Tatiana’s POV

“No. This can't be happening. You can’t be serious.”

The words came out thin and shaky, like my voice didn’t even belong to me.

I stood in front of Mrs. Hartwell in that over-decorated study of hers, heavy curtains, heavy wood, heavy everything. My hands were cold, and my stomach was in a knot.

She didn’t blink. She just gave me that tight little smile rich women give when they’ve already decided how your life is going to go.

“I’m completely serious,” she said, like she was talking about what brand of champagne to order.

“I can’t marry Andrew Steele,” I blurted. “You can’t just… put me in Lena’s dress and hope no one notices. He’s not an idiot. Someone will figure it out. This isn’t a favor. This is fraud, and it’s insane.”

“It’s not insane,” she said, tilting her head. “It’s what has to be done. In life you have to make tough decisions. You have to play the cards you are dealt; this is me playing mine.”

I looked at her. “I’m not you. I don’t have lawyers or money. I’m just an artist living in a crappy apartment with my father that has a leak in the ceiling. I don’t belong at your altar.”

Her face didn’t change. If anything, it got colder. “You already know what will happen if you refuse,” she said softly.

And I did. God, I did.

My dad was barely holding on. His lungs are not at their best currently. Deporting him back to Russia would finish him. He was all I had, and I am all he has.

Hot tears slid down before I could stop them. I hated crying in front of her, but it was like my body didn’t care anymore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered. My throat burned.

Mrs. Hartwell nodded once, like she’d just closed a business deal. “Good girl. You have made the right decision.”

“But the second Lena comes back,” I said quickly, trying to stand straighter, “I’m out. We will switch back immediately. You have to promise me that.”

She smiled like we were at brunch enjoying some French cuisine. “Of course. You have my word.”

That word, "pretending," kept flashing in my head. Like this was a role I could step out of when the curtain fell. Only there was no curtain. This is real life.

She reached out and brushed a tear from my cheek, nails perfect, perfume heavy. “Chin up. Andrew will be here soon. We need him to see a glowing bride-to-be.”

I stared at the floor. None of this started with me, but I was the one being thrown into the fire.

She pressed a button on her desk. The door opened, and a tall woman walked in holding a suitcase and a blonde wig that looked exactly like Lena’s hair.

“This is Georgia,” Mrs. Hartwell said, like she was introducing a stylist before a photoshoot. “She’ll help you look like Lena.”

“Looks like her,” I muttered, my stomach turning.

Georgia didn’t say a word; she just opened the suitcase, which was full of makeup, brushes, contact lenses, and foundations that would probably feed me for six months, and jumped right into doing her job.

I pinched my leg under the table, hoping it would wake me up from this nightmare, but it only hurt me.

“Sit still,” she said quietly, pulling at my hair, pinning it flat.

The wig smelled like perfume. She settled it on my head like she’d done it a hundred times. I looked in the mirror and froze.

I didn’t look like me.

It was Lena’s face staring back, pale and haunted. My eyes were still there somewhere, scared and lost.

Then the gray contacts went in, covering my blue. Everything looked colder.

“You really do look like her,” Georgia murmured. “If I didn’t know better…”

“Too bad you do,” I cut her off.

A knock at the door made us both jump.

A maid peeked in. “Mrs. Hartwell… Mr. Steele has arrived. He’s not in a great mood.”

My stomach dropped.

Mrs. Hartwell waved her away and turned to me. “It’s showtime.”

I stood up. My legs felt like rubber. My heart was so loud it drowned out everything else.

“This is insane,” I whispered. “He’ll know. He’ll see right through me.”

Mrs. Hartwell looked me up and down and gave a small smile. “You’re close enough. As far as he’s concerned, you are her.”

She opened the door. Warm air from the hallway hit me like stage lights.

“Just act like Lena,” she said, and walked off.

Every step down that hall felt like I was walking to my own funeral.

At the top of the staircase, I heard his voice. Andrew Steele. Low, rough, angry.

“She better not have run off,” he snapped. “If she did, the deal is off. This isn’t some rom-com. It’s business. It's real life, and there will be consequences.”

I froze.

I wanted to throw up.

Mrs. Hartwell’s hand pressed against my back, pushing me forward.

And then he looked up.

Andrew turned and saw me.

He looked taller than I imagined. Handsome and dapper. Like something dangerous in a perfect suit. His gray eyes hit me like a punch.

For a second he just stared.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

But then.

He smiled.

Not warm or friendly, but cold, confident, and dangerous.

“Oh, Lena,” he said, dragging the name out. “I thought you ran.”

My mouth went dry. My heart slammed hard against my ribs.

He believed it.

Holy shit, he actually believed it.

I forced a weak smile. “I just needed a breather,” I said, surprised my voice didn’t shake or sound like mine.

His eyes swept over me slowly, like he was already claiming something. Then he turned to Mr. Hartwell and clapped him on the back.

“She’s here. I guess the wedding’s still on for tomorrow.”

The room tilted.

This was happening.

In less than a day, I’d be marrying a man who had no idea who I really was.

And if he ever found out?

God help me.