The morning light felt like an intrusion. Seraphina hadn't slept. She had spent the entire night sitting in the armchair of the East Wing, watching the shadows retreat as the sun climbed over the cliffs.
Her natural chestnut hair was a tangled mess against the silk of her robe, a stark reminder that the blonde facade was dead.
She felt like a ghost haunting her own life. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Alexander's face in the hallway—the way his grey eyes had turned from ice to something molten and predatory.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump, her heart leaping into her throat. Before she could answer, the heavy oak door swung open.
It wasn't Maya the maid. It was Alexander.
He looked perfectly composed, as if he hadn't just dismantled her entire existence the night before.
He was dressed in a charcoal-grey suit, his tie knotted with mathematical precision. In his hand, he carried a long, rectangular box wrapped in black paper.
He didn't say good morning. He didn't ask how she was. He simply walked to the centre of the room and set the box on the bed.
"Get up," he commanded.
Seraphina stood on shaky legs, clutching the lapels of her robe. "Alexander, we need to talk about my father. You said—"
"I said your father's freedom depends on your obedience," he interrupted, his voice cool and resonant.
He walked toward her, his presence shrinking the massive room until she felt trapped against the window. "Talking is a luxury you lost when you signed the register with a name that wasn't yours."
He reached out, his hand hovering near her face. Seraphina flinched, expecting a blow or a grip, but he merely tucked a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. His touch was lingering, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin of her temple.
"The brown hair suits you," he whispered, his eyes dark.
"It makes you look... honest. It's a pity the world can never see it."
He gestured to the box on the bed. "Open it."
With trembling fingers, Seraphina tore away the black paper. Inside lay a new wig. It was even more expensive than the last—a custom-made, lace-front piece in a shimmering, pale platinum. Beside it lay a dress of ivory lace and a set of sapphire earrings that looked like drops of frozen ocean.
"The board of directors is hosting a brunch at the estate today," Alexander explained, stepping back and leaning against the mahogany vanity.
"They expect to see the happy couple. You will wear that, you will smile, and you will play the part of Selene Vance better than she ever could."
"And if I can't?" Seraphina's voice was a mere whisper.
"I'm an artist, Alexander. I'm not an actress. I can't keep doing this forever."
Alexander moved so fast she didn't have time to blink. He was suddenly inches from her, his hand slamming against the wall beside her head. The scent of his expensive cologne—spiced wood and rain—enveloped her.
"You will do it because I told you to," he hissed.
"You think you're a victim, Seraphina? You're a thief. You stole a marriage. You stole a name. And now, I am reclaiming the value of my investment. You wanted to be invisible? Those days are over. You are the most visible woman in this city now, and you will perform until I grow bored with the show."
He looked down at her lips, his gaze tracking the slight tremor there.
"Do you know what happens to the Vance family if a single person at that brunch suspects you aren't Selene?" he asked.
"I won't just stop the funding. I will buy their debt and sell it to the most ruthless collection agencies in the country. Your father will spend his golden years in a cell, and your sister... well, you saw how I handle her."
Seraphina felt a sob rise in her throat, but she forced it down. She had to be strong. If she broke now, she'd lose everything.
"Why me?" she asked, her eyes searching his.
"You hate the Vances. You hate liars. Why not just expose us and be done with it? Why keep me here?"
Alexander's expression shifted. For a fleeting second, the mask of the Ice King cracked, revealing a flicker of something dark and hungry.
"Because Selene was a bore," he said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum.
"She was predictable. Greedy. Empty. But you're a mystery, Seraphina. You have talent hidden in your fingers and secrets behind your eyes. I've realised I don't want a trophy wife. I want a challenge."
He straightened his suit jacket, the moment of intensity passing as quickly as it had come.
"Maya will be here in ten minutes to help you. If you aren't downstairs by eleven, I'll come back up here. And I promise you, you won't like the way I choose to wake you up."
He turned and walked toward the door, but stopped with his hand on the handle.
"And Seraphina?"
She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed but defiant.
"The sketches stay in this room. If I catch you drawing anywhere else, I'll burn the book."
The door clicked shut, the sound echoing like a guillotine.
Seraphina collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her hand resting on the cool ivory lace of the dress. She looked at the platinum wig. She realised then that Alexander Thorne didn't just want a wife to show off to his board. He wanted to break her. He wanted to take the "Invisible Twin" and mould her into something that belonged entirely to him.
She stood up and walked to the mirror. She picked up a hairbrush and began to vigorously brush out her dark curls, preparing to hide them once again.
He thinks he can own my soul, she thought, her eyes hardening in the glass. He thinks he can burn my art and keep me in the dark. But doesn't realise that an artist knows how to find light in the shadows.
She would play his game. She would wear his dresses and his diamonds. She would smile for his directors and kiss his cheek for the cameras. But she wouldn't let him see the real Seraphina ever again.
She would be the perfect, hollow shell of Selene Vance during the day. And in the dead of night, she would find a way to take her revenge.
By the time Maya entered the room with a tray of tea and a nervous smile, Seraphina was standing tall.
"Help me with the lace, Maya," Seraphina said, her voice steady and cold.
"We have a performance to give."
As the maid began to pull the corset tight, Seraphina stared out at the grey Atlantic waves crashing against the cliffs. She was a Thorne now. And if Alexander wanted a monster for a wife, she would show him exactly how dangerous a "mouse" could be when she was backed into a corner.