Ryan’s POV...
(Flashback: Three Months Ago, Ryan’s Manhattan Penthouse)
Except for the lovers’ breathing, the room was quiet.
The silk sheets were still warm, tangled around their bodies; the room was still heavy with the scent of cologne, the heat of skin, and something far more intimate.
The city lights filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting soft shadows across the bed.
Ryan lay on his back, one arm draped lazily beneath his head, the other resting possessively around Isabelle’s waist, keeping her close.
Usually, she should have been asleep by now... after their exercise.
But tonight... she was in deep thought.
"I saw someone recently," Isabelle said suddenly, her voice soft but deliberate.
Ryan didn’t move. "Mm?"
"For a second... I thought she could be a way out for us."
That made him turn.
"A way out?" he repeated, his brows knitting slightly. "What do you mean?"
Isabelle shifted beside him, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look down at him. There was something strange in her eyes—something calculating, but also... hopeful.
"Have you heard of doppelgangers?" she asked. "Someone who looks exactly like you?"
Ryan let out a quiet breath of amusement. "I’ve heard the myths. If two doppelgangers meet..." he said lazily, his gaze drifting over her face, "...the one who sees the other first is doomed. Tragic fate. Death, sometimes."
Isabelle frowned, nudging him lightly. "Are you cursing me? Because I was the one who saw her first. She didn’t even notice me."
Ryan stilled.
Not because of the myth, but because of what she said. His voice sharpened, "...What did you just say?"
Her lips curved faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"I saw someone who looks exactly like me."
The air in the room shifted.
Ryan pushed himself up slowly, the lazy ease from moments ago gone.
"That’s not funny, Isabelle."
"I’m not joking," she said seriously.
Silence stretched between them. Thick and heavy.
"What are you saying?"
"I was thinking..." she continued, her voice quieter now, almost careful, "what if we use her?"
Ryan’s gaze sharpened.
"Use her how?"
Isabelle held his eyes, unwavering.
"If she takes my place," she said, "if she marries Cassian instead... then everything changes."
Ryan didn’t speak.
Didn’t react.
But something dark flickered behind his eyes.
"My dad and mum would have no reason to force this alliance anymore. We could hire her, and we... we wouldn’t have to hide in the dark anymore," she continued, her voice gaining momentum now. "They’d accept it. Us. We wouldn’t have to hide. We wouldn’t have to keep lying—"
Her words stopped.
Because Ryan was looking at her.
Not with surprise.
Not with excitement.
But with something far more dangerous.
"You’re serious," he said quietly.
"I am."
She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.
"I’m tired, Ryan," she whispered. "Tired of pretending you’re just my brother. Tired of waiting for the ’right time’. There’s always something else—another condition, another delay. When does it end?"
Ryan’s grip tightened around her fingers.
"It ends when we have the New York branch, when everything is perfect. We have time," he said.
Isabelle shook her head. "Perfection doesn’t exist."
"I’ll make it exist."
The conviction in his voice should have comforted her, but it didn’t.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Isabelle exhaled slowly, as if making a decision.
"I already found her."
Ryan’s gaze snapped back to her.
"...What?"
"She lives in Pearl City," Isabelle said. "Same face. Same height. Even the way she moves..." She hesitated. "It’s like looking at my reflection in a mirror that has learned how to live a different life."
Ryan went completely still.
"And you’re sure?" he asked.
"I paid a private detective to follow her," Isabelle admitted. "For three days."
She paused. "I even found her name."
Something cold settled in Ryan’s chest.
"Tell me."
Isabelle looked at him. And for the first time that night, she hesitated.
"...Yvette Swan."
~~~♧♧♧~~~
3 hours ago, Quinn Residence... After Ryan left the room with "Isabelle".
Ryan had been watching the woman he had just realised was a fake from across the room when the memory of the conversation he had with Isabelle three months ago replayed in his mind.
That was when everything clicked: "That girl... is her."
However, it had been long, and he didn’t remember everything Isabelle said as clearly, so he made his way to his room in the Quinn mansion.
Ryan opened his door quietly and slipped in, taking large strides towards the hidden drawer inside his closet.
He parted the clothes, revealing the handle which he yanked open. There in the middle of the drawer lay Isabelle’s diary.
That was the diary he stole from Isabelle’s room the night before she ran away.
When Isabelle decided to disappear, she had intentionally left her diary behind as a clue to her parents.
If he hadn’t thought of searching her room beforehand, the Quinns would have found out about their forbidden romance long ago. So he hid it.
He flipped through the pages and stopped exactly at where he was looking... And as he predicted, Isabelle had written everything he found out about her doppelgänger in the diary.
~~~♧♧♧~~~
Present Time... Yvette’s room.
Yvette’s POV
"Hello, Yvette Swan."
The name hit me harder than Cassian’s kiss. It stripped away the silk, the perfume, and the Quinn legacy, leaving me standing there as nothing more than a fake.
"I... I don’t know what you’re talking about," I forced out, though my voice sounded thin, like paper tearing. "You’re delusional, Ryan. Get out before I call the guards."
Ryan didn’t move. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. The edges were frayed, and the lock had been forced; it looked like a diary.
My heart skipped when something close to recognition flickered through my brain. My eyes moved to the leather-bound album, and I remembered why it looked familiar.
One section of the album was full of pictures of Isabelle and the situations surrounding the moment the picture was taken.
It was like a documentary on Isabelle’s life. She was holding that little book in one of those pictures.
"Isabelle was many things," Ryan said, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly intimate register and breaking through my thoughts.
"But she wasn’t quiet. She wrote down everything. Including the day she saw a girl named Yvette in a mall downtown. She even tracked down your identity, curious about the ’ghost’ that shared her face. She thought you were a miracle."
He stood up, the diary clutched in his hand like a weapon. "Imagine my surprise when Isabelle disappears from my safe house and after I return to the Quinn estate, I run into someone who is not her. No wonder she won’t stop talking about you. I didn’t even realise you were a fake when we literally grew up together."
He chuckled, dry and mirthless. And then his voice dropped. "Do you know what happens when a lie like you is exposed?"
He tilted his head slightly. "It doesn’t end with headlines... it ends with bodies—with bloodbath. The great and untouchable Knights were deceived into an alliance with a fake. The Quinn heiress Isabelle isn’t really Isabelle... She is a ghost wearing the real Isabelle’s face."
I retreated until my back hit the door, the cold wood a reminder that I was trapped.
"You’re just as guilty as I am!" I hissed, my fear turning into a sharp, jagged anger.
"You were having an affair with her! You forced her to flee while stealing from them! If you expose me, I’m taking you down with me. I’ll tell Joel everything. I’ll tell Cassian."
Ryan’s smile didn’t falter. It only widened, becoming something cruel and triumphant.
"Go ahead. Tell them. But remember, Yvette... I’m the one with the diary. I grew up with the Quinns, and my only crime is loving their daughter. But you?" he paused.
"You’re just a girl in a stolen dress. Someone the Swans will kill again if they discover her. Joel wouldn’t lift a finger to protect you, and Cassian. Oh, Cassian would relish breaking you for lying to him." He leaned in, his lips hovering near my ear. "So what’s it going to be, dear little sister?"
I closed my eyes, feeling repulsed by his scent, by him being so close.
He was a psychopath.
My fake nails dug into my palm, eliciting a memory of pain that never really left.
Not again.
I couldn’t go through that again.
"What do you want from me?" I breathed. And just like that... I knew I had already lost.
And for the first time since waking up in this life... I felt trapped again.