Chapter 1: The Debt and the Devil
The smell of expensive cologne and vintage champagne usually signaled a night of luxury, but for Elara Vance, it smelled like a ticking clock.
"Another tray of the caviar blinis, Elara! Move it! The VIPs in the North Wing are thirsty," the head of catering barked, his face a shade of stressed crimson.
Elara didn't argue. She couldn't afford to. She adjusted the stiff, white collar of her server's uniform and hoisted the silver tray onto her shoulder. Her heels were killing her—she had been on her feet for fourteen hours—but her mind was elsewhere.
Twelve thousand dollars. That was the number burned into her brain. That was the cost of her mother's next round of chemotherapy. If she didn't have the deposit by 8:00 AM tomorrow, the private clinic would move her mother to the public ward, and Elara knew her mother's weakened heart wouldn't survive the transition.
As she moved through the golden ballroom of the Vane Estate, Elara kept her head down. The guests here were the elite of the elite—people who spent more on a single watch than Elara would earn in a decade. She felt like a ghost haunting a palace of gold.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated in her pocket. Heart hammering, she ducked behind a velvet curtain near the restroom corridor to check it.
[St. Jude's Billing]: Final Notice. Payment of $12,450 due by 08:00. Failure to pay will result in immediate discharge.
A cold wave of nausea washed over her. She leaned her head against the cool marble wall, gasping for air. Where? Where can I get that much money in eight hours? "You look like you're about to faint. It would be a shame to ruin that pretty face with a floor-impact."
The voice was sharp, aristocratic, and unnervingly familiar.
Elara snapped her head up. Her breath hitched. Standing three feet away was a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a mirror.
She wore a gown of shimmering silk that cost more than a house. Her hair was styled in perfect, icy waves, and her eyes were hidden behind oversized sunglasses. But the jawline, the nose, the shape of the lips—they were identical to Elara's.
"Chloe Vane?" Elara whispered.
Chloe, the socialite daughter of the Vane empire and the "It Girl" of the city, stepped closer. She pulled her sunglasses down, revealing eyes that were frantic and bloodshot.
"You're the server my mother's assistant found," Chloe murmured, scanning Elara from head to toe. "The resemblance really is uncanny. Up close, it's almost... disgusting."
Elara stepped back, her hand tightening on her tray. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ms. Vane. I have to get back to work."
"Forget the tray," Chloe said, reaching out and grabbing Elara's wrist with a grip like iron. "How much do you need? For the mother? The hospital bills? I know everything, Elara."
Elara froze. "How do you know about that?"
"It doesn't matter," Chloe hissed, her voice trembling. "What matters is that I am in a mess that only you can fix. I'm pregnant, Elara. And the father isn't the man I'm supposed to marry in three days."
The air in the corridor felt thick. Elara's mind raced. The man Chloe was supposed to marry was Julian Vane—the "King of Tech," a man known for being as ruthless in the boardroom as he was cold in his personal life. He wasn't just wealthy; he was dangerous.
"I'm leaving tonight," Chloe continued, her words coming out in a desperate rush. "I have a plane waiting. I'm going to a place where my parents can't find me. But if I just disappear, they'll freeze my accounts and hunt me down. I need a decoy. I need someone to sit at that altar, sign that marriage certificate, and live in Julian's house for one year."
"You're insane," Elara breathed. "You want me to... pretend to be you? To marry a man I've never met?"
"I don't just want it. I'm buying it." Chloe pulled a checkbook from her designer clutch. With a flourish, she scribbled a number and tore it off, pressing the paper against Elara's chest.
Elara looked down.
$5,000,000.
The room spun. It wasn't just enough for the hospital bills. It was enough for a new life. A life where her mother never had to worry again.
"One year," Chloe whispered, leaning into Elara's ear. "Live as me. Be the perfect, boring wife. Julian is a workaholic; he won't even notice you're there. He hates me anyway. We haven't spoken more than ten words to each other in a month. Just sign the contract, and the money is yours tonight."
Elara looked at the check, then at the woman who looked like her twin. The desperation in Chloe's eyes was real, but the darkness in this proposal was deeper than anything Elara had ever imagined.
"If he finds out..." Elara started.
"He won't. Unless you let him get too close. And trust me," Chloe laughed bitterly, "nobody wants to get close to Julian Vane. He has a heart made of obsidian."
Elara thought of her mother, pale and struggling for breath in that hospital bed. She thought of the collectors calling her every hour.
"I'll do it," Elara said, her voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.
Chloe's face transformed into a mask of pure relief. "Good. Follow me. The stylists are waiting in the suite upstairs. By midnight, Elara Vance will cease to exist."
As Elara followed the heiress toward the elevator, she felt a chill run down her spine. She was stepping into a gilded cage, and she had no idea that the man waiting for her inside was far more observant—and far more dangerous—than Chloe had led her to believe.
Two hours later, Elara stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Gone were the server's whites. She was draped in a silver silk slip dress, her hair polished to a mirror shine, her skin glowing with expensive powders.
She looked perfect. She looked like a Vane.
The door to the suite swung open. A man stepped in.
He didn't look like the photos in the tabloids. He was taller, his shoulders broader, his presence filling the room until the air felt thin. His eyes were a piercing, metallic gray, and they landed on Elara with the weight of a physical blow.
Julian Vane.
He didn't speak. He walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. Elara's heart thundered against her ribs. Stay calm. He doesn't know. He can't know.
Julian stopped inches from her. He reached out, his long fingers grazing the skin of her neck. He didn't look like a husband-to-be; he looked like a predator who had just found a flaw in his prey.
"Chloe," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
"Yes, Julian?" Elara forced herself to use the haughty tone she had practiced.
Julian's eyes narrowed. His hand moved from her neck to her chin, tilting her face up toward the light.
"You've changed your perfume," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips. "And you're trembling. Since when has the 'Ice Queen' of the Vane family been afraid of me?"
Before Elara could answer, he leaned down, his breath warm against her ear.
"I don't know what game you're playing, but let's get one thing straight," he whispered. "I know exactly why you're finally agreeing to this marriage. And if you think you're going to use me to cover up your little 'accident,' you're sadly mistaken."
He let go of her chin so abruptly she stumbled.
"See you at the altar, wife," he spat, the word sounding like a threat.
He turned and walked out, leaving Elara shivering in her $10,000 dress.
He knew. Maybe not everything—but he knew she was hiding something. And the marriage hadn't even started yet.