Chapter 2: Borrowed Hearts, Stolen Lives

I ran around the room, yelling, "Who’s Charlotte? Don’t hit me! You’ve got the wrong person!"

My voice cracked. I dove behind a velvet armchair, using it as a barricade. This was nuts. Who was Charlotte?

It took frantic explanations, showing him my Instagram, and shoving my ID in his face before he finally believed I wasn’t his daughter.

Ten minutes of me babbling, scrolling through selfies, flashing my license. At last, his fury fizzled, replaced by awkward embarrassment.

I was just some random girl who, for reasons I still can’t explain, looked almost exactly like her.

He stared, brow furrowed, and muttered, "You really do look like her." I shrugged, still jittery. My phone buzzed with missed calls from my roommate. What a day.

As an apology, he handed me a check for $1,500.

He scribbled it out, slid it across the table. "For your trouble," he said, all gruff. I’d never seen that many zeros in my life. My hands shook as I took it. Was this real?

I snatched the money, ready to bolt.

I was halfway to the door, already spending it in my head—rent, groceries, maybe even a splurge coffee—when he cleared his throat.

Then he said, "Miss Riley, you look like you could use some cash. I have a business proposal. If you succeed, you’ll be well rewarded."

I froze mid-step. Money talks, even when your gut’s screaming "bad idea!" I turned around, curiosity winning out over common sense.

My mind spun. What kind of business did a man like this want with a girl like me? This couldn’t be good.

There was still a month until the wedding. Thirty days. Depending on your point of view, that’s forever—or no time at all. He laid out the plan, all calm and matter-of-fact.

Charlotte had run off.

Apparently, she’d bolted with her boyfriend, leaving her family in the lurch. The wedding was off—unless someone took her place. I felt my jaw drop.

If she came back before the wedding, he’d hand me $10,000.

Ten grand just to keep quiet and lay low? Easy money.

If she didn’t, I’d have to impersonate his daughter and marry in her place.

That part made my stomach knot. Fake a wedding? Pretend to be someone else for a year? What was I thinking?

The deal was for one year. Whether they found her or not, I’d get $80,000.

Eighty thousand dollars. The number echoed in my mind, drowning out my doubts. I pictured my empty fridge and the landlord’s threats. I needed this.

I was desperate for money.

Desperate enough to do something reckless. That’s the truth. I wish I could say I was noble, but I wasn’t. I just needed a way out.

On a wild impulse, I agreed.

I shook his hand, palms sweaty. It felt like making a deal with the devil, but I grinned anyway, pretending I had a clue what I was doing.

"Babe, spacing out at a time like this?"

Carter’s voice snapped me back. He bit my lip, grinning. "Sweetheart, you’re being so stubborn tonight. You want to get out of bed tomorrow?"

His words were half-tease, half-threat, his eyes dancing. My cheeks burned. He always knew how to push my buttons. Damn him.

Me: "Whoa."

I snapped back to reality, blurting, "No, no, I’m super well-behaved! I have to work tomorrow, please, please."

I blinked up at him, trying to look as pitiful as possible.

I put on my best puppy-dog eyes, hoping he’d go easy on me. I even stuck out my bottom lip for good measure.

Carter tucked my sweaty, messy hair behind my ear and leaned down to kiss me.

His fingers were gentle, almost tender. For a second, the world shrank to just us—the hush of the room, the warmth of his lips, the faint hum of the city outside.

He whispered like a devil, "Too late."

His breath was hot against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I was in trouble, and honestly? I didn’t mind.

My mind went totally blank, staring into space.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. It was like falling—terrifying and exhilarating, all at once. Just—wow.

Damn it, nobody warned me before the wedding that Charlotte’s husband would have a drive like this.

Seriously, someone should’ve handed me a manual. A warning label. Anything. But nope—no one tells you these things.

Mr. Whitmore explained it was a business marriage. Carter and Charlotte had only ever seen each other’s photos. Not even a handshake.

It was all for show. No real feelings, just two families merging fortunes, sealing deals with a handshake and a wedding band. Wild.

And I looked just like Charlotte.

It still freaked me out sometimes, seeing my reflection and thinking it was her. I never believed in doppelgängers—until now. Ha.

Mr. Whitmore was so skeptical, he even did a DNA test on me.

He swabbed my cheek himself, sent it to some fancy lab. I waited for days, half-hoping I’d turn out to be a secret Whitmore or something.

But nope, not related at all. Just a weird cosmic joke.

The results were clear: no match. Just two strangers with the same face. My dreams of a hidden inheritance? Poof—gone.

I was crushed.

I’d let myself hope, just for a second. Dumb, I know. But it stung.

My dream of being a rich family’s daughter? Shattered.

I’d pictured shopping sprees, spa days, never having to check my bank balance again. But real life isn’t a fairy tale. Not even close.

If I couldn’t be the real daughter, at least being her stand-in paid the bills.

I told myself it was just a gig, just acting. But sometimes, late at night, I caught myself wishing it was real.

Charlotte was missing. All the meetings, dates, even the marriage registration and wedding with Carter Hayes—I had to grit my teeth and do them all. Ugh.

I learned to fake her signature, memorize her favorite color, laugh at the right jokes. I became Charlotte—at least on paper. The wedding was a blur of lace, champagne, and camera flashes.

On the wedding night, I sat in the bridal suite in a dress worth more than my student loans, just waiting. Waiting for him.

The dress was heavy, suffocating. I perched on the edge of the bed, hands twisting in my lap. The city lights blinked outside. I felt like an imposter in someone else’s life. God, what was I doing?

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The hallway light stretched his shadow across the floor, making him look even taller.

Carter stood in the doorway, tall and imposing. The glow from the hallway sharpened his features. He looked exactly like the magazine covers—confident. Untouchable.

Carter’s voice was calm: "Miss Whitmore, are you nervous?"

His tone was smooth, a little amused. He leaned on the doorframe, eyes locked on me.