Chapter 38 Dead ringer for Simone
CHAPTER 38: Dead ringer for Simone
Vera
The wooden spoon slipped out of my hand and clattered against the marble floor. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Silas was a widower.
Elena scratched her head, confused.
“What's wrong, madam? Are you okay?”
“W-what…what happened?” I whispered, my voice sounding like dry parchment.
The poor maid looked as though she wanted to sink into the floorboards. She backed away, her eyes lowered, her hands trembling as she fisted her apron.
“Madam, please... we aren't allowed to speak of the late missus. The boss, he…he forbade her name from being mentioned a long time ago. I could lose my job. Please, don't ask me this.”
That should have dampened my curiosity, but it didn’t. I had just discovered that I was an intruder, living in a dead woman's shadow…a face replacement.
I wanted to know what Silas had obviously deemed me not important enough to know. In the eyes of the world, I was the mistress of this house, yet I felt like a trespasser in my own life.
“I won't tell him, Elena,” I said, my voice gaining a desperate, firm edge I didn't know I possessed.
All thoughts of the meal and Lily and her friends’ pool party had flown out the window.
I stepped toward Elena, closing the distance between us.
Gently taking her hand,
“I promise you, you won't get in trouble. I give you my word, I will never mention you as my source. I just need to know. Please.”
At this time, only the two of us remained in the kitchen. The rest has slipped out at the mention of Simone.
What exactly happened to cause all this?
Elena caved, her shoulders sagging as she glanced nervously toward the hallway.
“Well, sir doted on her. He didn't just love her; he adored her greatly. They loved each other a lot and were inseparable,” she added, uncomfortably, casting me a nervous glance.
Why not?
She was telling her boss's new wife how he loved his late wife.
I gripped the edge of the counter tightly. “Go on.”
“He was... different then. When she died, it was like the light in this house…and his life just went out.”
A bitter, cold realization washed over me. I wasn't just a contract wife…a fake wife, I was a tenant in a dead woman’s shadow. No different from an intruder.
I wondered how many times Silas may have looked at me, and wished that Simone was the one by his side.
Now looking at the food I had cooked to “thank him” I felt stupid. Embarrassed. I felt the sharp pang of inferiority. I could never picture Silas the way Elena had depicted.
She must have been a phenomenal woman to bring out that side of Silas.
But me, I was nothing but a former club dancer with so much baggage and a dark secret.
Come on, Vera. Where are all these weird thoughts coming from?
I was a contract, a convenience, while she had been his world…his real wife.
I could never even hope to be a fraction of what she was to him. Only a means to an end… a placeholder.
“You know madam, the first day you arrived,” Elena continued, her voice small and hesitant, “I was so shocked.”
I looked at her, brows drawing together. “Why's that?”
“Your face. I almost mistook you for her because of how much you look like her.”
My frown deepened. “Who?”
“Ma'am Simone.”
My breath hitched.
All my life, I had only seen someone who looked like me just once.
The memory rose, uninvited, like a dark wave. Rain, the smell of burnt rubber, the sickening sound of the impact, then the thud of something hitting the ground…a face illuminated by headlights.
Immediately, I shoved down the memories with a violent mental shove, forcing myself back to the present.
My legs felt weightless under me, and I gripped the counter tightly. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm myself.
The curiosity has arisen in me now. I was tempted enough to want to see what Silas's ladylove had looked like.
I wanted to see what exactly this lady and I had in common, especially in the terms of features as Elena has said.
Did Silas also think that Simone and I looked alike? Did I remind him of her?
“I want to see her,” I said, my pulse thundering in my ears. Is there like a photo album or portraits I can see? Anything?”
“Oh, no, madam," Elena gasped, her eyes wide with panic. “We can't. The boss had all the pictures and everything that belonged to her locked away in a room upstairs. He forbade anyone from ever entering.”
I still wanted to see it.
“Elena, show me.”
She gasped.
“Show me where it is,” I insisted.
If I was going to live in her shadow for the next two years, then I might as well know her face.
Despite her frantic protests and the sheer terror on her face, I pressed Elena until she led me out of the kitchen, toward the second floor. A part of the house I had never been to.
Even though I felt guilty that I might possibly be putting her in trouble, I couldn't stop.
“I promise, Elena, I won't get you in trouble. I’ll take sole responsibility for all this if my husband finds out.”
She nodded and turned the key in the lock. She stepped back slightly, giving me space. My hand trembled as I pushed open the heavy, ornate door.
The air inside was stale, smelling of old perfume and something gloomy. Everything was covered with white clothes. I had the feeling of trespassing on private memories that had nothing to do with me.
I moved toward the center of the room, and that’s when I saw it. A large portrait sat on the vanity.
With trembling hands, I reached out and pulled away the cloth covering it.
I froze.
My heart didn't just stop; it felt like it withered in my chest.
I remembered that face.
How could I ever forget it?
It was the same face I had ever seen that looked like mine.
But it wasn't just the resemblance.
It was the woman from that night.
The woman I had seen through the veil of pelting rain and smoke.
Immediately those images descended on me like an avalanche.
The sound of the impact, the body hitting the ground…the red colour that coated the asphalt, then,
Her face.
A full-blown panic attack clawed at my throat as I clutched the edge of the dresser, the room spinning violently around me.
It couldn't be… I didn’t have this much bad luck…
I spun around to Elena who was standing hesitantly by the door like she was contemplating between staying and bolting.
“When?” I choked out, desperate. “When…what was the date? How did she die?”
Maybe I was wrong…maybe I was imagining things.
She’d tell me the date and it would be fine because it wasn't the same day.
Elena looked at me with confusion, terrified by my ghostly pallor.
“It was a car accident, ma'am. A hit-and-run. Four years ago.”
The blood drained from my face until I felt as white as the walls.
Four years ago.
The deserted road. The rain. The impact. The way I had left her there because I had no choice.
It was her.
My dark secret.
The ghost of my past wasn't just a strange ghost; it was the ghost of the man I was now married to.
A mangled sound tore out of my throat.
Just then, the heavy thud of the front door echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable, rhythmic weight of footsteps approaching the stairs.
Silas.