I woke up zip-tied in a billionaire's sedan. Dead girl's photo in my lap. Become her or go to prison.
Vivian Hartley — missing heiress, ten-figure trust, old-money name. I learned the walk, the vowels, the forks. Her wolves never blinked.
Then I found the diary behind her mirror. She wasn't missing. Her own uncle staged the crash and locked her away.
A clipping fell out. Two babies born the same night, same crescent birthmark. The mark I'd called a scar my whole life.
That uncle is walking me down the aisle now. Wrong hand on the glass. Fighter's walk under silk. Ryker Vance sees everything and says nothing.
Vivian is awake. She's here — same building, same blood. The uncle who buried us both doesn't know there are two.
The organ starts. Ryker leans close. "I know which one you are." He hasn't told a soul. Yet.