I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. I waited for her to laugh, to shove my shoulder and say, "Oh, Mimi, I'm just joking! You should see your face!"
But the stone-cold gravity in Kiara's expression stopped the breath in my lungs. She wasn't laughing. She was trembling, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of my vanity table.
"You want me to... what?" I managed a heavy, trembling sigh. The air in my bedroom felt like it had been sucked out, leaving me lightheaded.
"You have to do it, Mia," Kiara whispered. Her voice was thin, brittle as old paper. "You're the only one who looks enough like me. With the veil, the makeup... the dim lighting in the cathedral... he won't know until it's too late."
"You want me to marry Andrew Rossi," I repeated, the name tasting like copper in my mouth. "The man who is currently financing our father's entire textile empire? The man who looks like he carves his enemies out of stone before breakfast? Kiara, that isn't a favor. That's a suicide mission."
"I can't do it!" Kiara suddenly shrieked, her composure snapping. She grabbed my hands, her palms slick with sweat. "He's not a man, Mia. He's a monster. I overheard him on the phone last night... talking about 'disposals' and 'territories.' If I marry him, I'll be a prisoner. But you... you've always been tougher than me. You know how to fade into the background. You could survive him."
"And what happens when he realizes I'm the wrong sister?" I pulled my hands away, revolted. "He'll kill me. Or worse, he'll kill all of us."
"He won't," a new voice said.
I spun around. My mother was standing in the doorway. She wasn't shocked. She wasn't angry. She looked like she had been part of this plan from the very beginning. Behind her, my father stood like a shadow, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
"Kiara is right," Mom said, her voice as sharp as a surgical blade. "The Rossi contract is already signed. The dowry has been spent. If there is no bride at that altar in three days, Andrew Rossi will take this house and everything in it. He will leave your father in the gutter."
"So you're selling me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "To save the house? To save Kiara's mistake?"
"We are saving the family," Mom corrected, walking toward me. She reached out, her fingers cold as she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You've always been the quiet one, Mia. The spare. Now, you get to be the savior. It's a promotion."
"I won't do it," I said, backing away toward the window.
"You will," Mom replied, her eyes flashing with a terrifying certainty. "Because if you don't, I'll tell the Rossi guards that you were the one who leaked the shipping manifests last month. We both know what Andrew does to spies."
I froze. I hadn't leaked anything, but in this family, the truth was whatever my mother decided it was. I looked at Kiara, expecting a spark of guilt, but she just looked relieved. She was already mentally halfway out the door.
The weight of it hit me then—the sheer, crushing reality of my life. I wasn't a daughter. I was a chip on a poker table, and my own mother had just gone all-in.
"Fine," I choked out, the word feeling like a noose tightening around my neck. "I'll be your ghost."
I didn't sleep. I spent the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the house settle. By 11:00 AM, my room felt like a tomb.
Angela, my six-year-old niece, burst in, jumping on my bed. "Mia! Wake up! Mommy says you have to get your hair done to be pretty for the big party!"
I sat up, my head throbbing. The nightmare of the previous evening was now my waking life. I looked at Angela—so innocent, so unaware that her aunt was being traded like a piece of livestock.
"I'm up, Ang," I said, forcing a smile that felt like it was tearing my skin.
I showered in scalding water, trying to scrub the feeling of my mother's touch off my neck. I dressed in a black mini-flared dress—the color of mourning—and stepped into my white heels. If I was going to my execution, I was going to look the part.
Downstairs, the atmosphere was funereal. My father was still in his chair, a ghost of a man. My mother was barking orders at a maid about the floral arrangements for the "celebration."
"Where are you going?" Mom snapped as I reached for my car keys.
"Hair appointment. Tasha is coming with me. I assume you want the 'bride' to look presentable, even if she is a fraud."
Mom narrowed her eyes but didn't stop me. "Be back by four. The dress fitting is at five. And Mia... don't think about running. There are men at the end of the driveway who report directly to Andrew. They think they're protecting Kiara. Don't give them a reason to prove how good they are at their jobs."
I grabbed Angela's hand and walked out the door, the sunlight blindingly bright. As I sat in the car, Tasha looked at me, her brow furrowed.
"Mia? You're shaking."
"I'm just cold, Tasha," I lied, staring at my reflection in the side mirror. My eyes looked hollow. I looked like a woman who had already died and was just waiting for the burial.
"Is the wedding still on?" Tasha asked, pulling out of the driveway.
"Oh, it's on," I said, watching the black SUV with tinted windows pull out behind us. The Rossi guards. "But the bride... she might be a little different than everyone expects."
I looked at the road ahead. Three days. I had three days to find a way to survive Andrew Rossi, or three days to accept that my life was over before it had even begun.