Chapter 8 – Everything Fake
1135 Words
The sound of my boots echoed on the marble floors as I stepped into the house.
No—her house.
Or at least the one I gave her.
Zarah Twain.
The woman who was supposed to be mine. The woman everyone swore was the same one from five years ago. The one my people brought home because she wore the right watch and had the right last name.
But nothing about her had ever felt right.
Not the way she laughed. Not the way she touched me. Not even the way she smelled.
And now, standing in the middle of the grand white foyer, I felt it again—that emptiness. The same hollow feeling I got every time I was around her.
The scent of artificial flowers clung to the air, mixed with expensive perfume and something… plastic.
The butler met me at the foot of the staircase.
“She’s upstairs,” he said with a stiff nod. “She went to shower the moment she heard you were on your way.”
I stared at him.
He fidgeted under my gaze.
I looked around slowly. The walls were covered with designer art pieces that didn’t match. Gold trim, velvet curtains, glass tables with fake diamonds glued around the edges. It was like a magazine photo shoot exploded in here.
And on the floor—on the thick white cashmere rug in the middle of the sitting room—was money.
Cash.
Stacks of it. Some fanned out like petals. Some crumpled and tossed like they’d fallen there by accident.
But I knew it wasn’t an accident.
“What is this?” I asked quietly.
The butler cleared his throat. “Ah… Miss Zarah was arranging it for a photo. She was planning to post something on i********:. She called it ‘soft life’ content.”
I said nothing for a moment. Just stared at the rug. At the money. At the entire show.
This house was never a home.
It was a stage.
And she had played the role so well, it almost fooled me.
Almost.
I turned back to the butler. “She knew I was coming?”
He nodded. “Yes, sir. I believe she saw the alert on your travel calendar. Your assistant updated it earlier today.”
So she did know.
She knew I would walk in. She had the servants scrambling. She timed the shower perfectly. Everything was a performance.
I clenched my jaw.
Five years ago, I hadn’t remembered much. The night was a blur of instinct, fire, and the pull of the bond. I hadn’t seen her face clearly. But her scent—that I remembered. Her body. Her voice. The way she trembled, not from fear, but from the power that passed between us.
Zarah had never stirred that feeling in me. Not once.
I looked at the stairs. I could hear the soft hum of music coming from her bathroom upstairs. The smell of lavender oil floated down.
It was supposed to be relaxing.
It only made me sick.
“I’m leaving,” I said to the butler.
“Sir?” He looked confused. “She’ll be down in just a moment—”
“I said I’m leaving.”
He lowered his eyes. “Should I let her know?”
“No.”
But I paused.
Something still bugged me.
I turned to him again. “The first night she arrived… she said she was confused. That she didn’t remember what happened. She also said she hadn’t known who I was, but still agreed to come back here. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”
He hesitated. “Sir, I… I try not to ask questions.”
“I’m asking you now.”
The butler looked nervous. “She always seemed very eager, sir. When she was brought here, she didn’t ask many questions. She seemed more excited than shocked. She never once mentioned fear or confusion. In fact, she… she asked what she was expected to do to ‘keep your interest.’ Her words.”
I felt my chest tighten.
I had believed her back then because I wanted to believe. Because I was desperate to explain that strange night.
But she had no bond with me.
My wolf never reacted to her. Not once.
And after meeting that girl in the bar—Lulu or whoever she really was—I couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.
The girl on stage hadn’t tried to get my attention.
She’d tried to disappear.
But I had noticed her anyway.
Because she was real.
And Zarah? She was nothing but performance.
“Has she ever asked about me?” I asked.
The butler blinked. “Sir?”
“Not my name. Not my past. Not my family. Has she ever asked who I am? What I do? What I am?”
He looked uneasy. “She only asks about your schedule. Your money. She often requests more allowances. For photoshoots. For clothes. She said it’s part of the role.”
I stared at him.
He swallowed. “Sir… if I may... she once told one of the maids, ‘As long as I look good and stay quiet, he’ll never throw me out.’”
That did it.
I turned away from the stairs.
“Have the driver bring the car around.”
“Yes, Alpha.”
He rushed off.
I stood in the middle of the house for a few more seconds.
The walls felt heavy.
Like a trap I’d built myself.
I thought I had a mate.
Instead, I had a stranger who wore the right face and smiled the right smile.
I didn’t even know the real woman’s name.
But I had seen her now.
I’d seen the tired eyes, the sarcasm, the anger in her voice when she told me off like I was trash.
And even if she hated me, that woman was real.
I looked one last time at the staircase.
I could still hear the sound of water.
She was probably putting on perfume. Silk robes. Soft music.
She thought I was coming up.
She thought I’d fall for it again.
But I was done playing this game.
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In the car, I sat back and stared out the window.
My hands were tight fists in my lap.
Ron glanced at me from the front. “That bad?”
“She thinks life is an i********: filter,” I muttered. “She was tossing money on the floor like it’s decoration.”
Ron didn’t answer. He knew better.
I leaned my head back.
My wolf paced inside me, unsettled.
It didn’t matter how many lies Zarah told.
It didn’t matter how much she tried to fit.
She didn’t belong to me.
And now I needed to know who did.
- Writer
