Tatiana’s POV

“I don’t know, Mrs. Hartwell,” I said, pressing the phone tighter against my ear, hoping it would stop my mind from going to dark places and horrifying scenarios. I shouldn’t have gone home last night; I should have stayed with her. “She didn’t sound like somebody running away. She just…seemed sad. Tired, maybe. I figured it was probably wedding jitters.”

My heel caught in a crack on the pavement outside the gallery. I yanked it free and stared at the traffic for a second. Mrs. Hartwell’s quiet crying on the other end made everything around me blur.

“You’re the last person she spoke to that night, Tatiana,” she said. Her voice was brittle, like glass about to snap. “Please. I need you to come to the estate tonight. We’ve hired a private investigator. He’ll want to hear everything you know.”

I nodded before remembering she couldn’t see me. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll come.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she added, sharp now. “Not even your family. Not yet.”

There was panic under her perfect tone. Lena was missing. Mrs. Hartwell was scared enough to call me. That was bad.

“I won’t,” I whispered.

When we hung up, I called Dad. He picked up on the second ring.

“Tatiana? You done already?”

“Not exactly,” I said, moving toward the curb. “Something came up. I’ll be a little late for dinner.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll explain when I get home.”

He didn’t push. He never did. Just grunted. “Fine. I’ll keep the soup warm.”

I flagged down a cab, slid in, and gave the driver the address. “Hartwell Estate.” Saying it out loud always made me feel like an extra in somebody else’s drama.

Thirty minutes later I found myself walking through their front doors, silently hoping and praying Lena would just pop out of a hallway and laugh at me for worrying. I wanted it so badly, but he didn’t.

The house was too quiet. Even the staff moved like ghosts.

A butler I didn’t recognize led me into the study.

It was the first time I’d seen Eleanor Hartwell without perfect hair or makeup. She looked older. Not time-old, but grief-old. Her husband and Lena’s father, Charles, stood beside her, jaw locked so hard it looked painful.

No private investigator.

“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Hartwell said, motioning for me to sit.

I perched on the edge of a velvet chair that probably cost more than my entire student loan debt. My hands tightened in my lap.

“I don’t know if I have anything useful,” I said. “She seemed off, yeah, but I thought it was cold feet. I mean… Who wouldn’t get nervous marrying Andrew Steele?”

To be honest, I have never met Andrew Steele. Every time Lena wanted to introduce us, he was always a no-show.

Her hands clenched, but she nodded. “I know. But you… you might be the only one who can help us now.”

My heart jumped. “I’ll help. Anything. Just tell me what to do, and I will do it.”

She glanced at her husband. The air in the room felt heavier.

Then she said it.

“I want you to stand in for her tomorrow. Be the bride.”

I blinked. Then I laughed because clearly this was some rich-people test I didn’t understand. “I—what?” I said. “No. No, ma’am. I can’t do that.”

“It’s temporary,” Mr. Hartwell said. His voice was calm and corporate. Like we were talking about stocks, not my life. “Just until Lena is found. The wedding must go on. It has to go on no matter what. For appearances.” He leaned forward, eyes flat. “You’ll be well compensated for doing us this favor.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but no.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “This is insane.”

His lips thinned, ready to try and convince me, but Mrs. Hartwell raised a hand.

“Please, honey. Give us the room.”

He hesitated, then walked out, shutting the door behind him.

The air changed the second he left. It became darker and more intense. Mrs. Hartwell stepped closer. The grieving mother disappeared, and what stood there now was pure steel.

“I didn’t call you because you knew anything,” she said softly. “I called you because you’re the only one of her friends who looks like her. You two could pass for identical twins.”

My heart stuttered. “What?”

“You and Lena,” she went on, “same height, same build. Close enough features. Different hair and eyes. That can easily be fixed. A little makeup, the right dress… People will be too distracted by the ceremony to look closely anyway.”

I stood up, fists curling. “Why are you doing this? Why not call the wedding off?”

“Because Hartwell Industries just reached a merger deal with Steele Corporation,” she snapped. “This marriage seals it. If this wedding doesn’t happen tomorrow, everything collapses.”

I swallowed hard. “Then tell the truth. Tell Andrew.”

Her laugh was short and bitter. “You don’t know Andrew Steele. He cares about leverage, about business, not feelings. If he finds out Lena is missing before the paperwork is signed, the deal’s off. His cousin Harold would swoop in and gut everything we built. Over my cold dead body will I let that happen.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “But this isn’t my life. I can’t pretend to be her. What happens when she comes back?”

“You step down. Quietly. We make it look like a breakdown. A canceled honeymoon. Whatever it takes.”

“No. I’m not doing this.”

Her voice dropped, soft and lethal.

“If you don’t… I’ll have your father deported back to Russia.”

The room spun. “What?”

“You think I don’t know?” she said, tilting her head. “Your father overstayed his student visa. He’s been living under the radar for years. He never naturalized. It would only take one phone call, and ICE would come knocking. And I wouldn’t stop there. I’d come for your career that has not even started and tear it to shreds.”

My legs went numb. “You wouldn’t,” I whispered.

“Oh, but I can,” she said simply. “And I will.”