It had been two days since she had been released from the ward at Hale's estate and two days since her life returned semi back to normal. And it turns out that despite the swarm of reporters that surrounded the estate for those two days, none of them actually saw her face nor knew who she was. They just knew she had been receiving treatment there but she was kept anonymous from the public eye.

The apartment was exactly as they'd left it: cracked paint, the faint smell of linseed oil from her unfinished portraits, the tiny window that leaked whenever it rained. But now, even the familiar things felt strange-like props from a life that no longer belonged to her.

Light rain tapped softly on the windowpane, slipping down in crooked lines.The hum of the city below was distant tonight, as if it had decided to move on without her.She sat at the small dining table with her sketchbook open, though she hadn't drawn a single line in hours. Beside it lay a pile of unpaid bills - hospital statements,rent reminders,her brother's medication receipts.The corners curled upward from how many times she'd held them, hoping the numbers would somehow shrink.

Across from her, Eli leaned back in the armchair, one arm slung around his ribs, watching her with quiet worry. He looked thinner since the hospital, the gray in his skin deeper.

"The nurse called earlier today. She said they couldn't continue my treatment" he said softly. "Said until the next payment clears, there's nothing they can do."

Lena pressed her palms against her eyes. "I'll find a way."

"You always say that." His voice cracked.

"And every time, it costs you more than it should."

The silence stretched. Somewhere outside, a car splashed through a puddle, headlights sweeping across the damp walls before fading again.

Eli hesitated. "That man. Damon Hale. He's not calling again, is he?"

Her hand froze above the sketchbook.

"No," she said, though the envelope sitting on the counter said otherwise. She could still hear his voice from two nights ago;

"You want your brother's bills gone? You want the truth buried? Then sign the contract, Miss Rowan. You'll be helping both of us."

Lena rose slowly and crossed to the counter.The envelope was still there, pressed flat beneath a chipped mug.It looked like any ordinary piece of mail but it wasn't.She hated that her brother had gotten involved in this.She picked it up.

Eli's voice followed her. "You're not actually thinking about it are you?"

She didn't answer.The seal broke with a soft tear, and the papers slid out-perfectly crisp,her name typed at the top in clean black letters.

Lena Rowan agrees to assume the temporary legal identity of Amara Duchess Wren for a period of six months...

The rest blurred before her eyes.She sank into a chair, fingers trembling as she flipped to the signature line. Beneath it, Damon's name already signed glared back at her in finality.

"Lena."

She looked up. Eli was watching her from across the room, his expression a mixture of fear and disbelief. "This isn't you. You don't belong in his world."

"I don't belong anywhere," she whispered. "Not with the press calling me a criminal, not with people like him deciding my future before I even speak."

"But no one knows it's you.You were protected from the public eye.There's still time to–"

Her hands shook harder. "I'm tired, Eli. I'm tired of waiting for something good to happen on its own."

The pen moved before she could stop it, slicing her name across the page in one trembling stroke.

Eli's voice came out broken. "You just sold yourself."

She set the pen down carefully as if it might break if she did it any other way.

"You have to get better. We need the money."

___

By morning,her phone rang. A woman's voice laced with professionalism came through.

"Miss Rowan? This is Clara Vale,Mr Hale's assistant. A car will pick you up in one hour. Don't pack much. Everything you'll need is being prepared at the estate."

Lena's fingers tightened around the phone. "The estate?"

"Yes," Clara said. "You'll begin orientation today."

The line went dead before Lena could ask what that meant.She stood there for a long time, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror by the door. Her hair was unbrushed, her eyes hollow, her skin looked too pale.

In one hour, she would stop being herself.

___

Eli was on the couch again,his blanket pooled around his legs,his face half-shadowed by the weak morning light when a knock came at their apartment door. The muted TV flickered with static. When Lena didn't move, he glanced up. "Who is it?"

The knock came again, firmer this time.

Lena opened the door to find two people waiting: a tall woman with her hair wound tight into a bun and a driver in a dark suit standing behind her.The woman's face was unreadable. She held an umbrella over her head even though it had stopped raining a while ago.

"Miss Rowan?" Lena nodded.

"I'm Clara Vale. Mr. Hale sent us to escort you to the estate. We'll handle your luggage."

"I don't really have-"

Clara was already stepping past her into the apartment, eyes sweeping the place without comment. "We'll provide everything necessary," she said. "Please be ready in five minutes."

Eli stood now, his expression tightening. "She's not going anywhere."

"Eli we talked about this–"

"No, Lena. You can't do this." He turned to Clara."Tell your boss to find another girl to ruin."

Clara answered,unfazed."Mr. Hale doesn't ruin people, Mr. Rowan. He gives them opportunities."

Eli's laugh was hollow "Is that what you call it? Opportunity?"

Lena stepped between them. "Stop. Both of you."

She turned to Eli "Please don't make this harder than it already is."

He stared at her, disbelief bleeding into desperation. "You don't have to go, Len? We'll figure it out. I'll get a job. We can move-"

"Move where?" she snapped, then instantly regretted it. Her voice cracked. "We don't have anything left, Eli. Not money. Not options. You need treatment, and I can't keep pretending it'll magically fix itself."

He swallowed hard. "So what - you're just going to live with him? Pretend to be his fiancée like nothing happened?"

Lena looked away. The truth hurt more than she'd imagined. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it?" His voice was small now. "Because it looks a lot like you're selling yourself."

Her lips parted, but no words came.

For a moment, all she could hear was the slow drip from the kitchen tap and the low patter of rain drops.

Finally, she whispered, "You have to get better."

Eli's eyes glistened. "Don't say that. Don't make this about me."

She stepped closer, trying to touch his shoulder, but he pulled back.

"I won't be leaving with you Len," he said softly. "If you walk out that door, don't expect me to come with you."

The words hit her like a punch.She froze, her breath catching, but Clara was already clearing her throat politely behind her.

"Miss Rowan," she said, "the car is ready."

She blinked hard and turned back to her brother. "Please... just stay safe, okay?"

He didn't reply. He just sank back into the couch, his face turned toward the window, pretending not to see her leave.

---

The car ride blurred into silence.

Clara sat across from her, typing briskly on a tablet. Every now and then, Lena caught her reflection in the tinted glass - pale, nervous, a ghost of herself. She had been a lot happier three weeks ago when she never met Amara. When they finally stopped, the gate loomed ahead,flanked by security guards in sleek black uniforms.

"Welcome to your new home," Clara said.

Two slabs of black iron slid apart like something ancient and alive, revealing a long stretch of wet asphalt curling through manicured trees and stone statues that gleamed with rain.The Hale Estate didn't so much unfold until the car was swallowed whole by its silence.Lena pressed a hand to the window, her breath fogging the glass.Everything looked unreal.The gardens were sculpted into geometric perfection; fountains spilled silver water into marble basins that caught the last of the stormlight. Even the air felt filtered. She had never entered the grounds of Hale Estate before but through Amara she had gotten a mental picture of what it looked like but unfortunately it was wrong. It was magnificent.

The car stopped at the front steps and for a moment she couldn't move. Her fingers clung to the seatbelt in anxiety.

Clara opened the door. "We're here."

Lena stepped out. Her shoes sank slightly into the rain-soaked gravel, and the cold air hit her immediately.

Up close,the mansion's perfection felt heavier.The windows reflected the gray sky her figure splintered into a hundred versions of hersel–timid, unsure and terrified.

A gentleman in a charcoal tailcoat so perfectly ironed bowed at the threshold and inclined his head the way people trained to never surprise anyone inclined their heads. His name badge read HOLLIS. He offered a gloved hand without waiting for hers.

"Miss Wren," he said. "Welcome home."

Lena wanted to answer with, I'm not her, but the phrase felt heavy to say so instead she let him guide her into the foyer as she felt the chill of clean air settle on her skin.

Clara was at her elbow again."Hallway to the right. We'll start with hair and makeup here. Try to relax. The process takes forty-five minutes minimum. We've scheduled Mr. Hale for six." She tapped her tablet and then looked at Lena with the kind of directness that read as both instruction and consolation. "Everything will be discrete."

"Discrete," Lena repeated. The word sounded like a promise and a threat.

A young woman in a slate uniform appeared with a trolley of steaming towels and small silver bowls. She said nothing, only offered a towel and a forced smile.Her fingers were quick and calm as she smoothed Lena's coat from her shoulders with the efficient tenderness of someone who had ironed away other people's lives for years.

They led Lena down a corridor where portraits watched from gilt frames. Men and women with exorbitant names and stock tickers looked down at her and she found herself tracing the air with her palm as if that might make the walls stop telling stories she hadn't asked to hear.

In the preparation room the lights were hot and arranged in a circle so every angle of her face could be examined. It felt like a small stage. Racks of clothing bowed under the weight of silk and cashmere.Two stylists - a middle-aged woman with a braid like a rope and a younger man with nail polish on one thumbnail hovered with combs and palettes.

"Sit," the middle-aged stylist said, and when Lena obeyed, she began to run a brush through her hair."We'll start with a wash." Her touch was brisk but not unkind"You must tell us if you have any allergies. We cannot have a reaction on that day."

"No allergies," Lena said.The stylist hummed and rinsed,the water was warm and smelled faintly of bergamot.

The younger stylist who'd been waiting with a folder cleared his throat. "There are notes about Miss Amara's posture and gaze.The PR director will coach you after makeup." He looked at Lena with a professional curiosity. "You paint, yes?" His accent sounded Italian the more she heard him talk.

Lena blinked."I do"

"Good." He smiled like someone pleased to have discovered a reliable tool. "Let us give you a face that photographs right. You both look similar, it wouldn't be a problem."

At one point a woman with a soft voice, the PR director stepped forward holding a small recorder. She spoke into it: "Greetings for public appearances-'Good evening, thank you for being here.'

"Repeat that," she said to Lena.

"Good evening, thank you for being here". The PR director nodded and then tried something warmer. "You should be comfortable acknowledging your presence. It shouldn't be about affection. Understand?"

"Yes," Lena said. "I understand."

They pinched and tucked, clipped and smoothed. When they handed her the dressing gown and the first silk, it felt like a costume constructed for a play about someone else's grief. She watched the stylist slip the gown over her shoulders,as the fabric fell like water down her back and even though it was a new dress, it was almost like she could smell Amara's perfume.

A housekeeper entered the room, setting a small box on the dressing table and opening it to reveal a photograph. It was Amara in sunlight - a candid; laughter at the corner of her mouth, hair catching light. The housekeeper tapped the photo with one finger. "He likes this look. Keep the laugh small."

"I thought all of this was for the public? Why do I have to put on an act for him?"

The housekeeper's mouth tightened. "Everyone remembers how she looked. You are not acting Miss Wren."

When the stylists finished, the seamstress who'd been quiet until now with gray at her temples took Lena's measurement.Her hands moved deftly, pinning, pressing, smoothing. "We want you to be comfortable in motion,"she said."Miss Wren never looked out of breath.Ever.You will walk without haste."

They sent her to walk the parquet. Her calves felt strained as she walked in the unfitted heels.The mechanic of it was unforgiving and so was the house. At the end of the corridor they stopped before a small antechamber where a tea service sat on a tray untouched. A soft fire lived in the hearth, its light breathing warmth into the stone. There was a scent of citrus and something like cedar. The room held some sort of quiet intimacy as opposed to the preparation room. Either way, she was just glad to be away from all the momentary ruckus. She exhaled slowly.

"You may have a moment to center," Clara said. "Mr. Hale will join you shortly."

She sat and tried to breathe, counting the small noises: the kettle's tiny hiss, the clock's patient tick. Her reflection in the teapot's curve looked distorted and unnatural even when carrying Amara's perfect face

An older butler entered the room and set the tray in front of her. "Miss Wren," he said once, the name sliding out as if it had waited behind his teeth.

She lifted the cup to her lips but didn't sip from it. A shadow passed beyond the doorway and paused as if deliberating whether to enter. Lena felt it like a held breath. Then the door opened wider and Damon stepped in.

He did not look at the tea, did not glance at the seamstress or the stylists. His gaze went straight to her, and the hush of the room contracted to the point where it felt like they had been placed under a bell jar and the air had been turned thin. He closed the door behind him with the exact sound of finality as he did in the ward.

"Miss Rowan," he said, and even though he was the least person she had wanted to see. The fact that he retained her name made her feel a bit better. He was near, but not too near, just close enough that she could see the tiny fleck of green in one eye. She rose.

"Mr. Hale."

He acknowledged the room with a nod and sat opposite her in a chair with polished arms. He steepled his fingers, a deliberate, contained gesture. "I hope you found the preparations satisfactory?"

"It's not like I had a choice," Lena answered. Her voice was steadier than she felt.

He watched her for a beat, as if weighing the sound of her words on a scale. "You seem tired."

She let herself be honest in the smallest way she could. "I am."

He inclined his head, and for a second, a glint, maybe, something like something softer hummed across his face. It vanished as quickly as it came "Good.Fatigue makes people do reckless things. We can't have that."

There was a small sound when one of the stylists, likely anxious, stepped forward to smooth an errant curl at the nape of Lena's neck. Damon's eyes tracked the movement with a precision that made the stylist freeze mid-gesture as if she'd been scolded. She stepped back, hands folded.

"Tomorrow," he said, standing, "we'll begin with an official appearance at the hospital for the signing. That will satisfy the lawyers and the board for a week." He let that sit. "For now, we need to focus on making you invisible."

"No social media.All calls would be regulated from here on." Clara inserted, meeting Damon's eyes as if she were waiting for approval then continued. "We can't have further attention drawn to you before the big wedding."

He turned his head toward Lena once more. "Do you understand what you are taking on?"

Lena felt the room tilt. "Yes. But can I speak to my brother at least?"

"Your brother would be the only exception."

She nodded.

"Good." He folded his hands before him again,as if folding the moment into order. "If there is any discomfort, inform the house staff. Everything here is arranged to your ease." His tone relaxed an almost imperceptible hair. "Rest now." He said making his exit. "Dinner will be at eight. Do not wander the grounds alone! Hollis will show you to your room."

When the hush settled, a maid hurried forward to take the tea she hadn't touched and clear the tray. Hollis stood steady and ever,and inclined his head."This way, Miss Wren."

He led her down another corridor which appeared more quiet and lined with rows of books. At the end, a door opened onto a bedroom that smelled faintly of lavender and was laid out with an almost painful order: clothes pressed,an unpacked suitcase and the unmistakable vase of flowers at the table in the corner. The room felt bigger than her entire apartment and for once the thought of jealousy crossed her mind. Amara had a decent life going for her before all of this happened.

Hollis set the case down and placed a small card on the pillow. It read in fine script:

For your comfort.-H.

Morning spilled into the room in bands of white light. It crawled up the floorboards and caught on the glass vials and silver trays scattered across the vanity table. Lena sat in the same chair as the day before, hair pinned, collarbones dusted with translucent powder. The stylists were already at work - one adjusting the nape of her cream suit, another pressing concealer into the hollow beneath her eyes. She barely got enough sleep last night despite the enormous queen size bed and she couldn't tell whether it was due to guilt or the fact that she had left home on bad terms with her brother.

"Hold still," murmured the makeup artist. "We're almost done with the eyes."

She nodded faintly. Her phone sat on the edge of the table idle as she waited for a call back from Eli.When the woman turned to fetch a brush, she reached for it.The stylists' chatter soon dissolved into a low hum as she barely heard them the moment she pressed call.

No answer.

She tried again.

"Eli, it's me," she whispered into her phone when his voicemail caught her again. "I just- I need to know you're okay. Please."

She swallowed the wave of nausea and pressed her thumb against the phone again,this time searching for the hospital's number.

A nurse answered after a long ring. "Riverside General, endocrinology wing."

"Hi," Lena said, her voice catching on the first syllable. "I'm trying to reach Eli Rowan. He was undergoing treatment there. I've been trying to call him but he's not-"

"One moment, please," the nurse cut in, "Let me check."

Lena pressed the phone tighter to her ear, staring at the mirror. Her reflection didn't move.She could hear the faint tap of a keyboard,the muffled static of hospital air and the distinct chatter of people.

Then "And are you by chance a relative of the patient?" Lena nodded even though the woman couldn't see her.

"He's my brother"

"Well, according to the file,his account was recently cleared of all outstanding debts. He's been reassigned to the in-patient wing for resumed treatment."

Lena blinked. "Cleared? What-how?"

"I'm afraid I don't have that information. It says 'anonymous payment processed directly to administration.'"

Her stomach dropped. Anonymous.

It didn't take much realization to know who that meant.

"Can I speak to him? Just for a minute?"

"I'm sorry, not at the moment. He's receiving treatment. You'll be notified when he's available for calls." The line clicked. Lena sat there, hand still clutching the phone as the dial tone hummed in her ear. For a moment she thought she might be sick.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. It was Clara.

"Miss Wren," she said gently. "We need to go over the event schedule."

---

The stylists moved around her again like a porcelain doll; pins, cuffs, lipstick, a quick spray of perfume.Clara held out a small jewelry box to her.Inside was a delicate silver chain with a diamond pendant that caught the light just so.

"Wear this," Clara said. "It was one of her favorites."

"Does he approve of everything?" Lena asked without thinking.

Clara's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You want this to go well don't you?"

A few minutes later, Damon entered. He was dressed in a dark tailored suit, tie perfectly knotted, watch glinting at his wrist and his hair gelled to perfection.

"Ready?" he asked.

Lena rose, smoothing her dress of invisible lint "As I'll ever be."

His gaze swept over her. "Don't speak unless you're asked to. Keep your answers short. I'll handle the statements."

"Statements?" she repeated.

"The board's lawyers will want a visual confirmation of our-" his pause was deliberate,"-union." His tone gave the word a hard edge. "Don't forget to smile."

---

The car waited at the front steps and Damon gestured for her to enter first,his hand hovering just enough to imply courtesy, not warmth.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and cedar polish.The partition was up; the driver's voice came through muted. Lena sat with her hands folded on her lap, pulse still trembling beneath her skin.

For a while, they said nothing. The estate gates swung open, and the car rolled onto the road.

"You'll take my arm when we enter. If any questions are thrown at you, look at me for a signal on whether you should answer or not. If cameras are present, you'll look at me when I speak as though you trust me."

"I don't," she murmured but he caught it.

"Good. That makes it easier to fake devotion."

She turned to face her own side of the window, swallowing the rising ache in her throat. "And what shouldn't I do?"

"Don't improvise. Don't touch me unless I do first. Don't look uncertain when they mention her."

The car slowed as the hospital gates opened. Even from inside, Lena could see the row of cameras lined up along the barricade - long lenses glinting under the afternoon light, the eager crowd already buzzing. The first time she stepped in this hospital was as Lena, a victim of circumstance and a villain under the public eye. And now she had returned this time as Amara, sabotaged heiress and People's princess. How fast things can change.

"They're early," Clara muttered from the front seat, tapping her earpiece. "They've been camped out since dawn."

Damon leaned forward and pressed a button on the intercom. "We're here."

Lena's eyes traced the scene outside-the reporters shifting, security holding the line, flashes waiting to ignite.She exhaled quietly, then glanced at Damon.

"Keep your chin up," Clara instructed. "You'll step out first, left foot forward. Walk slowly.The cameras need some time to adjust."

"Ready?" Damon asked, already halfway out, adjusting his cufflinks.

"I don't- I don't think-"

"Now!" Clara said gently but firmly. "Step out. Right foot first. Don't look at the cameras. Don't look at them. Look at him."

Lena hesitated for one heartbeat too long. Then she opened the door.Reporters shouted her name or Amara's.She couldn't tell which. Several hands shot forward with microphones almost touching her lips

"Miss Wren! Is it true the accident was staged?"

"Mr. Hale, are you confirming the marriage?"

"Who's footing the hospital bills-"

"Eyes forward," Clara muttered behind her teeth. Damon reached a hand towards Lena's elbow and she almost didn't take but the flashes blinded her, and instinct made her reach back.

"Smile," he murmured. She tried but it felt wrong on her face.

"Good morning," Damon said to the crowd, in a calm and steady voice."We appreciate your patience. A brief statement would be made, after which we would proceed inside."

The reporters surged forward.

"Mr. Hale, is she staying with you at the Hale estate?"

"Miss Wren, were you driving?"

"Who paid for the-"

"That's enough." Damon's tone didn't rise, but it cut through the noise. The crowd went quiet."There will be no commentary on rumors or personal details.Thank you."

He turned slightly toward Lena. "Walk."

She followed, heels clicking against the pavement, camera flashes strobing against her skin. The sound of her heartbeat mixed with the machine-gun rhythm of shutters was almost impalpable.

"I can't feel my hands," she muttered under her breath.

"Good,"Damon said. "Means you won't fidget."

They reached the doors. Security opened them quickly, ushering the pair into the hospital's bright marble lobby. The noise dulled down automatically but the flash of the cameras was still evident. When they entered the room, a small team of hospital administrators and legal representatives were already seated, waiting. Cameras flashed again. This time smaller, official ones which had been set up as documentary evidence. A neat folder sat at the center of the table, flanked by silver pens.

"Mr. Hale, Miss Wren," the head administrator greeted,extending a hand. "We're grateful you could make it. This helps put a lot of questions to rest."

"Of course," Damon replied smoothly. "We all want what's best for Amara's recovery."

Lena smiled faintly, keeping her voice even. "I'm just glad to be out of bed."

There were polite laughs around the room, though none of which met the other's eyes.The lawyer gestured toward the folder. "If you'll both sign here and here, we'll finalize the legal continuation of the foundation's funding and the press release."

Lena hesitated for a heartbeat, then took the pen. One of the reasons she had been unable to sleep the previous night boiled down to this particular moment. She had to ace the signature. Damon's gaze stayed fixed on her as he watched her dawdle with the italics.

When she was done, she pushed the pen forward. "There."

She could feel Damon exhale lightly in relief as he injured his own signature.

"Excellent," the lawyer said, stacking the papers neatly. "The statement goes out at four."

As they walked back toward the lobby, Clara leaned close and whispered, "You did well. They bought it."

"Good for them," Lena said softly. As they turned toward the exit, the reporters outside surged again like bees drawn to honey.

"Miss Wren! Look this way!"

"Mr. Hale! One photo together!"

"Just one!"

Damon paused just short of the door. "We should honor this request," he said quietly.

"I don't want to."

"It's not about what you want."

He turned, placing a careful hand on her waist. "Breathe," he murmured.

She did, shallowly. "This was not necessary and you know it" she said under her breath.

"No," he said. "But it was enough conviction"

They reached the car and a guard opened the door. The cameras screamed for another picture but Damon didn't stop this time. He let her slide inside first, then followed.