The Stand-in Wife's Deception

too much like a coffin lid locking into place. The electronic deadbolt engaged a se

's parting words wrapping around my throat like a wire. *The thermal cameras can'

ing wave. My hands shook so violently I could barely grasp the delicate, hidden zipper of the Vera Wang gown. I tore

otted laces until I finally wrenched it loose, gasping as my ribs expanded to their full capacity for the first time in hours. I

y monogrammed leather duffel, I pulled out a sleek, black silk slip dress and a matching long-line robe. It look

tight and turned

center, flanked by antique mahogany nightstands. To my left, a wall of reinforced glass looked out over the cliffside, the rain v

the heat tracking gave him absolute omniscience. But an archivist knows that the most dangerous secr

tical knot at the nape of my neck. Vivi

wers out one by one. I didn't care what was inside them; I cared about how they felt. I pulled the bott

along the heavy hems, feeling for the distinct, rigid

erneath the chaise lounge. A room this clean was maintained by a meticulous housekeeping staff. If someone had hi

oll of the search began to match the psychological weight pressing down on my chest. Every shadow in the room felt li

a reckless, manipulative force of nature who had spent our entire lives treating me like a convenient shadow. But she was my shadow. She was blood. And

game with the devil, and

ne else ignored. If she had stolen something from Caspian-if she had hidden leverage inside this fortress before she was taken-she wouldn't have encrypted

with nervous sweat. I scanned the room again, ignoring the modern

rea. It was incredibly heavy, the kind of antique piece that required three men to move.

crouch and dug my fingers under the stiff, heavy wool of the curled corn

the seams. A fraction of an inch of resistance. A tiny groove where the wax had been scraped a

rabbing the heavy, silver-handled nail file from the grooming kit. I rushed back to the rug

ly, resisting for a terrifying second bef

f the floor

ely free. Beneath it was a shallow, hollowed-out cavity. The thermal cameras above couldn't

sat a thick, unmar

imes, or the financial ledgers Vivienne had stolen to try and buy her way out of his s

ed with high-quality photo paper. I rocked back on my heels, sitting on the edge of the rolled-back rug. The

ched inside and pulled ou

the firs

. The blood roaring in my ears abruptly stopped, replace

re of Caspian. It

on, long-lens surveill

king down the concrete steps of the city archives building. The timestamp prin

full weeks before V

l coffee shop, a highlighter between my teeth as I read a book. The next photo was me unlocking the door

visible, boring life, meticulou

glossy photos spilling across the dark hard

didn't just kn

me before Vivienne

the suite. My head snapped up, my terrifie

open with a heav

slowly be