Yolanda hesitated for just a moment before offering a breezy reply. "I figured it was time for a change. There's no harm in looking a little more polished, right? Do you think I look better this way?"

Christopher's lips curved into a gentle smile as he let out a quiet sigh. "You're always beautiful, no matter what you do."

She slipped her arms around him, pressing herself into his chest as if nothing else in the world mattered.

From her vantage point upstairs, Rosanna watched the two of them, her own pain hidden behind the glass. It felt as if someone was slowly wringing her heart dry.

Later that day, Rosanna returned to the apartment she'd once called home. She hadn't set foot there in months, and a fine layer of dust covered every surface.

She slipped on an old apron and snapped on a pair of gloves, determined to tackle the mess.

The apartment was tiny—barely half the size of a single room in Yolanda's home—but it was hers. This was the first space she'd ever rented after college, a place packed with memories that felt like a lifetime ago.

Rosanna set to work, scrubbing the table and bookshelves until they shone. She stripped the dust cover off the sofa and tossed it into the wash, then rinsed out a vase, filled it with fresh water, and arranged the flowers she'd picked up on her way home.

Keeping her hands busy was the only thing to hold the memories of the last year at bay.

Today, she promised herself, would be the beginning of something new. The web of lies was behind her now. She ought to be looking forward, free at last.

Lost in her chores, she didn't notice the sharp edge of the cabinet until it nicked her finger. The sting jolted her, and a drop of blood welled up before she could pull her hand away.

She hurried to find a Band-Aid, memories flooding in of the time she'd once cut herself while cooking for Christopher. That old wound had been small, but he had fussed over her as if it were the end of the world.

A new ache found its way into her chest.

Rosanna wondered what Christopher and Yolanda were doing now. She imagined their laughter echoing through their home, picture-perfect from the outside.

......

Meanwhile, back at Christopher's villa, Yolanda had traded her daytime look for something far more alluring. She wore a delicate nightgown with thin straps, the fabric hugging her curves and stopping daringly short. Leaning against the study doorframe, she radiated a confidence that drew every eye to her.

Christopher had been buried in paperwork, but the moment he noticed Yolanda standing at the door, he immediately set aside his files and crossed the room to her.

"Yoli, what's with the new look tonight?" He paused, surprise flickering in his eyes. The boldness of her outfit left him momentarily speechless. This wasn't how she usually dressed.

With a playful grin, Yolanda slipped her arms around his neck, closing the distance between them. Her breath warmed his cheek as she leaned in.

The moment their lips met, everything grew heated and urgent.

A wave of confusion swept over Christopher in the middle of their embrace. He remembered how his wife used to be bashful, even after a year as husband and wife. Her kisses had always been gentle, hesitant, as if she treasured every touch, never rushing for more. Now she was all fire and boldness—so unlike the woman he thought he knew.

Still lost in the thrill and confusion, he scooped her up and set her on the edge of the desk, deepening their kiss without hesitation.

Just as they broke apart, catching their breath, his eyes fell to her thigh—where a small tattoo peeked out.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the ink.

Etched into her skin were unmistakable initials—letters that spelled out a name.

A rush of panic flickered in Yolanda's eyes. That tattoo—Samuel Flynn's name—belonged to her past. She cursed herself for letting it slip into view.

Christopher's face clouded over, his grip tightening on her wrist. "Why am I just seeing this now? Care to explain?"

Trying to recover, Yolanda smoothed her features and forced a small laugh. "I've had it for a long time. Back when I studied overseas, I used that name as my pen name. It was my first published piece, and I wanted something to remember it by, so I got the tattoo."

Christopher's gaze didn't waver, his eyes cold and searching.

In an instant, Yolanda turned the tables, her tone shifting to mock offense. "Honestly, have you really never noticed before? Or do I mean so little to you?"

She tugged her dress back into place to hide the tattoo, then tried to wrap her arms around him, hoping to reignite the moment.

But the shrill sound of Christopher's phone cut through the tension. "I've got a video call with the international team," he said, stepping away. "You should get some rest."

Feeling brushed aside, Yolanda turned on her heel and left the study, disappointment heavy in her chest.

While Christopher joined his meeting, his mind was elsewhere, drifting back to every detail of the evening. He couldn't escape the uneasy sense that the woman in his arms tonight wasn't the same as the wife he thought he understood so well.

His distraction was obvious, and more than once his secretary had to repeat herself just to pull his attention back to the meeting at hand.

Christopher reached for a cigarette, lighting it with unsteady hands as he tried to steady his nerves and focus on the meeting ahead.

Maybe it was just exhaustion, he thought. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, and everything tonight could be blamed on stress.

......

Rosanna spent the whole night wide awake, her thoughts a tangle of dread and fragile hope about the uncertain days ahead.

When morning finally came, a message brought a wave of unexpected excitement—her cosmetics patent had been approved, and her team wanted her to join the upcoming Cosmetics Innovation Competition. That very day, she was set to meet the organizer at Pinecrest Tower.

Winning a spot in the competition meant a real shot at signing with Aura Cosmetics. If her product hit the market, she would be known as its creator—and the earnings would finally allow her to breathe.

The news left her stunned in the best way, and she shot up from bed, suddenly energized.

"This is incredible!" she blurted, then hurried to get ready, choosing a smart dress and sweeping on just enough makeup to look fresh. She carefully patted her own concealer beneath her eyes, erasing any trace of last night's sleeplessness.

When everything was set, she faced the mirror, flashed herself a reassuring smile, and whispered, "You can do this."

With her spirits high and her head held high, she stepped out the door with confidence.

At the intersection, as she waited for the light to change, she scanned through her presentation notes one last time.

A luxury Maybach sped past, and for a brief moment, Christopher's striking profile appeared behind the tinted glass, just out of reach.

Christopher's brow furrowed in confusion. Was that really Yolanda? What reason could she possibly have for showing up here?

Earlier that morning, he'd dealt with her temper after a long night at work. In a fit of annoyance, she had announced she was heading back to her father's home.

He had just left her at her father's front gate. Barely fifteen minutes had passed, yet somehow she appeared here, on this bustling street.

Troubled by the strange coincidence, Christopher leaned forward. "Pull over right now!"

Fred Sanderson, his assistant, glanced in the rearview mirror, nervous about the traffic. "Sir, it's jammed up ahead. I'll circle and try to find a spot."

Although Rosanna's face was hidden behind a curtain of hair and her gaze stayed low, Christopher's heart insisted it was his wife standing there.

With urgency, he rolled down the window and called out, "Yoli!"

The sound was swallowed by honking horns and morning commotion. Rosanna didn't hear him. She slipped through the crowd, disappearing into a small cafe on the corner.

......

Inside the cafe, Rosanna found the event organizer waiting for her at a quiet table.

She offered a polite greeting. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Marsh."

Stefan Marsh stood and smiled warmly. "Stefan, please. No need for formality. Sit down and make yourself comfortable."

He had a gentle face and a friendly manner, his simple suit and unhurried tone putting Rosanna at ease.

He slid a document across the table toward her, his tone friendly but businesslike. "This is the official contract for the competition. Please look it over. If you don't have any concerns, just sign where it says 'Participant'. Everything is set to go, and we're excited to have you on board."

Rosanna took her time reading through every line. Finding nothing out of order, she picked up the pen and signed her name with steady determination.

Rising from his seat, Stefan reached out for a handshake, his enthusiasm clear. "We're really looking forward to seeing your entry. If you make it into the top three, there's a study-abroad placement up for grabs. Honestly, I think this could open a lot of doors for you."

Her voice was quiet but genuine. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

He grinned and gave a reassuring nod. "You deserve it. People with your talent are rare. We're lucky to have you in the competition. Best of luck, and have a wonderful day!"

Rosanna managed a small smile as they parted. "Thank you. Bye."

When Stefan was gone, she gazed down at the contract, a calmness settling inside her that she hadn't felt in a long time.

She wasn't Christopher's wife anymore, and the life she'd lived as Yolanda's substitute was finally behind her. All she had left to do was help her mom recover and give her full attention to the competition. Winning was her ticket to studying abroad and starting a new life.

Stepping out of the cafe, she barely had a chance to savor the fresh air when something heavy dropped over her head, shrouding her in darkness. Strong arms lifted her clean off the ground.

Panic surged. She kicked and struggled, but the grip on her never loosened. She was shoved roughly into the backseat of a car, the door slamming behind her.

A man's urgent voice rang out, exclaiming, "Drive! Now!"

As soon as they were moving, the grip on her loosened. Rosanna yanked the jacket off her head and squinted through the dim interior.

That was when the man grabbed her hand—half-crouched between the seats, desperation etched on his face. "Please, Yolanda, I messed up. I shouldn't have touched your money. I know I was wrong, I swear! I lost it all at the casino, and now I owe millions. They'll come after me if you don't help. You have to save me!"

Recognition dawned on Rosanna. The man clutching her wasn't a stranger. It was Samuel, the very man Yolanda had clung to as her reason for not marrying Christopher.

He was exactly as Yolanda had described—a man who had conned her out of both money and love, leaving only a mess behind.

Rosanna yanked her hand away from his grasp, voice firm. "You've got the wrong person. Let me go!"

But Samuel, blinded by desperation and rage, took her resistance as rejection. In a sudden burst of violence, he lunged for her throat, his grip tightening. "If you won't help me, I'm finished anyway! Maybe we should both go down together!"

His hands closed around her neck, cutting off her air. Rosanna thrashed and gasped, her words strangled. "You're making a mistake... I'm not who you think I am... Please—let go..."

Rosanna caught the sharp sting of alcohol on his breath as they struggled.

He was drunk. There was no use talking sense into someone like that. So she fought back, clawing at his grip while driving her knee into him.

The chaos in the backseat sent the driver into a panic. He jerked the car to the curb and slammed on the brakes.

With one last burst of energy, Rosanna kicked Samuel off her and lunged for the door, spilling out onto the pavement.

Samuel wasn't done. He chased her down in seconds, fingers digging into her wrist with crushing force. "Yolanda, you're giving me the money, or neither of us is walking away from this!"

Pain shot through her arm, so intense that she nearly dropped to her knees.

Just then, a commanding shout cut through the struggle. "Let her go!"

In the next instant, someone barreled into Samuel with a swift, brutal kick.

Christopher appeared, pulling Rosanna behind him, his eyes burning with fury as he glared at Samuel sprawled on the ground.

His security team moved in without hesitation, restraining Samuel while Fred grabbed his phone and dialed the police.

After catching a glimpse of Rosanna outside the cafe, Christopher wasted no time. He told Fred to turn the car around, urgency thick in his voice.

He barely made it to the scene before she was dragged into a car, vanishing from sight before he could even call her name.

Samuel had moved fast, but Christopher was faster. He'd trailed them, keeping their car in his sights until Rosanna managed to break free—only for Samuel to catch her again.

The tension on Christopher's face was unmistakable as he rushed to her side, searching her over with anxious eyes. "Are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts."

"Chris..." Relief and fear mingled in Rosanna's chest. The moment she saw Christopher, all her bottled-up terror crumbled away, and her vision swam before she slumped in his arms.

"Yoli!" Panic cracked through Christopher's usually calm tone as he caught her, holding her tight.

Fred watched the scene, shaken—he had never seen Christopher lose his composure like this before.

When Rosanna finally woke up, muffled voices floated around her. "She's just unconscious for now—nothing life-threatening. She's got a scratch on her arm, but as long as she applies this ointment, she'll heal up in a few days. Don't worry."

As her eyes fluttered open, she realized Christopher's personal doctor was the one speaking.

She was lying in a familiar bedroom, and the memories clicked back into place.

Christopher gently smoothed ointment over the dark marks on her wrist, his touch uncharacteristically careful.

The sight of him tending to her so patiently made her eyes sting, sorrow rising up and threatening to spill over.

When Christopher glanced up and caught her gaze, his usual calm fell away, replaced by open worry. "Yoli, please—don't cry. I can't stand to see you like this."

Rosanna blinked away the tears, her voice barely steady. "How did you end up at the cafe just now?"

Christopher avoided sharing his doubts, instead offering a simple answer. "I was heading to a meeting. It was pure luck I was there in time to help you. But tell me—who was that man? Why was he after you?"

She hesitated, knowing she couldn't betray Yolanda's secret. "I don't know him. He seemed to be drunk. He just came out of nowhere and grabbed me—I was scared out of my mind..."

Her whole body shivered, making the lie seem heartbreakingly real.

Christopher watched her closely. The fear in her eyes softened him, and he decided not to press the issue. He went back to gently tend to her wounded wrist in silence.

She tried to sound composed. "You shouldn't let me keep you from work. If there's something important, go take care of it. I'm really alright now."

Christopher was still reluctant, worry written all over his face. Just as he started to speak, his phone buzzed insistently.

It was urgent business, and he had no choice but to set his concerns aside, especially since Fred was already digging into Samuel's background.

Before leaving, he pulled the blanket over her shoulders. "Rest for now. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He hurried out, his expression grim, leaving Fred on edge and guessing at his mood.

"Is there something you need, sir?" Fred asked, trying to read his mind.

Christopher said nothing, lost in thought.

He kept circling back to the strange feeling that today's "Yolanda" wasn't the same as yesterday's. The woman upstairs was soft-spoken, gentle—a world apart from the sharpness he'd seen last night. Even if her face never changed, everything else about her seemed completely different. And somehow, this gentleness was the only thing that felt right to him.

An absurd notion flitted through his mind—had Yolanda been possessed last night? The thought was ridiculous, but nothing else seemed to fit.

He realized he still hadn't gotten any real answers about why she'd suddenly shown up at the cafe.

The timing was too strange. For her to leave her father's and wind up at Pinecrest Tower just as he was passing by could hardly be possible. Unless there was someone else in the city who looked exactly like her.

Christopher's face hardened with resolve. He turned to Fred. "I want someone keeping an eye on my wife at all times. Dig into her family's background—especially everything before they rose to prominence."

Fred's eyebrows shot up. "You want us to look into your wife?"

Christopher simply cast him a cold, unwavering stare.

Without another word, Fred nodded, understanding that no explanation was needed.

After Christopher left, Rosanna could no longer hold back her emotions. Tears streamed down her face. Deep down, she knew she and Christopher would never have a future. Their fragile connection was always at the mercy of secrets and lies—never meant to last.

A burst of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by the door flying open.

"Rosanna, you scheming bitch!" Yolanda's furious voice rang out, and in the next instant her face appeared, eyes blazing.

Rosanna's heart jumped at the sight.

Yolanda stormed into the room, her anger barely contained. "How dare you lie on the bed I share with Christopher? Are you trying to make me sick?"

"I ran into Samuel." Rosanna ignored her insults, keeping her voice level. "He thought I was you and demanded fifty million. He threatened to kill me if I didn't pay. Christopher arrived in time and pulled me out of it."

Yolanda's glare wavered for a split second, then something calculating flickered in her eyes. If Samuel believed Rosanna was her, perhaps she could use that to be rid of him finally. Still, she masked her thoughts behind a cold front. "I'll deal with him. But since we've switched places again, you're not to go anywhere near Christopher. We had an agreement."

A line of worry creased Rosanna's brow. "That won't work forever. Christopher's not an idiot. He'll notice how different we are. It's just a matter of time before he uncovers everything. If that happens, it'll blow up in our faces."

Yolanda's tone turned icy. "If you breathe a word of this, your mother won't get that surgery. I swear it."

Stunned, Rosanna stared at her, unable to speak for a moment. "She's your mother, too. How can you be so cold?"

Yolanda's voice was ice cold. "You call her my mother? The only thing she ever gave me was life. Everything else—money, comfort, any chance at happiness—came from my dad and stepmother. I've already done my part by covering the medical bills. Don't try to guilt me into doing more. And don't even dream of Christopher. He's never cared for you—his heart belongs to me, always has. That marriage was nothing but a merger between two powerful families. Only someone with my background belongs by his side. You're just an extra in all of this."

Rosanna tried to protest, but the words caught in her throat. Every accusation landed heavy. What did she have to offer? She was drowning in debt, scrambling just to keep her mother alive. Dreaming of a life with Christopher felt foolish—she'd just end up holding him back.

That realization hollowed her out. Grief flickered in her eyes, but she refused to let Yolanda see her cry.

Yolanda's attention flicked to the fresh bandage on Rosanna's wrist, and she huffed in annoyance. "Can't you take care of yourself? Now I'll have to pretend to be injured too. You really make everything harder for me. Just get out. Don't hang around and make things worse."

Before Rosanna could respond, a familiar voice rang out from the hallway—Christopher was back.

In an instant, panic swept over Rosanna and Yolanda's faces.