Eleanor knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the dining hall.
The morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting golden patterns across the polished floor. The Blackthorne estate was eerily quiet, as if the walls themselves were waiting for the inevitable storm.
And there she was.
Isla.
Sitting at the far end of the long dining table, elegantly poised, a cup of tea in her hands. The resemblance was uncanny—every delicate feature, every calculated movement mimicked Eleanor's own.
Except for one thing.
Her eyes.
They held no warmth, no uncertainty. Only ice-cold precision.
Eleanor stiffened. "You're making yourself comfortable, I see."
Isla glanced up, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "I figured, since I look so much like you, I might as well enjoy the privileges that come with it."
Alexander entered the room at that moment, his presence commanding. He barely spared Isla a glance as he strode toward Eleanor, placing a firm hand on the small of her back. A silent reassurance.
"You're not here to play games, Isla," he said coldly.
Isla's smile didn't waver. "Oh, but I thought that's what we all do in this house. Play games, wear masks, and pretend we're in control."
Eleanor clenched her fists. "What do you want?"
Isla tilted her head. "I want what I was promised."
Alexander's grip on Eleanor tightened. "You were promised nothing."
Isla laughed softly. "That's not what Lucian said."
A sharp silence fell over the room.
Eleanor's stomach twisted at the name. Lucian.
He was behind this. Of course, he was.
Alexander's expression remained unreadable, but his voice was ice. "Lucian Vale is a liar. If you're foolish enough to believe him, that's your problem."
Isla stood, smoothing down her dress—one eerily similar to Eleanor's own. "We'll see about that."
She turned, her gaze locking onto Eleanor's. "How does it feel?"
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "How does what feel?"
Isla stepped closer, just enough to lower her voice to a whisper.
"Knowing that someone else can replace you."
Eleanor's pulse spiked, but she refused to let it show. She met Isla's gaze head-on. "No one can replace me."
Isla smirked. "We'll see."
Then, without another word, she left the room, leaving behind a trail of tension thick enough to cut.
Eleanor barely had a second to breathe before Alexander turned her to face him.
"You're not to be alone with her." His tone was final.
Eleanor scoffed. "You think I'm afraid of her?"
"You should be," Alexander murmured. "She wasn't made to be you. She was made to destroy you."
---
That Night – Lucian's Estate
Lucian leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass as Isla stood before him.
"Well?" he asked lazily. "Did you enjoy breakfast with the real Mrs. Blackthorne?"
Isla smirked, settling onto the couch beside him. "She's not as easy to break as I thought."
Lucian chuckled. "Of course not. Eleanor is fire. And fire doesn't die—it burns everything around it."
Isla traced a finger along the rim of her own glass. "Then maybe it's time we see what happens when she starts to burn."
Lucian leaned in, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, darling… I do love the way you think."
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Next Chapter: A Fire That Won't Die
With Isla and Lucian weaving their web of deception, Eleanor must decide whether to fight back or risk losing herself. But when Alexander's past resurfaces, bringing unexpected revelations, the game takes a deadly turn.
How do you fight an enemy who wears your face?
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