her.

She couldn’t stop.

She wouldn’t stop.

Her hands shook as she forced the wheel straight, ignoring the glass cutting into her palms.

Then—

A sickening jolt.

The SUV behind her slammed into her bumper.

Her body lurched forward, her head smacking against the wheel.

Pain splintered through her skull.

The car swerved wildly, tires screeching against the pavement.

Another hit.

Her vision blurred.

The road ended.

A cliff.

No, no, no, no—

She yanked the wheel, but it was too late.

The car plowed through the guardrail.

For a split second, she was weightless.

The world seemed to pause.

And then—

CRASH.

The impact stole the air from her lungs.

Wa

ter rushed in from every side, freezing, suffocating.

She thrashed, her body screaming for oxygen.

The car was sinking fast.

Her hands fumbled at the seatbelt, but it wouldn’t budge.

Her vision blurred, lungs burning.

She fought harder, kicking at the door, but the water’s pressure held it shut.

Her strength was fading.

The surface felt impossibly far.

Maybe this was it.