The morning came like a slow confession.
Light leaked through the hotel's sheer curtains, brushing pale gold across the room. The air smelled faintly of champagne and expensive regret. Somewhere beneath the silk sheets, Rosaline stirred, the sound of her own heartbeat louder than the city beyond the window.
Her dress lay on the floor like the outline of a mistake.
She sat up too fast, the memory of the night crashing back in fragments: Conrad's hand at her waist, the terrace lights glinting in his eyes, the low hum of his voice when he whispered Nora. And every time he'd said that name, her sister's name, she'd let him.
God.
Rosaline pressed her palms to her face, her stomach twisting. What had she done?
The answer lay beside her, still asleep, one arm thrown carelessly across the sheets. Conrad Reid, the man she'd once sworn she couldn't stand, was now tangled up in the same bed she'd promised herself she'd never end up in.
He looked nothing like the ruthless CEO she remembered. Without the sharp suit or the glare of the boardroom, he looked almost peaceful. Human.
It was almost cruel that the first time he'd ever looked at her gently, he hadn't even been looking at her.
She slipped out of bed, her bare feet cold against the marble floor. The hem of her dress whispered as she pulled it on, fingers trembling over the zipper.
She needed to leave.
Rosaline caught her reflection in the mirror, lipstick smudged, mascara faintly streaked, hair tangled from hands that had mistaken her for someone else. For Nora.
The realization sliced clean through her chest.
It wasn't supposed to go this far. She'd meant to play the part for one evening, nothing more. Smile for the cameras, drink for courage, and leave before anyone asks questions. But Conrad hadn't given her the chance to disappear. And she, she hadn't wanted to.
Not until now.
Her phone buzzed on the dresser, lighting up with a message from Nora:
"Morning, sis! How was the gala? Tell me I didn't miss anything too scandalous."
Rosaline stared at the text, her throat tightening. She could practically hear her sister's voice, airy, careless, charming as always. Nora had no idea.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She typed and deleted twice before settling on:
Everything went fine. You owe me.
And she hit send.
Behind her, Conrad shifted a quiet rustle of sheets. Rosaline froze.
"Leaving already?" His voice was rough, still heavy with sleep.
She turned slowly, forcing calm into her expression. "I have a meeting."
He smiled faintly, that same slow, assessing smile from the gala. "On a Sunday?"
She shrugged. "You know me. Always working."
Something flickered in his eyes. Maybe admiration. Maybe suspicion. "Still the same, then."
He reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, his movements smooth and unhurried, the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who held the power in any room. "Last night," he started, his voice quieter now, "you surprised me."
Rosaline swallowed. "Did I?"
He nodded, studying her the way a man studies something he's trying to remember. "You seemed different. Softer. It's not what I expected."
She forced a laugh. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."
"Maybe not," he admitted, leaning back against the pillows. "But I'd like to."
Her heart gave a painful lurch. He couldn't. He couldn't ever know her.
Rosaline smiled slightly, carefully, and professionally. "We'll see."
And before he could say anything else, she picked up her clutch and walked out the door.
The elevator ride down felt endless. Her reflection in the mirrored walls was a stranger's. Nora's confidence painted over Rosaline's restraint. The disguise had fit too well last night. Too easily.
As the doors slid open into the quiet hotel lobby, she exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours.
Outside, the city was already awake. The streets shimmered in morning light, taxis honking, people moving fast, the world completely unaware that hers had just shifted.
Rosaline flagged a cab, sliding into the back seat. "Downtown," she murmured.
The driver nodded and pulled into traffic. She leaned her head against the cool glass, watching the blur of buildings pass by. Her mind kept replaying pieces of the night she wanted to forget: the way he'd said Nora, the way it hadn't felt wrong until now.
And beneath all of it, the quiet, terrifying truth that part of her hadn't wanted it to stop.
By the time she reached her apartment, she'd rehearsed a dozen excuses. Nora would call soon, ask for details, and laugh off the whole thing like it was a harmless prank. Rosaline would downplay it, say she danced, said hello, and left early. Nothing unusual.
She unlocked the door, kicked off her heels, and sank onto the couch. The silence of her apartment wrapped around her like judgment.
Her phone buzzed again, another message.
"Client meeting tomorrow at 9 a.m. Be sharp. New account from Reid Industries."
Her blood ran cold.
Reid Industries.
Her eyes darted across the screen, reading it twice, three times. There was no mistake. Conrad Reid, her mistake, was now her company's newest client.
Rosaline's stomach twisted so violently she almost laughed. Of course! Of course, this was how karma worked.
She sank back, covering her face with both hands. "Oh, God."
Last night had been a lie. A beautiful, impossible lie, and now she'd have to face him again, not as Nora, but as herself.
And when he saw her, the real her, there would be no mask left to hide behind.