Chadwick scrambled off the sofa, knocking over a lamp in his haste. He grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

Johnna sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She watched the blood drain from Chadwick's face. He looked like he had been punched in the gut.

"I'm coming," he said. "I'm coming right now."

He hung up and looked at Johnna. His eyes were wild.

"It's Ansley," he said. "Gussie says she took pills. She's... she's unresponsive."

Johnna felt a cold knot form in her stomach. Suicide attempt.

Chadwick was already pulling on his pants. "I have to go."

The door to their room opened. Grandfather Dyer stood there, leaning on his cane, fully dressed in a three-piece suit. He must have been listening. Or maybe he had spies everywhere.

"You are not going alone," Grandfather said. His voice was like grinding stones.

"Grandfather, this is an emergency," Chadwick snapped.

"It is a potential scandal," Grandfather corrected. "If you run to your ex-girlfriend's bedside alone while your wife is in the house, the press will eat us alive. Stock prices will wobble." He pointed his cane at Johnna. "She goes with you. You present a united front. You are supporting an 'old family friend'."

Chadwick looked at Johnna, pleading.

Johnna felt bile rise in her throat. This was sick. "I'm not going."

"You will go," Grandfather said, his eyes narrowing. "Or I will have my security team pay a visit to that little restoration studio you slipped into yesterday. I have people looking into the building's ownership as we speak. I can have the place condemned by noon."

Johnna stared at the old man. He was a monster. He didn't know everything yet, but he knew enough to destroy her sanctuary.

"Fine," she spat.

Ten minutes later, they were in the family helicopter, cutting through the grey morning sky toward Manhattan.

They landed on the roof of a private hospital on the Upper East Side. They rushed down the stairs to the VIP wing.

The hallway was crowded with Heath family members and private security. Gussie Heath, Ansley's mother, saw Chadwick and launched herself at him, wailing theatrically.

"She just wants to be loved!" Gussie screamed, glaring at Johnna over Chadwick's shoulder.

Johnna stepped back, pressing herself against the wall. She felt like an intruder in a soap opera.

Through the glass window of the private room, she could see the bed.

Ansley lay there. She was hooked up to monitors, but she looked... peaceful. Perfectly arranged. Her blonde hair was fanned out on the pillow. She was wearing a silk nightgown that looked suspiciously like one Johnna owned.

Johnna squinted.

The profile. The slope of the nose. The way the hair was cut.

It wasn't just that Ansley was beautiful. It was that she looked like Johnna. Or rather, Johnna looked like her.

A memory flashed in Johnna's mind. Chadwick, three years ago, seeing Johnna for the first time at a gallery opening. The look on his face hadn't been lust. It had been recognition. Shock.

He hadn't fallen for Johnna. He had fallen for a ghost. He had married her because she looked like the girl he couldn't have.

The realization hit her so hard she grabbed the handrail to keep from falling. She wasn't the protagonist of this story. She was the understudy. The cheap replica.

Chadwick pulled away from Gussie and rushed into the room. He knelt by the bed, taking Ansley's hand.

Ansley's eyelids fluttered open. A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek.

"Chad," she whispered.

Johnna watched through the glass. She felt her heart turn to ice. It wasn't pain anymore. It was absolute, freezing clarity.

Grandfather Dyer appeared beside her. "Focus," he muttered. "Look concerned."

Johnna looked at him, then back at the pathetic scene in the room.

"No," she said.

She pushed past the old man and opened the door to the room.

---

"Chad," Ansley wept, clutching his hand to her cheek. "I couldn't handle it. The thought of you with her..."

Chadwick stroked her hair, his face twisted in guilt. "Shh, Ansley. You're safe. I'm here."

"It's all my fault," Gussie sobbed from the doorway behind Johnna. "She's too sensitive for this cruel world."

Johnna walked to the foot of the bed. Her heels clicked sharply on the linoleum.

Chadwick looked up, startled. He saw the look on Johnna's face-a look of utter, terrifying blankness.

"Johnna," he warned. "Not now."

Johnna ignored him. She studied Ansley. She saw the faint smear of highlighter on Ansley's cheekbones-who puts on makeup before an overdose? She saw the rhythmic, easy rise and fall of her chest, devoid of the jagged gasps of someone fighting off respiratory failure.

"What did you take, Ansley?" Johnna asked. Her voice was calm, conversational.

Ansley's eyes darted to Johnna. For a second, the mask slipped. Pure malice flashed in her eyes.

"I... I don't remember," Ansley stammered. "Everything went black."

"Did they pump your stomach?" Johnna asked. "Because your lips aren't chapped from the tube, and your throat doesn't sound raw."

"Johnna!" Chadwick stood up, placing himself between the two women. "Stop it. She almost died."

"Did she?" Johnna stepped around him. She leaned down, bringing her face close to Ansley's.

"You're a terrible actress," Johnna whispered. "And an even worse human being."

"Get her out!" Gussie shrieked. "She's trying to kill my daughter!"

"That's enough!" Chadwick grabbed Johnna's arm. His grip was hard. "Leave. Go wait in the hall."

Johnna looked at his hand on her arm. Then she looked at his face. He was protecting the lie. He was choosing the lie.

"You're pathetic, Chadwick," she said. She didn't yell. She just stated it as a fact. "You're letting them play you like a violin."

She ripped her arm from his grasp.

She turned to Ansley. "You can have him. He's hollow anyway."

Johnna turned and walked out. She didn't stop in the hallway. She didn't look at Grandfather Dyer. She walked straight to the elevators, pressed the button, and descended.

She walked out of the hospital main entrance. The wind was biting. She didn't have her coat; she had left it in the helicopter. She wrapped her arms around herself and started walking down the street.

She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to be away from the sickness of that family.

"Johnna! Wait!"

She heard the footsteps behind her. Heavy, running strides.

She didn't turn.

A hand caught her shoulder, spinning her around.

Chadwick stood there, chest heaving. He had left Ansley. He had run after her.

But when Johnna looked into his eyes, she didn't see love. She saw panic. He was afraid of losing control, not losing her.

"You can't just walk away," he panted. "Grandfather will-"

"I don't care about your grandfather!" Johnna screamed. It was the first time she had raised her voice. "I don't care about the trust! I don't care about the merger!"

Chadwick flinched. He looked at her shivering in the cold.

"Johnna, please. Ansley is fragile right now. I have a duty..."

"A duty to your ex?" Johnna laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "What about your wife? Oh, right. I'm just the placeholder."

Chadwick looked stricken. "That's not true."

"It is true. I saw her, Chadwick. I saw how much she looks like me. Or how much I look like her."

He went silent. He couldn't deny it.

Johnna turned to leave again.

"Wait," he said. He reached into his wallet.

Johnna watched, incredulous, as he pulled out a black metal card. The Centurion Card.

"Take this," he said, shoving it into her frozen hand. "Go shopping. Get a coat. Get... whatever you want. Just blow off some steam. I have to go back in there until she's stable, but I'll meet you at the apartment tonight."

Johnna looked at the black card. It was heavy, cold metal. Infinite spending limit.

He was solving the problem the only way a Dyer knew how.

"You're buying my silence?" she asked.

"I'm trying to take care of you," he said, desperate.

Johnna gripped the card. A dark idea formed in her mind. If he wanted to pay, she would make him pay.

"What's the PIN?" she asked.

Chadwick paused. He looked at her, his eyes softening slightly, before a flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.

"It's just the default," he muttered, unable to meet her gaze. "I never changed it from what the bank set up. 0000."

Johnna felt a different kind of sting. It wasn't sentimental; it was impersonal. He hadn't even bothered to secure it. It was just another asset he didn't care enough to manage properly.

"Fine," she said. "Go back to your doll."

She turned and walked away, the black card burning a hole in her palm.

---

Default settings. That's what she was to him. A default setting until the custom model was available again.

A black sedan pulled up to the curb beside her. The window rolled down. It was the Dyer family driver.

"Mrs. Dyer," the driver said, looking apologetic. "Mr. Dyer senior insists you return to the Hamptons. He says the 'optics' of you wandering Manhattan alone are unacceptable."

Johnna laughed. Of course. The eye of Sauron was watching.

"And if I refuse?"

"He mentioned something about your mother's mortgage," the driver said quietly.

Johnna closed her eyes. They played dirty. They played to win.

She opened the back door and got in.

Chadwick was already there. He must have circled back through the hospital service exit to beat her to the car while she was walking. He looked exhausted.

"Did you use the card?" he asked.

"No," she said. She tossed the card onto his lap. "I don't want your money, Chadwick. I want out."

He picked up the card, turning it over in his fingers. "You used to like it when I bought you things."

"I liked it when you looked at me," she corrected. "Really looked at me."

The drive back to the Hamptons was a funeral procession. The silence was heavy with things unsaid.

When they arrived, Grandfather was waiting in the library. He gave them a lecture on duty and image. He forbade them from leaving the estate for the next 48 hours until the "Ansley situation" was spun by PR.

Dinner was skipped. They went straight to the room.

"I need a bath," Johnna said. She felt dirty. She felt covered in the slime of the hospital and the lies.

She locked herself in the bathroom. She filled the tub with scalding water. She scrubbed her skin until it was red and raw. She wanted to wash off the feeling of being a duplicate.

She stayed in the water until it turned cold.

When she finally wrapped herself in a robe and stepped out, the room was dim.

Chadwick was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was holding something.

Her phone.

The screen was lit up, casting a ghostly blue glow on his face. His expression was terrifying. It wasn't the detached coldness of the morning. It was a burning, focused rage.

Johnna froze. "What are you doing?"

Chadwick stood up slowly. He turned the phone around so she could see the screen.

It was a notification from an auction house app.

New Listing Alert: Neal's Auction House. Curator: Jeremie Neal.

"Who is he?" Chadwick asked. His voice was low, dangerous.

Johnna's heart hammered. "Give me my phone."

"Who is Jeremie Neal?" Chadwick repeated, stepping closer. "Why do you have alerts set for him?"

"He's an auctioneer," Johnna lied, snatching the phone from his hand. "I follow the market. It's for work."

"You follow the market," Chadwick repeated skeptically. "You're a receptionist."

"I told you, I work at a gallery," she snapped.

Chadwick stared at her. He was looking for a crack. He was jealous. Even though he was divorcing her, even though he was holding Ansley's hand hours ago, the thought of her with another man drove him mad.

"Is he the one?" Chadwick asked. "Is he 'Jay'?"

Johnna's breath hitched. Jeremie. Jay. It was close. Too close.

"You're paranoid," she said. "Go to sleep, Chadwick."

She climbed into the bed, turning her back to him. She pulled the covers up to her chin.

Chadwick stood there for a long time. Finally, she heard him sigh. He turned off the light and lay down on the sofa.

But the air in the room remained charged, electric with suspicion.

---