Lola had been her personal maid for quite a long time now. She was a middle aged woman, with glasses always perched on the bridge of her nose. For one, she knew to respect boundaries and it was one of the many reasons why Ava liked her.

“I know how you feel,” she commented softly as she helped Ava pack her things. “Trust me, it’ll get better.”

Ava sat on her bed, eyes vacant. Her life had taken an unfavorable turn and even now, she couldn’t opt out. Not when her mother’s life was at stake.

“Do you want company?” Lola asked when she finished, wiping a break of sweat from her forehead. Ava shook her head and Lola pressed her lips together before excusing herself. Dark clouds began to gather above the city, charges of lightning flashing. But the rain didn’t fall until the next evening. Ava held a book, reading, as the rain dropped harshly outside. A knock made her turn her head and the door opened revealing Thomas—the butler.

“A car is here to pick you, ma’am,” came his ever graceful voice and Ava frowned. Was Vincent still insisting on her arriving at his mansion even with the storm? She stood up, dragging her feet to the living room where her father was speaking to a man. Noticing her presence, he turned with a fake smile that made her skin crawl.

“This man is here to take you to Vincent’s mansion,” Mr Curtis spoke, beaming. Ava clenched her fists. “Follow him. Thomas and Lola will get your things to the car.”

“It’s raining and definitely not safe to leave,” Ava pointed the obvious out, glaring at her father. “I’ll leave when it stops.”

“Thomas,” Mr Curtis spoke, ignoring what Ava had said. “Get her bags from her room. Now.”

“I said something, Father,” Ava stomped her foot on the ground, annoyed. He was eager to send her out. The moment she arrived at the Wolfe’s mansion, he would receive the money promised by her suitor, Vincent. “When the rain stops pouring, I’ll leave.”

“To the car, Ava,” Mr Curtis ordered, a scowl darkening his expression. “This is not the time to be stubborn.”

“And it’s definitely not the time to send your daughter out in a storm for your own selfish interests,” Ava countered, a muscle twitching in her jaw. Mr Curtis’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “I’ll be upstairs.”

Ava walked away without another word. But luck wasn’t on her side. The rain stopped in no time. She couldn’t escape it now, she had to move into the Wolfe’s mansion. After saying goodbyes to her siblings, she headed out of the building. Her mother was at the hospital, she was the one person she badly wanted to see. But she couldn’t.

Mr Curtis felt overjoyed watching Ava leave. There was a time when he looked at her like a father should. But now, the glint in his eye was purely transactional. She shook her head, fists curling in her palm.

This was it.

She was leaving home. For one whole year.

The car rode through the streets, moving far and far away from the home she grew up in. She sighed.

Just one year.

Then, she would be back.

After what felt like three hours, they reached an estate and the car rode into a mansion which Ava instantly assumed was Vincent’s. It was a large mansion but she wasn’t all that amazed. Her father was wealthy—at least once wealthy. Her home was just as impressive. When the car stopped, servants from the mansion rushed to the car, offloading the trunk. Ava hugged herself, trying to ward off the chill from the cold weather. A man with a polite smile approached who she instantly assumed was the butler. He looked strangely hesitant when he got close and Ava wondered what it was about. She was about to ask when he beat her to it,

“Miss Curtis?” He asked, his tone courteous and polite. She nodded. “Come with me.”

Ava nodded and followed him inside where he led her through the corridor. The mansion was large, every inch and corner screaming opulence. In the first hallway, there were portraits. One of Vincent, wearing a smug smile in a black leather jacket. He was handsome. Then, there was another portrait. Her jaw dropped like she’d been punched. It was the image of a woman who looked exactly like her. The shape of eyes, nose, lips—it was all identical to hers. They could pass as twins, but that wasn’t possible. She wasn’t a twin. The only difference between her and the woman in the image was the color of hair. While she was blonde, the woman was a brunette. It was a very striking resemblance.

“She’s not your twin,” Ava heard a fairly familiar voice and she turned to see Vincent. “I thought the same thing when I saw you for the first time yesterday. Turns out you just share a resemblance.”

Ava crossed her arms on her chest. “Are you always inconsiderate? Sending someone to pick me even though there was a storm?”

Vincent shrugged, walking closer to her. His hands were buried in his pocket as he towered over her.

“We’re married, why—”

“On paper,” she blurted, immediately. “We’re only married on paper.”

A sly grin spread across his face.

“Would you like a ring and a church ceremony?” He mused but Ava’s expression remained neutral, not interested in a joke. “Welcome to the Wolfe’s mansion.”

At his words, Ava felt a chill run down her spine. Someone was watching. She looked around suddenly and at the top of the stairs, a woman stood, her eyes blank. She was the woman from the portrait.

“Who’s that lady?” Ava questioned, still locking eyes with her.

“My sister—Charlotte,” he responded almost immediately, a smirk playing on his lips. Ava nodded. It was natural for his sister to live there with him. Though the striking resemblance between her and the woman still unsettled her. She looked back at Vincent who was staring, his eyes sparkling with mirth. What was he thinking?

“Is there something on my face?” She questioned, pouting her lips.

“Did you miss the name on the portrait?” Vincent threw a reply and Ava’s lips pursed in disapproval.

She turned back to the portrait and looked at the name written just beneath the picture.

Mrs. Charlotte Wolfe.

Ava turned back to Vincent wondering what it was about. She was about to ask when the truth dawned on her. A gasp escaped her lips.

Mrs? As in his wife?

“That’s right, Avaia,” Vincent confirmed, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Charlotte is my first wife—and you—Avaia, are my second.”

Ava’s face went pale, draining of color.

His first wife? Her gaze flicked from the portrait to the staircase where Charlotte was still watching her. A cold wave crept down her spine.

What kind of madness had she walked into?

And the more daunting

question—if he already had a wife, why did he get intimate with Calia?