Fall for My Face? Or My Soul?

Chapter 3 Reborn From Hell

Six months passed before the official announcement of Layla's death.

The sheriff, speaking to the camera, reported that some clues had been found along the shoreline.

Though her body was never recovered, the bloodied footprints on the cliffside and the scraps of a wedding dress washed up on the beach made it clear that Layla had fallen into the sea, and there was little chance she'd survived.

Overnight, rumors about her swirled in the media, each more outrageous than the last.

Murder, accident, conspiracy, people speculated wildly. Soon, her life was turned into a novel and then a stage play: The Tragic Death of a Star.

It was almost laughable. A woman who had always played bit parts or served as eye candy in movies, now, in death, had become the leading lady. How ironic!

Amidst all the gossip, however, there was one piece of true news that went largely unnoticed.

Layla's brother, Donald, had been attacked by unknown assailants on the street in broad daylight.

Luckily, some bystanders intervened just in time. If not for their quick action, his head might've been smashed right there in the open.

"Dad, you brought this... this poor, pathetic woman into our home, and now you're hiring her?"

In the lavish living room of the Glen Villa, Melanie Glen's eyes were sharp with disdain as she looked at the woman standing behind her father.

The woman was beautiful, with long, brown hair and a slender, almost fragile frame. She wore light makeup, though her complexion appeared unusually pale, and a bandage was wrapped around her forehead.

She seemed quiet, even gentle, but something in her dark green eyes made Melanie's skin crawl.

What was it about this delicate-looking woman that made her so uneasy? She couldn't quite understand it, but there was a deep, inexplicable fear that pulsed in her chest whenever their gazes met.

Donald's voice was sharp, his irritation barely masked. "Mel, watch your tone! If it weren't for this young lady, I might have already met my maker! This is the job I promised her."

Donald's authority at home had been challenged, and he was less than pleased. He'd spoiled his daughter beyond reason, and now she was testing his patience.

Amanda, ever the poised lady, tried to defuse the tension. "Darling, I understand, but we could always offer some financial compensation..."

She swept her gaze over the young woman, trying to maintain a demeanor of aristocratic composure, though, like Melanie, she couldn't hide the faint disdain stirring in her chest.

"That's enough. This is how it's going to be," Donald snapped, his voice rising with his mounting frustration.

Realizing his outburst, he quickly adjusted, forced himself to calm down, and turned toward the young woman standing behind him. "From now on, you can work here, Ms. Pattinson."

The girl offered a polite, practiced smile. "Of course, Mr. Glen. It's truly my honor."

Layla's POV:

"Oh my God, you're finally back! Is everything okay?"

As soon as I stepped through the door, Catherine rushed to me, her arms wrapping around me in a tight hug. Her eyes immediately focused on the fresh wound on my forehead.

"That bastard," she muttered, fury flashing across her face. "It was just for show, and yet he went overboard. Maybe I should cut his commission."

"I'm fine, darling."

I gently patted my face, the pain almost forgotten. "Your work is just... perfect."

My face had been surgically altered to look like Emilia's, an idea Catherine and I had carefully considered.

Without the accident, I might've almost forgotten it.

Catherine's specialty was facial reconstruction. After leaving the hospital, she opened a skin care salon, and I became her first customer.

The salon didn't often showcase her true talent, so no one knew there was a plastic surgeon of her caliber behind its doors.

For me, the goal was simply a chance to get close to Donald and Amanda, uncover their treachery, and finally take revenge for Emilia.

Now, my new identity was the perfect disguise. Emilia's death was my ticket in.

We were close in age, and our physiques were similar. And I had always been skilled at acting as someone else.

After I endured the excruciating pain of the surgeries and the long recovery, we set our revenge plan into motion.

I anonymously provided the police with a tip, setting up a staged death to make them drop their guard.

Catherine hired a thug to attack Donald, and I just so happened to show up and save him.

I wasn't fond of my brother, but I knew him well enough.

A girl who saved him in his time of need, especially a young and beautiful one, would easily lower his defenses.

If she wasn't after money? Even better.

So, I turned down his check and instead asked for a job, ideally something related to domestic work.

And just like that, I became a maid at Glen Villa, assuming the identity of Emilia Pattinson.

That night, I sat before the mirror in my bedroom, slowly removing my turquoise-colored contact lenses.

Looking into the mirror, it was almost as if Emilia were staring back at me from another time, another world.

"Dear girl," I whispered softly, caressing the reflection. "Please, help me. Put those bad people behind bars."

From now on, I wasn't just Layla. I was Emilia, reborn from the depths of hell.

End of Layla's POV

Orlando couldn't quite understand why he had ended up at Layla's grave.

Perhaps it was because, in name at least, she had still been his wife.

Donald, in an attempt to show some semblance of generosity, had put up a tombstone for Layla at the cemetery near the Glen Villa, even though he refused to acknowledge her as his sister.

The stone bore a photo of her at eighteen, her youthful face still round with baby fat, though her eyes revealed a maturity beyond her years, an unspoken sadness flickering in her gaze.

Orlando couldn't help but think back to the first time he'd met her.

She was wearing a red dress with white polka dots, and her golden hair was pulled into a high ponytail. Her long, curly lashes framed her eyes, which were the color of the summer sky, giving her the air of a delicate, exquisite doll.

Layla was nothing like the other women he'd known, the ones who either fawned over him or feared him.

She told him she didn't love him or covet his wealth. She only wanted to use this marriage to secure a stable future for her mother.

Orlando could still remember the look Layla gave him after saying those words. It was a clever, almost playful challenge.

At that moment, he realized there was something oddly satisfying about dealing with this sharp young woman.

But, he loathed her betrayal, yet despite himself, he couldn't help but mourn her death.

He placed a bouquet of flowers in front of the gravestone, turning to leave, but he stopped when he noticed a woman in the distance, her face veiled in white.

The mist of the forest swirled around her, creating a soft, dreamlike haze.

He couldn't make out her features, but there was an undeniable pull, one he couldn't resist.

If souls really existed after death, he thought, maybe this was what it would look like.