CHAPTER 152 — Pretending To Be My Dead Sister

CHAPTER 152 — Pretending To Be My Dead Sister


Estella’s {Fiorella’s estranged twin sister peretending to be her} POV

“Shut the door, Suzy. All the way.”

The latch clicked, soft as a secret. The room was mine now.

Vittorio’s room.

The first thing that hit me was the smell. Not Vittorio’s cologne—though that clung heavy on the sheets, bitter and strong—but the faint sweetness of her. Jasmine.

Katarina.

I wrinkled my nose. Even her scent tried to fight me in this room. I dragged my suitcase across the floor, the wheels bumping against the rug like tiny heartbeats, and let out a low laugh.

“Not anymore, darling. This bed belongs to me now.”

I sat down hard on the edge of the mattress. The springs groaned, and I bounced once, twice, like testing my throne.

My heels dangled as I leaned back on my palms, staring at the ceiling. A rich man’s ceiling. Smooth paint, soft light. I belonged here.

“My room now,” I whispered, pressing my palm to the carved headboard. “Finally.”

She remembered the man’s voice in the clinic — flat and sure. “You will learn her lines. You will wear her skin. You walk in and take.”

A note on her phone had a list: Dog — done. Malva — gone. Small proof the plan had come from someone who’d mapped every corner of the house.

Suzy dumped her little bag on the floor with a grunt. “Estella, are we”

“Shh.” I turned fast, finger raised. Her mouth snapped shut. “Not ‘Estella.’ Not here. Not ever. What’s my name?”

She blinked, shifting on her feet, her dark curls falling in her eyes. “Fio”

I lunged before she could finish, gripping her chin hard enough to make her flinch. “Careful. You say that name, we both die. Say it right.”

Her lips trembled. “Fiorella.”

“Good girl.” I let her go, smoothing her cheek after, smiling the smile I’d learned from my sister years ago. That soft, angel smile that made men think you were good. My stomach flipped with laughter I didn’t let out.

I went to the mirror on the dresser and leaned in close. The face staring back was mine—but not mine. The surgeons had done well. The mole on my neck, the curve of my nose, even the tiny scar near my lip. I tilted my head, matching the pose I remembered my sister doing when she wanted admiration.

“You were always so basic, Fiorella,” I murmured at the glass. “Sweet little princess with her perfect face. Easy to copy. Easy to be.”

I tilted My head and said the soft way my sister fiorella usually says “Valentino, you always forget how to love me.”

I tried again, rougher. “Vittorio… come back to me.”

The voice fit. That was the point.

I ran my fingers down the silk neckline of my dress, then laughed out loud, throwing my head back. The sound echoed in the massive room, bouncing off marble and glass.

“Now I’m you. And you’re dead.”

Suzy climbed onto the bed, pulling at her doll’s hair. “Estella… we rich now?”

“Shut up with that ‘estella.’” My voice cracked sharp. “It’s Fiorella. You call me Fiorella until it kills you. Understand?”

Her eyes dropped. “Yes, Este—Fiorella.”

“That’s better.” I went to her, smoothed her hair, kissed her forehead with the same lips that had kissed so many marks before. “And yes, baby. We’re rich now. No more scams. No more running. We’ve got silk sheets, maids, food that never runs out. You’ll never cry from hunger again.”

She smiled a little, and for a second I almost softened. Almost. Then her small voice said it—too soft but I heard it.

“Estella.”

The sound of my real name made my blood spike. I slapped the bedpost with my palm so hard the wood rang. She jumped, clutching her doll.

Estella crouched and held her face inches from Suzy’s. “Say it again,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t mean” Suzy stammered.

“Say it.”

“Estella.”

“Don’t. Ever. Say. That.” My eyes burned into hers. “Not unless you want that scary man to come back and finish what he promised. You want him to hurt us?”

She shook her head fast, her little lip trembling.

“Good.” I kissed her again, softer this time, whispering against her hair, “We’re safe. But only if you keep your mouth shut.”

I went back to the mirror, adjusting my earrings, practicing my smile. 

My phone vibrates in the lining of my dress. It was  text from the man who put me in this mission: Phase one complete. Stay the face. Wait for call tonight. Keep her away from the twins. The message was on the screen like a commandment.

I slipped the phone back in and practiced my smile. This was a play. I was the actress. I was he director. I was  the liar.

“Do you miss her?” Suzy asked, her voice almost too small.

I froze. I was she asking of my sister which  I am impersonating? Or the mother she barely remembers? Either way, that   question could break me.

“No.” I kept  the lie short and sharp. “She’s gone. We don’t talk about her. We say good things and we move on.”

She nodded , and I felt the fragile edges of the story settle. For now.

I  thought of the men who put me here—the ones who caught us after that last scam went wrong. 

The man with the black gloves, the one who never raised his voice but made Suzy cry just by looking at her. He’d given me this mission, handed me my sister’s life like a mask and said: Wear it. Destroy the girl in the villa. Break the twins.

And here I was.

Stage one: get into Vittorio’s bed. Done.
Stage two: make the witch aunt disappear. Lucky me, Malva left on her own, claiming bad omens in the house. I smiled, twisting the earring tighter. Malva had always been the only one who could smell a lie. Good riddance.

The dog… oh, that stupid mutt. We’d taken care of it before I ever set foot in here. No way I’d risk a barking, snapping reminder that I wasn’t Fiorella. The spy in this house was efficient. Too efficient. Sometimes even I wondered how deep their claws ran in the De Luca family.

I sat at the vanity and picked up one of Fiorella’s old perfumes, spraying it into the air. Sweet vanilla. My lips curled. “Cheap taste, sister. No wonder they all traded you in for Katarina.”

I leaned forward again, eyes catching the dim light, and whispered to myself, “But I’ll take it from here. And I’ll win them all back.”

The door creaked.

I spun fast, my elbow knocking over a glass vase that shattered on the floor. My heart thudded once, heavy.

It was the nanny. Ombra. Carrying towels, her head bowed low.

“Did you hear me?” My voice cracked too loud. I stepped forward, shoes crunching glass. “Were you listening?”

She froze, then shook her head, eyes wide, pretending not to understand. “Sorry, my lady. Clean glasses. I clean.” Her accent was thick, broken, like she didn’t know English.

I narrowed my eyes, staring hard. She looked down, shuffling, kneeling to gather glass shards with her hands.

“Dumb little mute,” I muttered, heat cooling in my chest. “Too stupid to know what she hears. Go on, pick it up.”

As she swept the shards onto the towel, her hand brushed my ankle by accident—or maybe not accident. A sharp sting lit my skin.

“Ah!” I hissed, jerking back. A thin red line sliced across me where a shard had caught. Ombra’s eyes flicked up, fast, and for a second—just a second—her lips curled in the faintest smile.

Then it was gone. She bowed her head again. “Sorry, my lady. My hand slip.”

Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “Shadows don’t forget.

I stared, clutching my ankle, the sting hot. My pulse thudded loud in my ears.

She rose, cradling the towel full of broken glass. “I clean more later,” she said softly, backing out the door. Her eyes lifted once, meeting mine, and something there made my stomach flip.

Then she was gone.

I stood in the silence, my chest rising and falling. Suzy peeked over the edge of the bed, eyes wide.

“Mama—Fiorella,” she whispered, small as a mouse. “She heard you.”

My hand shook as I touched my ankle, blood warm on my skin.

“No,” I whispered back, forcing my breath steady. “She’s nothing. Just a shadow.”

But deep inside, a cold knot formed. A shadow can still watch. A shadow can still tell.

I clenched my fists, forcing a smile at my reflection again. “Play the game, Estella. Just keep playing. You’ll win.”

The mirror girl smiled back, her eyes too bright, her face too perfect. A stranger wearing my sister’s skin.

And I laughed again—loud, hollow, echoing through Vittorio’s stolen room.

For one blink, the smile in the glass wasn’t mine. It was Fiorella’s — her lips twisted, her eyes burning hate. I blinked again, and she was gone.

My laugh cracked into silence.