JANELLE CROSS

I'm even more confused…

I stared at the photograph for so long that the edges started to crumple in my hand.

Same eyes. Same nose. Same everything.

It wasn’t me.

But it was.

The woman in the picture wore a sundress, standing barefoot on wet sand. Her curls blew in the wind, and her smile was soft. Not staged. Not forced. Real… like she wasn’t being photographed by surprise, but by someone who knew how to make her laugh.

I looked up.

Grayson was gone.

I was standing alone in a quiet hallway of a billionaire’s building, holding a photo of a woman who looked exactly like me, and I had no idea how it got on my tray. Or why he had said I looked “exactly like her.”

My stomach twisted.

I tucked the photo back into the folds of the napkin and slipped it into my jacket pocket. My hands felt clammy. My heart was still racing.

Lisa was going to kill me for vanishing like that.

When I made it back to the rooftop, everything looked the same. People still mingled, glasses clinked, the air still smelled like expensive perfume and grilled lamb. No one looked like they had just seen a ghost.

But I had.

I went straight to the catering table and forced a smile when Lisa raised an eyebrow at me.

“Did you fall into a portal or something?” she asked under her breath.

“Something like that,” I muttered, setting down the now-empty tray and grabbing another. My hands were shaking, so I shoved them in my pocket for a second, fingers brushing against the photo.

“Are you okay?” she asked, softer this time.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

She didn’t believe me, but she didn’t push.

We worked in silence for a while, and I kept stealing glances toward the far side of the rooftop, half-expecting Grayson to be watching me again. But he was gone. Or hiding.

I needed to go.

The moment we got back to the prep kitchen downstairs, I told Lisa I had to leave early. “I don't feel good. My head aches,” I lied.

“You should leave. I'll take care of the men. The women will find a way to sort themselves,” she joked.

Enough to make me laugh, but I didn't.

Back home, I dropped my bag and immediately pulled out the photo. I stared at it on the couch for what felt like hours.

I flipped it over.

There was no writing. No date. Nothing.

My phone buzzed. Sara.

I picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.”

“You sound weird,” she said immediately. “Are you okay?”

“I… I don’t know.”

There was a pause.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

“I don’t know how.”

There was another pause. Then, “Janelle, what happened?,” she asked.

I told her everything. About the event. The rooftop. Grayson Vale. The weird intensity in his eyes. The way he cornered me in the hallway and asked if we’d met before. And the photo.

Especially the photo.

“You’re sure it wasn’t you?” she asked after a long silence.

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean… I don’t know! I’ve never been to a beach like that. I’ve never worn that dress. But it’s me, Sara. It’s literally my face. Same scar on my collarbone. How do you explain that?”

She was quiet for a long time.

“Maybe she’s a lookalike,” she said finally. “Like one of those doppelgänger situations.”

“But he said… he said I looked exactly like her. Like it wasn’t just a coincidence. Like he’d seen a ghost.”

Sara let out a slow breath. “You know what I’m going to ask next, right?”

“What?”

“Have you ever done a DNA test?”

I blinked. “No. Why would I?”

“Because you were adopted, J. Maybe this woman is related to you. A twin. A cousin. Something.”

I swallowed. “My adoption records were sealed.”

“Still… maybe this is your chance to open a few doors.”

The idea made my stomach turn. I wasn’t ready to poke into my past. My life was already complicated enough without dragging a long-lost family into it.

And yet…

I looked down at the photo again.

She looked happy.

Like she belonged.

“Will you help me?” I asked quietly.

Sara didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

We talked for a bit longer before hanging up. Afterward, I couldn’t sleep.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the photo on the nightstand, the memory of Grayson’s voice still echoing in my mind.

The next morning, I almost convinced myself to forget the whole thing.

Almost…

Until I stepped out of my apartment and found a black car parked across the street.

Sleek. Expensive. Windows tinted too dark to see inside.

My breath caught.

I told myself I was being paranoid. Maybe it belonged to someone in the building. Maybe it had nothing to do with me.

I walked to the curb and tried not to look, but when I turned the corner, I glanced back.

The car was still there.

Still running.

I didn’t go to work that day.

Instead, I stayed inside, locked every window, and stared at that damn photo for another hour. Then I grabbed my phone and did the thing I hadn’t done in years.

I typed in “Grayson Vale.”

What popped up first were interviews. Articles. Business pieces about ValeX and their recent acquisition of some new A.I. firm. Then photos. So many of them. And then…

I stopped scrolling.

A headline caught my eye.

“Tech CEO Grayson Vale Grieves Best Friend’s Wife After Tragic Plane Crash”

I clicked on it. The article was old… about five years ago. It talked about a woman named Eden Larose, who had died in a private jet crash off the Amalfi Coast. She was married to Grayson’s best friend. No survivors.

The article included a photo of Eden.

It was the same photo I was holding.

Same dress. Same beach.

Same face.

My heart dropped to the floor.

Eden Larose wasn’t just a lookalike.

She was the woman in the photograph.

She was me.

Or I was her.

I had no idea what to think. I had no idea how any of it made sense.

I stood up too quickly and knocked the photo off the nightstand. I bent to pick it up… and froze.

Because this time, I noticed something.

There was something faint on the back. Almost invisible. But there.

Indented into the paper, like someone had written something and erased it.

I tilted it in the light.

Four numbers.

3-1-6-0.

I whispered them out loud.

And just then…

My phone rang.

An unknown number.

I stared at the screen.

It rang again.

I picked up slowly. “Hello?”

There was a pause.

Then a voice I hadn’t heard since last night said, low and unreadable…

“We need to talk.”