Chapter 2

Six AM, and I was jolted awake by the sound of seagulls.

For a split second, I forgot where I was. The ceiling above me wasn't the familiar water-stained plaster of my shitty apartment, but pristine white molding that looked like it belonged in a museum.

What the fuck was this place?

Then it all came flooding back—the three-hundred-thousand-dollar check, Mom's surgery, and that unsettling contract. I was now Caspian Ashford's "personal assistant," living in his Hamptons oceanfront estate.

I sat up, taking in my surroundings. The room was beautifully decorated, but its location said everything—first floor, corner spot, right next to the kitchen. The help's quarters.

A soft knock echoed from outside.

"Miss Moreau? Mr. Ashford requests your presence for breakfast in the dining room."

I opened the door to find a woman in her fifties standing there, gray hair pulled into a severe bun, wearing a crisp black uniform.

"I'm the housekeeper here." Her voice was polite but distant. "Mr. Ashford is waiting. Also, you'll find new clothes in your wardrobe. Please choose something appropriate."

She turned to leave, adding over her shoulder: "Remember, in the Hamptons, image is everything."

Twenty minutes later, I was walking into the dining room wearing a Chanel suit. Caspian sat at the head of a long table, absorbed in the Wall Street Journal, not even bothering to look up.

"Sit," he said, still staring at his paper.

I took the seat across from him.

"Today we're going to the equestrian club," he said, finally lowering his paper to look at me with those cold eyes. "There will be some friends there. Your job is simple—stand by my side, speak little, observe much."

"Observe what?"

"How they talk, how they move, how they... exist. You need to learn to become one of them."

"Oh, and," Caspian stood, "if anyone asks about your background, you're my distant cousin's daughter from Connecticut. Private school graduate, currently taking a gap year."

An hour later, we were driving toward the Hamptons Equestrian Club in a black Bentley with hand-stitched leather interior. Even the air smelled expensive.

"Nervous?" Caspian asked.

"Should I be?"

"You're about to meet some of the most powerful women on the East Coast. They'll determine in one second whether you belong here." He turned to study me. "So yes, you should be nervous."

Thanks for the pep talk, asshole.

The equestrian club sat atop rolling green hills, its white buildings elegant as a small palace.

We entered the main building, which was all Persian rugs, oil paintings, and trophy cases. Several women were already waiting on the terrace, dressed in designer summer dresses and pearl necklaces, looking like they had stepped out of Vogue.

"Caspian!" A blonde woman in her forties stood up, perfectly preserved. "We thought you might not make it."

"Mrs. Vanderbilt, wouldn't miss it." Caspian leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Let me introduce Delphine, my new assistant."

"Oh, another young, pretty assistant." Mrs. Vanderbilt's eyes lingered on me for a moment before turning to the other women. "They keep getting younger, don't they?"

The others laughed—the kind of laugh that made your skin crawl.

"Delphine is my distant cousin's daughter," Caspian explained smoothly. "Taking a gap year."

"Oh, how lovely." A redhead chimed in. "Darling, would you mind getting me some champagne?"

I glanced at Caspian. He nodded.

"Of course, ma'am."

As I walked back with the champagne, I caught Mrs. Vanderbilt saying: "...these young girls are always trying to get close to our sons. Though this one seems decent enough. At least she knows her place."

I handed the redhead her champagne, forcing a smile.

For the next hour, I was asked to do various tasks—fetch food, adjust umbrellas, even retrieve a forgotten purse from someone's car. Caspian watched it all with cold detachment, as if this was perfectly normal.

This wasn't work, I thought, this was humiliation.

The worst part? I was getting angry. Not at these women, but at myself. I should have been in a lab studying bioengineering, should have been in MIT's library preparing for finals, not here serving drinks to entitled socialites.

After lunch, I excused myself to the restroom, needing a moment to collect myself. The girl in the mirror wore an expensive suit, but her eyes were full of shame.

Mom's surgery was now guaranteed, I told myself. This was all worth it.

The restroom door opened, and a brunette woman walked in. The moment she saw me, she frowned.

"You look familiar," she said. "Have we met somewhere?"

My heart raced. This was Amanda Sinclair—I had seen her at Blue Moon several times. She usually sat in the corner VIP booth, drinking expensive wine.

"I think you're mistaken," I managed to stay calm. "I just arrived from Connecticut."

"No..." She tilted her head. "I'm certain I've seen you somewhere. That place was... a bar?"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"I don't go to bars," I said. "I'm underage."

"Really?" Amanda stepped closer. "I never forget a face. Especially a pretty one."

Just then, the restroom door opened again and Caspian walked in.

"Ladies, is everything alright?"

"Caspian," Amanda turned to him, "I think I've seen your little assistant somewhere before."

"Of course you have," Caspian said without missing a beat. "Delphine is my cousin Catherine's daughter. You probably met her at last year's Christmas party."

"The one in Greenwich," Caspian added. "Catherine brought her along. You know, she just returned from boarding school in Switzerland."

I watched Caspian weave these lies with terrifying ease.

"Oh, right!" Amanda's face lit up with recognition. "Switzerland! That's why you looked familiar. You private school kids all look so similar."

"Indeed," Caspian smiled.

Amanda laughed and left. Once we were alone, Caspian's expression turned ice-cold.

"You almost ruined everything," he said quietly. "If they discovered you worked at a bar..."

"I know," I interrupted. "I'll be more careful."

"You'd better be." His eyes were dangerous. "Because this is just the beginning."

Back at the mansion, Caspian called me into his study.

"Sit," he pointed to the chair across from his desk. "I have something to show you."

He opened a drawer and pulled out a photograph. When he turned it toward me, I gasped.

The girl in the photo had golden blonde hair and blue-green eyes, delicate features, an elegant smile. Most shocking of all—she looked almost exactly like me. Not just similar, but nearly identical, like we could have been twins.

"This is Scarlett Pemberton," Caspian's voice turned soft, almost reverent. "Do you see? This is why..."

"We really do look alike," I admitted, though the discovery unsettled me.

"More than alike." He stared at the photo with obsession. "It's like you were carved from the same mold. Of course, you'll need some... adjustments."

"What kind of adjustments?"

"Hair, makeup, mannerisms." He looked up at me. "Scarlett returns from Switzerland next month. By then, you need to be ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Ready to become her."

His words sent chills down my spine.

"When she comes back," Caspian continued, "you'll understand what you need to do. You'll understand why I was willing to pay three hundred thousand dollars for you."

I stared at the photo of this beautiful girl, imagining myself mimicking her every move, becoming her shadow.

What kind of deal had I made? I wondered. What kind of man had I sold myself to?

But thinking of Mom in the hospital, of her hopeful expression when I told her the treatment was secured, I knew that no matter how terrifying this arrangement became, I had to see it through.

At least for now.