My Call. Her Choice

LEONARD:

The door cracked open.

“Mr. Hays?” Erica said groggily.

I stared at her. Once again, I was met by those lifeless eyes—not the ones that happily served me dinner, or the ones that quietly admired me afterwards.

I am not insane. I am not stupid.

“Where is she?” I asked.

I stormed past her and yanked the wardrobe. It was filled with nothing but clothes. I ducked under the bed. No one. In the bathroom, the same.

“What is the meaning of this?” she barked, all traces of fake sleep gone. “Where is who?”

I gripped her jaw and pulled her close. “I don’t like to be made a fool of, Erica. Erica 1 or 2?” I said, barely keeping it together. “Where is she?”

She shoved my hand off her face. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you drunk, Mr. Hays?”

See? Dâmn it! I should have known!

One Erica calls me Mr. Hays. The other calls me Leonard. And last night? I almost got chills hearing her say my name.

Fine. Let’s see how they want to play me.

I reached for the cup of ice cream on the table, picked it up, and held it out to her.

“Drink.”

This is the Erica who’s allergic to ice cream. This would prove it. And no, no one is dying in my house. I will race her to the hospital the second she collapses.

“I said, drink it.”

“I don’t know what is going on with you, Mr. Hays. But I had my fill last night.”

“I am sure another spoon wouldn’t trigger something. Or will it now?”

She flinched—but just for a second. Then she covered it smoothly.

“What exactly are you trying to prove?”

Spare me the act!

“Drink!”

After a long pause that couldn’t save her either way, she took the cup, opened it, and brought it to her lips. She swallowed.

The nerves! The readiness to die!

Let’s wait for her death then.

Seconds passed. Minutes went by. Nothing.

“What, do you want me to empty the whole cup for you?” she asked, her voice sharper.

Before I could blink, she poured the rest into her mouth and swallowed again.

No. This can’t be happening.

“Should I chew the cup now?” she asked, irritated.

I couldn’t move. I felt ridiculed, ashamed to my bones. But how? How was this possible?

Still not accepting defeat, I went to the window, but it was stuck…as always. It was never meant to be opened. This space was never meant to be a bedroom.

Does that mean…it is her? She is cured? She no longer reacts to cream?

“Leave,” she said, her voice dangerously low.

“I…”

“Get out of my room!”

And just like that, the bold and unapologetic Erica from Panila returned.

Oh heavens. What is going on? Is she on some kind of dual-personality drugs?

“Do you need me to push you out? Or is it time I moved out?”

“You don’t have to,” I murmured, backing away.

“Erica.” I paused at the door. “I am sorry.”

She didn’t reply. And I walked out.

I got into my car and drove off.

I didn’t go to the office. For the first time in a million years, I was defeated. I was wrong. I was humiliated. Stupid.

However, I didn’t feel sorry. I hadn’t invaded her privacy or taken advantage of property ownership.

Somewhere deep down, that one part of me that always knows when I’m right or wrong kept screaming—I wasn’t wrong. There is something about Erica. And I have to find out what it is.

I drove straight to my father’s house.

My arrival raised eyebrows—as it should. I never come home for fun and pleasantries. Today was no different. Only this time, I wasn’t angry or fuming. I felt… drained.

“Leo!” my mum cheered from the couch.

“Mum.”

She swept me into a hug. “Did something happen?”

“Does my presence bring only a problem?” I asked, though she wasn’t wrong.

“Of course not,” she smiled, cupping my cheek. “Welcome home, my boy.”

I sat with her, listened to her stories… all the updates she’d been saving for months, now crammed into the few minutes I could offer.

When I’d heard enough about Mrs. A’s grandson’s teething tale and Mrs. B’s granddaughter’s first steps news, I excused myself and went to my old room.

There, I sat again with my thoughts. I needed to prove that Erica—and her doppelganger—were playing me.

Let’s see…

First, I’d install hidden cameras in every corner of my house. I’d never needed them before. But if two Ericas were living under my roof and toying with me, it was time to catch them red-handed.

Second… there was no second plan yet. I was blank. But cameras were a good start.

I called the security company and requested a full installation, urgently. The job had to be done while every Erica was away. I told them to stay on standby for two hours, be ready to complete everything in under two more.

After a meal with my mother, I returned home.

Erica wasn’t home. I called the office. My secretary confirmed she was at work.

Installation began minutes later and, right on schedule, my house was wired—every hallway, every angle—connected to my phone.

I was seated in the living room, drinking, when the lifeless Erica returned.

“Mr. Hays,” she said coldly. She’d been waiting for this moment. “We need to talk.”

I lowered the glass of wine and looked up.

“There will be a new arrangement between us,” she said.

I read her instantly.

“If you are suggesting moving out,” I said, catching her off guard. “I will also call off the wedding right now.”

I’d long suspected there was more to her ‘three-month fake engagement’ idea. It wasn’t for the media. Not even for Nathan. It was more. I hadn’t been able to place it before, but now, with all my suspicions, it was starting to make sense. Whatever she needed time for had everything to do with her double existence.

“I…” she paused, then recovered. “I only want to move out but remain engaged… for months, just like we agreed.”

I stood up, knowing full well she wouldn’t go anywhere. She needed my umbrella to shield her from whatever that was going on with her.

“You move out,” I said, “the engagement is off. Your choice.”