The storm had passed by morning, but the air inside the villa was thick charged with everything unspoken.
Ariana woke to the sound of suitcases being carried downstairs.
Security guards moved briskly, checking doors, scanning the perimeters.
"Mr. Volkov's orders," one of them said politely when she asked. "You'll be moved to Milan today."
She forced a smile, hiding the weight in her chest.
Leaving Venice should have made her feel safe but instead, it felt like running from ghosts.
Downstairs, Alexander stood by the grand piano, talking quietly with Rafael over the phone.
"She's shaken," Rafael said on the other end. "Don't push her too hard."
"I'm not," Alexander replied. His tone was clipped, but his eyes betrayed something restless something human. "I just need answers."
"About Aria?"
Alexander's gaze flicked to the stairs, where Ariana appeared delicate, hesitant, wearing white like an angel walking into a lion's den.
"About everything," he said darkly, ending the call.
The drive to Milan was long and quiet.
Ariana sat beside him in the car, the tension so sharp it could cut glass.
He hadn't spoken a word since they left Venice. His jaw was tight, his hand gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from losing control.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.
"If you're angry, just say it," she whispered.
He didn't look at her. "Should I be?"
Her throat tightened. "I don't know what you mean."
"You're lying," he said evenly. "About something. I can feel it."
Her pulse spiked. "Why would I lie?"
He finally turned to her, his eyes storm-dark and piercing.
"That's what I want to know."
When they reached Milan, the estate was quiet a sleek, modern fortress of glass and steel perched above the city lights.
Ariana followed him inside, feeling the cold distance between them widen with every step.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Alexander turned.
"Tell me the truth," he said, voice low but sharp.
She froze. "What truth?"
He took a slow step forward. "Who are you, really?"
Her heart stopped.
He held up the note that had been slipped under the door in Venice.
She's not who you think she is.
"Someone left this last night," he said. "And I want to know what it means."
Ariana's breath hitched. "It's a lie."
"Then look me in the eye and say it."
She did but the tremor in her gaze gave her away.
Silence.
Then Alexander exhaled, rubbing his temple.
"I knew something was off," he muttered. "The way you talk, the way you move you're not her. Aria was cold. Calculated. You, you care too much."
Her eyes stung. "If you already know, why are you asking?"
"Because I want to hear it from you," he said, voice breaking through his usual control. "Who are you?"
Ariana swallowed hard.
"I'm her sister," she whispered. "Ariana. Aria begged me to take her place just for a month until she came back."
The words fell like glass shattering between them.
Alexander stared at her, silent for a long time.
Then, softly: "You've been lying to me since the wedding?"
Tears burned her eyes. "I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice," he said coldly. "You just made the wrong one."
He turned away, fury tightening every line of his body.
Ariana stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Please I didn't do this to hurt you."
"Then why stay?"
"Because" She hesitated, then whispered, "Because I didn't expect to feel anything."
His head snapped toward her, eyes dark and conflicted.
The space between them sizzled with everything forbidden anger, pain, longing.
But before either could speak again, the intercom crackled.
"Sir," a guard's voice came through. "We found a woman at the north gate claiming to be Mrs. Volkov."
Ariana's blood turned to ice.
Alexander froze. "What did you say?"
"She says her name is Aria Cruz Volkov. And she wants to come home."
Ariana's world spun.
Her twin the real wife had returned.
And with her return, every lie, every secret, every stolen heartbeat between Ariana and Alexander was about to explode.