Chapter 19: Her Reflection in the Dark
876 Words
Camille didn’t remember walking back to her car. Her thoughts were shards, sharp and spinning, stabbing into her skull with every breath. The echo of the woman’s face—her own face—burned behind her eyes. Every shadow she passed felt like a hand reaching for her. The parking lot buzzed under flickering overhead lights, the air too still.
She locked the doors as soon as she got in and gripped the wheel, her knuckles whitening.
She had seen herself.
But not a mirror.
Not a dream.
Not paranoia.
The woman tampering with her camera had her face—down to the birthmark below her jaw, the arch of her brow. Not a lookalike. A copy.
“Calm down,” she whispered to herself. “Breathe. Think.”
But the more she thought, the less it made sense. The idea of someone impersonating her was insane. Unless…
She remembered the whispers Damien once told her in bed, when he’d traced the curve of her collarbone with his tongue and murmured about obsession. “You don’t know how deep people can go when they want something enough,” he’d said. “They’ll become you if they can’t have you.”
She hadn’t taken it seriously. She thought he meant desire. Passion. Lust.
But what if it was more?
What if it was madness?
She pulled out her phone with trembling fingers and dialed Damien. Straight to voicemail. Julian—voicemail. Archer—nothing.
She was alone.
Again.
Camille’s apartment was too quiet when she got home, the silence pressing against her skin like wet fabric. She kept all the lights on. She locked every door. She checked under her bed, in closets, behind the shower curtain. Still, her nerves didn’t settle.
She sat at her vanity and stared at her reflection. For a moment, her own face looked like a stranger’s.
The reflection didn’t blink when she did.
She backed away with a choked gasp and knocked over a bottle of perfume. It shattered on the floor, scent of amber and rose filling the air like blood in water.
No. She was losing it.
She needed answers.
And there was only one place left to go.
---
The club where she’d first met Julian, Damien, pulsed like a living creature, wrapped in velvet and sin. She wore a trench coat and sunglasses, hoping to move unnoticed through the line, but the bouncer spotted her immediately and let her in with a silent nod. The regulars knew who she was. The club knew. She was part of it now, whether she wanted to be or not.
She found Damien first, lounging in the VIP corner, dressed in all black, with two women draped beside him like trophies. When he saw her, he dismissed them with a single glance.
“You look haunted,” he said.
“I need to talk. Alone.”
He arched an eyebrow but followed her to the back hallway without argument. She slammed the door shut behind them and turned to face him.
“There’s someone pretending to be me,” she said. “She broke into my house. I saw her.”
Damien’s expression darkened. “You saw her face?”
“Yes. It was mine.”
He said nothing for a long beat. Then, “Do you remember the night you told me your husband wanted an open marriage?”
“What does that—”
“You said something broke inside you that night. That you felt like someone else stepped into your skin and started living your life.”
Her stomach twisted. “That was a metaphor.”
“Was it?” He leaned close, eyes gleaming. “Or did you open a door you didn’t understand?”
She shoved him back. “Stop talking in riddles. I need facts. Not poetry.”
He studied her. “You’ve always been more than you realized, Camille. And obsession has a cost. You let three men into your bed who’ve been watching you for years.”
She froze. “What?”
“We never told you because it would scare you. But we’ve known you since before that club night. Archer saw you first. At your wedding. I saw you after. Julian followed you through the city.”
“That’s stalking.”
“No,” Damien said softly. “That’s fate.”
She felt the air flee her lungs.
“You were marked before you ever noticed us,” he continued. “And now someone else has noticed, too. Someone who thinks if they can wear your face, they can steal your story.”
Camille backed away slowly. “This is insane.”
Damien nodded once. “It is. Welcome to it.”
---
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she woke drenched in sweat, the taste of metal in her mouth. Her sheets were tangled. Her clothes gone. She sat up slowly, her head spinning. The scent of roses and amber filled the room.
Her perfume.
Her broken perfume.
She hadn’t cleaned it up.
But now it was back on her dresser, intact.
Her heart thudded. She scanned the room.
There. On the mirror. A red-lipsticked message:
You left me behind. So I became you.
Camille’s scream shattered the stillness.
- Writer
