After I found the photos and letters, I couldn't stop thinking about the name.
Lilith.
I whispered it to myself again and again.
It felt strange on my tongue.
Like something buried deep inside me was trying to wake up.
I didn't tell anyone about the letter. Not even the maid who sometimes left extra food by my door at night. She seemed kind, but even kindness in this house felt dangerous.
I had to be careful.
I had to stay quiet.
But I had to know the truth.
The next morning, I went to the library. It was a tall, cold room with too many books and not enough light.
Damien never came here.
It felt safer than other places.
I pulled out books one by one, looking for names, dates, anything.
Then I saw a black photo album near the bottom shelf.
I opened it.
Most of the pages were empty.
But near the end, I saw the same baby from the photo in the piano bench.
The baby was in a white dress. She had dark curls and blue eyes.
My hand touched the picture without meaning to.
Under it, someone had written:
"Lilith – 1 year old."
I felt dizzy.
My knees shook.
Something about the picture felt too close.
Like a memory I couldn't reach.
I turned the page.
It was blank.
All the rest were blank.
I placed the book back and stood up, breathing hard.
That night, I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time.
I stared at my face.
I tried to remember who I was before all this.
But the longer I looked, the more I felt like someone else.
I touched the edge of the mirror. It was ice cold.
Was something more mysterious happening around me and I didn't know yet?
Whatever all of this was about, I still hadn't fully found out yet.
One thing was sure:
Damien was obsessed with the woman he had lost and he wanted to use me as a replacement because he could not bear to not have her again while he was still alive.
It was a cruel joke. But then, I had been paid to do it. I hadn't even been that attentive to the contract I had signed. What else was inside that I was yet to find out?
Later that evening, a dress was laid out for me. It looked elegant but not very new. Someone else had once worn it. I didn't have to wonder who it must have been.
Next to it, a note written in Damien's neat handwriting:
"Wear this. Dinner at 8. In the east wing."
The east wing.
I had never been there.
All week I'd only stayed in the west, like he told me to.
Now he wanted me in the other side of the house?
I should have been afraid.
But instead, I felt something else.
Something like fire inside my chest.
At 8:00 sharp, I walked down the long hall toward the east wing.
The guards opened the tall wooden doors.
Inside, the room was filled with candles.
It looked more like a wedding than a dinner.
Damien stood at the far end, wearing a black suit.
He looked at me the way he always did—cold, proud, like I was a product he had designed.
"You look like her," he said.
I didn't answer.
I sat across from him.
The table was full of food, but I had no hunger.
He poured wine into my glass.
"I have something to show you after this," he said.
"What is it?"
"You'll see."
His smile was strange.
I sipped the wine. It tasted bitter.
He watched me drink it.
"Good," he said softly. "You're finally starting to behave."
After dinner, he led me down a dark hallway in the east wing.
I had never seen these rooms before.
He stopped in front of a silver door with a gold handle.
"I made this for you," he said.
He opened the door.
Inside was a perfect copy of the nursery from the photo album.
White walls. Tiny crib. Rocking chair.
But it was empty.
I stood at the doorway, heart racing.
"Why?" I asked.
He looked down at me.
"You lost the baby," he said. "Remember?"
I shook my head.
"I never had a baby."
His smile faded.
"You don't remember yet," he said. "But you will. That's why you came back. To be her again. To finish what you started."
I stared at him.
His face was calm.
"Who am I?" I asked.
He touched my cheek.
"You're my wife."
"No," I whispered. "I'm not her."
He stepped back.
Then he spoke quietly.
"You tried to run last time too," he said. "You tried to leave the baby. You crashed the car. You lost everything."
He walked closer again.
"But I fixed you."
I stepped back.
"This is not happening. I've had my own life before this. You can't make me continue living someone else's life from where they left off. I'm not the person you're trying to make me become."
"You can be her, Ava. It's why you're here. If in this one year of the contract, you prove to be her, you'll be my wife for the rest of your life."
His eyes were still cold. But in that instance, his cologne hit me more powerfully than ever. I wanted to reach out and hug him. But I stepped away.
"I think you are deranged and need to be in the psychiatric." I said softly. But inside me, I was shaking.
A part of me felt pity for Damien. A single loss was turning his life upside down but he didn't see it.
"No, I'm not deranged. I'm Damien Virelli. I'm sane and you're the replacement for my dead wife."