Chapter 3

I stepped out of the car before Dominic could say a word.

Katrina rushed toward me, arms open, sobbing.

"Bella, I'm so sorry—I know you said no, but Marcus cancelled my credit cards and the hotel wouldn't take cash and I didn't know where else to—"

"Stop."

She froze mid-sentence, arms still outstretched, tears glistening under the porch light.

I softened my expression—just enough to look sympathetic, not enough to look weak.

"You can sleep in the living room tonight. Tomorrow, I'll set you up at a long-stay hotel. My treat. One month."

Katrina's lips parted. That wasn't the answer she wanted.

"The living room? Bella, I—I thought maybe the guest room—"

"The guest room is being used as Leo's playroom now. Living room or nothing."

Dominic appeared beside me, hands in his pockets.

"Bella, come on. We can move Leo's toys. It's one night."

I turned to him with a look that could freeze lava.

"I said the living room."

Something passed between us—a silent power struggle that neither of us had ever engaged in before. In our entire marriage, I had never contradicted him in front of anyone.

He blinked first.

"…Alright. The living room it is. Katrina, let me grab you some blankets."

As he walked inside, Katrina touched my arm gently.

"Thank you, Bella. I know this is awkward. I promise I'll be out of your hair by morning."

Her hand was cold. Her grip was precise—firm enough to feel intimate, soft enough to seem vulnerable.

I remembered that grip. In my past life, she'd held my hand just like this when I was dying. You'll be okay, Bella. I'm right here.

She'd been mapping my pulse. Learning the rhythm of my heartbeat.

"Get some rest," I said, pulling away.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

At 2 a.m., I crept downstairs. The living room was dark. Katrina's blankets were neatly folded on the couch—untouched.

She wasn't there.

I moved through the house silently, checking rooms. Kitchen—empty. Study—empty. Leo's room—

My blood turned to ice.

The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open.

Katrina stood over Leo's crib, watching him sleep. Her hand hovered inches above his face, not quite touching. Her lips were moving, but no sound came out.

She was memorizing him.

"Katrina."

She startled, spinning around. For a fraction of a second, her expression was completely blank—no emotion, no recognition, like a machine interrupted mid-process.

Then the mask snapped back on.

"Oh! Bella, you scared me." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I couldn't sleep, and I heard him fussing, so I came to check—"

"He doesn't fuss. He's slept through the night since he was four months old."

Her smile faltered.

I stepped into the room, positioning myself between her and the crib.

"Go back to the living room, Katrina. Now."

She held my gaze for two full seconds—longer than any friend should in a moment like this. Then she nodded meekly and slipped past me.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to overstep."

After she left, I locked Leo's door from the inside. I pulled the rocking chair next to his crib and sat there until dawn, watching the door, listening for footsteps.

None came.

But I didn't close my eyes.

The next morning, I woke Leo early, fed him breakfast, and drove him to my mother's house across town.

"Mom, I need you to watch Leo for a few days. Maybe longer."

My mother frowned. "Is everything alright?"

"Just some renovations at the house. It's not safe for him."

She studied my face—the way only mothers can—and decided not to push.

"You look tired, sweetheart. Are you eating enough?"

I hugged her hard enough to make her gasp.

On the drive back, Richard called.

"Mrs. Crane, I have preliminary results. You'll want to see these in person."

An hour later, I sat in his office, staring at a folder thick enough to be a novel.

Richard adjusted his glasses. "Your husband opened a private account at First Continental Bank four months ago. Deposits totaling 200,000 dollars—all transferred from your joint investment portfolio. Small amounts, spread over time. Designed not to trigger alerts."

My throat tightened. "And Katrina?"

"Katrina Shaw. Maiden name: Katrina Voss. She legally changed her name three years ago—right before she 'coincidentally' moved to your city and became your friend at that charity gala."

He slid a photograph across the desk.

It was Katrina—three years ago. But she looked nothing like the woman I knew. Different nose. Different chin. Wider jawline.

"She's had extensive cosmetic surgery," Richard said quietly. "Over a dozen procedures in two years. All designed to make her look like—"

"Me."

He nodded.

I picked up the photo. My hands were steady, but inside, something was howling.

Three years. She'd spent three years reshaping her entire face to look like mine—before we'd even met.

This wasn't opportunism. This was a long-term operation.

"There's more," Richard said. "Her previous identity—Katrina Voss—has a criminal record. Fraud. Identity theft. She served eighteen months in a juvenile facility at sixteen for impersonating a wealthy classmate and draining her family's accounts."

He paused.

"She's done this before, Mrs. Crane."

I set the photo down.

"Richard, I need you to prepare divorce papers. And a full custody filing for my son. Don't file anything yet—just have them ready."

"You think your husband is involved?"

I thought of the 200,000 dollars in the hidden account. The way he'd pushed for Katrina to move in. The irritation in his eyes when I'd said no.

"I think," I said slowly, "my husband has been shopping for my replacement."

When I arrived home, Dominic's car was in the driveway. Beside it—Katrina's silver sedan, which should have been gone by now.

I walked through the front door and heard laughter from the kitchen.

Dominic and Katrina were cooking together. She wore my apron—the linen one with the embroidered sunflowers that Leo had picked out for Mother's Day.

Katrina turned and beamed. "Bella! We're making your favorite—lemon pasta. Dominic's teaching me the recipe."

She said your favorite like she was cataloging data.

Dominic didn't even look guilty. "I told Katrina she could stay a few more days. The hotels nearby are all booked because of that tech conference downtown."

Lies. I'd checked hotel availability that morning. Plenty of rooms.

But I smiled.

"How thoughtful. Katrina, can I talk to you for a second? Girl stuff."

I led her to the hallway, out of Dominic's earshot.

Then I leaned close and whispered:

"I know about the surgeries. I know about Katrina Voss. And I know you've done this before."

The color drained from her face.

For one glorious second, the mask cracked completely—and underneath was something cold and ancient, like staring into the eyes of something that had been wearing human skin for practice.

Then she laughed. Light, musical, perfect.

"Bella, what are you talking about? Surgeries? Who's Katrina Voss?" She touched my arm. "Are you feeling okay? You've seemed so stressed lately—"

"You have until tomorrow morning to leave my house. If you're still here when I wake up, I will destroy you."

Her laughter died.

We stared at each other in the dim hallway—two women who looked almost identical, standing inches apart.

"You can't prove anything," she whispered.

I smiled.

"Watch me."

When I turned to walk away, she grabbed my wrist—hard this time, no pretense of softness.

"Bella." Her voice dropped to something barely human. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. The system chose me. And once synchronization reaches 60%… it doesn't matter what you know."

She released my wrist.

"It's already at 55."