Wrong Bride

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

## MELINDA

I woke to sunlight streaming through the unfamiliar windows of my bedroom, my body heavy with exhaustion despite sleeping for what felt like hours. The gala replayed in my mind on an endless loop. Every conversation I'd fumbled through, every smile I'd forced, every lie I'd told. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to push away the memories, but they clung to me like smoke.

How many mistakes had I made last night? How many people had noticed the cracks in my performance?

I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water beat against my shoulders until my skin turned pink. When I finally emerged, wrapped in a plush robe that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe back home, I felt no better. The face staring back at me from the mirror looked like a stranger. Green contacts hiding my brown eyes. Makeup applied by hands that weren't mine. Hair styled in a way I would never choose for myself.

I was a ghost haunting my sister's life.

The mansion was quiet as I ventured out of my room. Most of the staff seemed occupied elsewhere, and I was grateful for the solitude. I wandered through corridors I hadn't explored yet, trying to memorize the layout of this place that was supposed to be my home now. Every room I passed was more opulent than the last. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, artwork that probably belonged in museums.

Everything here spoke of power and wealth. Everything here reminded me that I didn't belong.

I turned a corner and found myself in a wing of the house that felt different from the rest. The décor was darker here, more masculine. Heavy wooden doors lined the hallway, most of them closed. I knew I should turn back, return to the safe parts of the house where I was expected to be, but curiosity pulled me forward.

The last door at the end of the hall stood slightly ajar.

I hesitated, my hand hovering near the doorframe. Every instinct screamed at me to walk away, but something stronger drew me in. I pushed the door open slowly, wincing at the soft creak of hinges.

The room beyond was clearly a private study. Dark wood paneling covered the walls, and floor to ceiling bookshelves lined one side. A massive desk dominated the center of the space, its surface covered with papers and files. The scent of leather and cigars hung in the air.

This was Kieran's space. I knew it instinctively.

I should have left immediately. Instead, I found myself walking toward the desk, drawn by a curiosity I couldn't name. The files scattered across the surface were marked with names I didn't recognize. Business documents, contracts, things I couldn't begin to understand.

Then I saw the photographs.

My breath caught in my throat as I picked up the first one. It was a surveillance photo, grainy and taken from a distance. My father stood outside our house, talking to a man I didn't know. The date stamp in the corner showed it was taken three weeks ago.

I grabbed another photo. My mother, shopping in the city. Another one. Belinda, leaving a nightclub with Marco Vescari.

My hands shook as I shuffled through more images. Our entire family, documented and watched. How long had Kieran been surveilling us? What else did he know?

"Looking for something?"

The voice behind me was cold as winter frost. I spun around, the photographs scattering from my nerveless fingers to flutter across the desk. Kieran stood in the doorway, his expression carved from stone. He'd changed from his business suit into more casual clothes, but nothing about his posture was relaxed. Every line of his body radiated controlled fury.

"I was just…" My voice came out as a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I got lost exploring the house."

"Lost." He repeated the word as if tasting it, finding it bitter. He moved into the room with predatory grace, each step deliberate. "And you just happened to lose your way into my private study. Just happened to be looking through confidential documents."

"The door was open," I said weakly.

"The door is never open." He reached the desk and began gathering the scattered photographs with methodical precision. "Which means someone left it that way. Or someone opened it themselves."

I backed up a step, then another, until my spine hit the bookshelf behind me. Kieran didn't follow. He simply stood there, organizing the photos into a neat stack, his movements unnaturally calm. Somehow that was more terrifying than if he'd been shouting.

"I'm sorry," I managed. "I shouldn't have come in here."

"No." He looked up at me then, his gray eyes flat and unreadable. "You shouldn't have. But you did, which tells me you don't understand how things work in this house yet. So let me make it clear."

He set the photos down and braced his hands on the desk, leaning forward slightly. The gesture should have made him look relaxed, but it only emphasized the coiled tension in his frame.

"There are parts of my life that are off limits to you," he said. "Parts you don't need to know about, don't want to know about. This study is one of those places. My business dealings are another. The things I do to maintain my position in this world are not for your eyes or ears. Do you understand?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Use your words, Melinda."

My name. He'd said my name, not Belinda's. The shock of it hit me like ice water, but his expression hadn't changed. Had I imagined it? Had the stress finally broken something in my mind?

"I understand," I whispered.

He studied me for a long moment, then straightened. "Good. Raffaele will give you a proper tour of the estate today. He'll show you which areas are yours to access and which are not. I suggest you pay attention."

He walked past me toward the door, and I thought the encounter was over. Then he paused in the doorway without turning back.

"And Melinda? Don't go snooping again. Next time I won't be so understanding."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone with my racing heart and the confirmation that he knew. He knew I wasn't who I claimed to be, and he was playing some game I couldn't begin to understand.