The limousine pulled away from St. John's Cathedral with a soft purr. Inside, the silence was deafening.
Sophia sat as far from Alexander as possible, her hands folded in her lap. The wedding dress felt heavy and suffocating now. She wanted nothing more than to tear it off and run.
Alexander stared out the window, his jaw clenched tight. He hadn't said a word since they got in the car.
Finally, Sophia couldn't stand it anymore.
"Where are we going?"
"My house."
His voice was cold and flat. He didn't even look at her.
"Listen, about what happened back there—"
"Don't."
Alexander's head snapped toward her. His blue eyes were like ice.
"Don't say another word until we get home."
The way he said 'home' made it sound like a prison.
Sophia pressed her lips together and looked out her own window. The city streets blurred past, but she wasn't really seeing them. Her mind was racing with questions and fears.
What had she gotten herself into? Why did Alexander react so strongly to her necklace? And why did he look at her like he'd seen a ghost?
Twenty minutes later, the limousine turned through massive iron gates. Sophia's breath caught in her throat as she saw the house—no, mansion—rising before them.
Blackwood Manor was like something out of a Gothic novel. Dark stone walls stretched up three stories, covered in ivy. Tall windows stared down like empty eyes. The whole place looked cold and unwelcoming.
"Welcome to your new home."
Alexander's voice dripped with sarcasm.
The car stopped in front of a grand entrance. A man in a black suit opened Sophia's door and helped her out. Her wedding dress made it difficult to move gracefully.
"This way, Mrs. Blackwood."
Mrs. Blackwood. The name hit her like a physical blow. She was married. Actually married to this cold, angry stranger.
Alexander was already walking toward the house. Sophia had to hurry to keep up, the long train of her dress dragging behind her.
Inside, the mansion was even more intimidating. Dark wood paneling covered the walls. Heavy furniture filled the rooms. Everything looked expensive and old and somehow threatening.
"James."
Alexander called to an elderly man who appeared from a side room.
"Yes, sir?"
"This is Sophia. She'll be staying here. Show her to the blue room."
"The blue room, sir? Not the master suite?"
Alexander's expression darkened.
"The blue room."
The old man—James, apparently—nodded quickly.
"Of course, sir. Right away."
"Wait."
Alexander grabbed Sophia's arm before she could follow James.
"First, we talk."
He led her into a large study. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. A massive desk dominated the center of the room. Alexander closed the door behind them with a sharp click.
"Sit."
It wasn't a request. It was an order.
Sophia remained standing.
"I'm not a dog."
Alexander's eyebrows rose slightly. For the first time since the cathedral, he looked almost impressed.
"No. You're not."
He walked to his desk and poured himself a glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter.
"You're something much more dangerous."
"I don't understand what you mean."
"Don't you?"
Alexander took a long drink, then set the glass down hard.
"Tell me about your parents."
"I don't remember them. They died when I was very young."
"How young?"
"I was three, maybe four. I've been in foster care and orphanages ever since."
"Until the Sterlings took you in."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes. Two years ago."
Alexander walked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of her.
"And they never told you why they chose you? Out of all the orphans in New York, why did they pick you specifically?"
Sophia's stomach twisted. She had wondered about that herself, but she'd never dared to ask.
"They said they wanted to help."
Alexander laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"The Sterlings don't help anyone unless there's something in it for them."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying you're not who you think you are."
Alexander reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a photograph. He held it up so she could see it.
Sophia gasped.
The photograph showed a woman who looked exactly like her. Same face, same hair, same eyes. The only difference was the clothes—the woman in the photo wore an elegant evening gown from what looked like twenty years ago.
"Who is that?"
"Isabella Ashford. She disappeared twenty years ago, right after her engagement party."
Sophia stared at the photograph. It was like looking into a mirror.
"That's impossible. It has to be a coincidence."
"There are no coincidences in my world."
Alexander put the photograph away.
"Now show me that necklace."
Sophia's hand went protectively to her throat.
"Why?"
"Because I need to see it."
"I already showed you at the cathedral."
"Not clearly enough."
Alexander stepped closer. Too close. Sophia could smell his cologne and see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes.
"Please."
The word came out softer than before. For just a moment, his cold mask slipped, and she saw something else underneath. Pain. Grief. Desperation.
Slowly, Sophia lifted the pendant from beneath her dress. It was small and silver, shaped like a heart with a tiny key inside it.
Alexander went very still.
"Where exactly did you get this?"
"I told you. It was my mother's."
"Your mother's name?"
"I... I don't remember. Like I said, I was very young when she died."
Alexander stared at the necklace for a long moment. Then he reached out as if to touch it.
Sophia jerked back.
"Don't."
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"How do I know that?"
Alexander's hand dropped to his side.
"You don't."
He walked back to his desk and finished his whiskey.
"Tell me about the Sterlings. How did they find you? What did they tell you about your background?"
Sophia hesitated. Something told her that the less Alexander knew, the safer she would be.
"They said they were looking for a companion for Victoria. Someone her own age."
"And you believed that?"
"Why wouldn't I? They gave me a home, education, everything I needed."
"In exchange for what?"
The question caught Sophia off guard.
"What do you mean?"
"What did they expect from you in return? The Sterlings don't give charity. They make investments."
Sophia thought about it. The Sterlings had been kind to her, but there had always been conditions. Rules to follow. Expectations to meet.
"They wanted me to be a proper young lady. Someone who could move in high society."
"Someone who could pass for Victoria if necessary."
The words hit her like a slap.
"That's not... they wouldn't..."
But even as she said it, Sophia knew Alexander was right. The Sterlings had been grooming her for this moment. The etiquette lessons, the dance classes, the constant comparisons to Victoria.
"How long have you known?"
Alexander's voice was gentle now.
"Known what?"
"That you weren't really their charity case. That there was another reason they took you in."
Sophia sank into the chair she had refused earlier. The weight of the truth was crushing.
"I suspected. Sometimes I caught them looking at me strangely. Like they were seeing someone else."
"Isabella."
"The woman in the photograph?"
Alexander nodded.
"She was engaged to my father twenty years ago. Three days before their wedding, she vanished. No trace. No explanation. Just gone."
Sophia felt a chill run down her spine.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"You tell me."
Alexander leaned against his desk, crossing his arms.
"You show up looking exactly like her. Wearing her necklace. And the Sterlings just happen to choose you out of thousands of orphans to groom as Victoria's replacement."
"You think I'm her daughter?"
"I think someone wants me to think you're her daughter."
The distinction was important, and Sophia understood it immediately.
"You think this is some kind of setup?"
"I know it is."
Alexander's voice was hard again.
"The question is whether you're part of it or just another pawn."
Sophia stood up, anger flashing in her eyes.
"I'm not part of anything. I didn't even know Victoria was going to run away until this morning."
"But you agreed to take her place."
"I didn't have a choice!"
"There's always a choice."
"Not when you owe your life to someone."
Alexander studied her face carefully.
"What did they threaten you with?"
"Nothing. They didn't have to threaten me. They saved me from the streets. They gave me everything."
"And now they've traded you to me like a piece of property."
The words stung because they were true.
"So what happens now?"
Sophia asked the question she'd been dreading.
"Now we play the game."
"What game?"
Alexander walked to the window and looked out at the darkening sky.
"The game where we pretend to be a happily married couple while I figure out who's trying to manipulate me and why."
"And what's my role in this game?"
"You be the perfect wife in public. Keep your mouth shut about Isabella and that necklace. And pray that whoever set this up doesn't decide you're a liability."
The threat in his words was clear.
"Are you threatening me?"
Alexander turned back to her.
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
A knock at the door interrupted them.
"Come in."
James entered, looking nervous.
"Sir, dinner is ready. And there are several reporters outside the gates."
"Reporters?"
"News of the wedding has already hit the society pages. They want photos of the happy couple."
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"Of course they do."
He looked at Sophia.
"Time for your first performance, Mrs. Blackwood."
The formal dining room was enormous. A table that could seat twenty people dominated the space. Alexander sat at one end, Sophia at the other. The distance between them felt like a canyon.
They ate in silence, the only sound the clink of silverware against china. Every few minutes, camera flashes lit up the windows as photographers tried to get pictures from outside.
"Tomorrow we'll have to make a public appearance."
Alexander finally broke the silence.
"Where?"
"Charity luncheon at the Plaza. Very public, very visible. All the right people will be there."
"Including the Sterlings?"
"Especially the Sterlings."
Alexander's smile was cold.
"I want to see how they react to you wearing that necklace in public."
After dinner, James showed Sophia to the blue room. It was beautiful but impersonal. Like a hotel room designed for someone who was just passing through.
On the bed was a suitcase she recognized—her own clothes from the Sterling house.
"Mr. Blackwood had your things collected."
James explained.
"How thoughtful of him."
Sophia's voice was dry.
"Mrs. Blackwood?"
James hesitated at the door.
"Yes?"
"Be careful. This house has seen too much tragedy already."
Before Sophia could ask what he meant, James was gone.
Sophia changed out of the wedding dress and into her nightgown. Then she sat by the window, looking out at the dark gardens.
What had she gotten herself into? Alexander was right about one thing—this felt like a setup. But if it was, who was behind it? And what did they want?
She touched the necklace at her throat. Somehow, everything seemed to come back to this small piece of silver.
A soft knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in."
To her surprise, it was Alexander. He had changed out of his tuxedo into jeans and a sweater. He looked younger, less intimidating.
"I brought you something."
He held out a thick file folder.
"What is it?"
"Everything I could find about Isabella Ashford. If you really are her daughter, you deserve to know who your mother was."
Sophia took the folder with trembling hands.
"Why are you helping me?"
Alexander was quiet for a long moment.
"Because twenty years ago, someone I cared about disappeared without a trace. If there's even a chance that you can help me find out what happened to her..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
"You loved her."
It wasn't a question.
"I was eight years old when she vanished. She was the closest thing I had to a mother."
Alexander's voice was soft, vulnerable in a way Sophia hadn't heard before.
"My father never got over losing her. It destroyed him."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just help me find the truth."
After Alexander left, Sophia opened the file. The first thing she saw was another photograph of Isabella. In this one, the woman was smiling, her arms around a young boy with dark hair and blue eyes.
Alexander.
Sophia studied Isabella's face. The resemblance was undeniable. They could have been twins.
But as she read through the documents in the file, a chill settled in her bones.
Isabella Ashford hadn't just disappeared.
She had been murdered.
And whoever killed her was still out there.