Venice shimmered beneath the soft glow of sunset, its canals reflecting gold and rose as gondolas glided lazily past marble bridges. But for Ariana Cruz, beauty was the last thing on her mind.
Her phone buzzed again the fifth call in ten minutes from a number she hadn't seen in three years.
Aria.
Her twin sister.
The same sister who'd vanished without a word after betraying their family, leaving Ariana to face the fallout alone.
With a hesitant breath, Ariana answered. "Aria?"
"Ari, I need your help," came a trembling voice from the other end familiar, desperate. "Please. Don't hang up."
Ariana froze in the middle of the crowded Venetian street. "Why would I help you? You disappeared! After what you"
"There's no time!" Aria's whisper cracked. "I'm in danger. I need you to take my place for a few weeks just until I can fix this."
Ariana frowned. "Take your place? What are you talking about?"
"My wedding."
The world seemed to still. "Your what?"
"I'm supposed to marry Alexander Volkov tomorrow. Billionaire, CEO, Russian-American It's a contract marriage business arrangement. But I can't go through with it, not now. You have to go for me, Ari. You're the only one who can."
Ariana's grip on her phone tightened. The name Volkov echoed through her memory she'd seen it in business news headlines, tied to oil empires, shipping lines, and whispered scandals.
"You've lost your mind," Ariana breathed. "You want me to marry someone in your place? That's illegal. Insane!"
"Please, Ariana." Aria's voice softened. "You look just like me. No one will know. Just say your vows, attend the wedding in Venice, live at the villa for a month, then I'll return. You'll be paid, I promise."
Ariana's pulse hammered. She'd been struggling to pay her tuition at the Italian Fashion Academy. Her landlord had already threatened eviction.
Still marrying a stranger? Pretending to be her twin?
"What did you do, Aria?" she whispered.
Silence stretched on the line, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and a single trembling breath.
Then: "If you don't help me someone will die."
The call ended.
Ariana stood motionless as the evening bells rang over Venice.
The next morning, she found herself standing before a mirror in a silk wedding gown, her reflection both familiar and foreign.
Her twin's makeup artist fussed with her veil. "You look stunning, Signora Volkov," she said with a bright smile.
Ariana's throat tightened.
The name Volkov felt heavy on her tongue like a secret she wasn't supposed to carry.
Outside, the sound of luxury cars pulling up signaled the arrival of the groom. The man whose wife she was about to pretend to be.
The doors opened, and Alexander Volkov stepped in tall, commanding, his sharp blue-gray eyes cutting through the air like winter frost. His presence alone silenced the room.
He looked at her really looked at her and for a brief, terrifying moment, Ariana felt as if he saw through her disguise.
Then he spoke, his Russian-accented voice low and unreadable.
"Are you ready, Aria?"
Her heart pounded.
She forced a smile, her lips trembling slightly.
"Yes," she lied.
And with that single word, Ariana Cruz sealed her fate not as herself, but as the substitute wife of a billionaire.