Mistaken Identities

NEW YORK

Olivia's POV

I wake up to a bright light, my head throbbing slightly, and my eyes flutter open, glancing around the room. The sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains casts a warm glow on the pristine, white walls.

This is strange.

I am in a strange bed and a strange room.

Where am I? I scramble out of the bed, my eyes darting towards the window where the light is seeping into the room from.

The bed is high, its headboard upholstered in soft, cream-colored fabric. The duvet is white and luxurious, soft to the touch, and the sheets beneath are cool and crisp against my skin. The walls are adorned with minimalist paintings in shades of white and grey, adding an air of sophistication to the space. The floor is a polished hardwood, its surface smooth and cool under my bare feet.

I turn back, feeling a jolt of fear. I have been kidn*pped.

What happened? I ask inwardly again, trying my very best to remember. There are vague flashes of last night, but nothing concrete.

The inquisitive part of me ignores the little questions in my brain when I spot a small bookshelf with several books on it, nestled in a corner beside an elegant reading chair.

Curiosity gets the better of me as I find myself taking slow, hesitant steps toward the shelf.

I pick up the first book my hand comes in contact with and see "New York Times Best Seller" written boldly on it.

I gasp.

Am I in New York? I twirl around in alarm as the memories come rushing back.

There was a man. He was drunk.

There was another man. He saved me.

Why am I here? Who brought me here between the two men? Am I safe?

Just in time to answer my question, I hear the door open and a blue-eyed, dangerous-looking man peeks into the room.

Our gazes interlock. He opens the door wider and steps in. When he closes the door behind him quietly, dipping his hand into his pants pocket, I recognize him.

He is the man from last night, the one who saved me. The same man who was watching me all through the night.

Who is he? Why did he bring me here?

As he steps forward, towards me, I ask the only question in my head. "Are we in New York?"

His expression remains unreadable. He doesn't stop moving towards me. When he is a few feet away, I begin to back away slowly, fear gripping my existence, a cold shiver running down my spine at the deadly cold stare he is giving me.

The look is intense, boring into me like a dagger. He is staring at me like the enemy, and it suddenly dawns on me that I have been mistaken for someone else.

Is this why he brought me here? How long did I pass out? Are we truly in New York City? Do I look like this girl he is mistaking me for or is this just an excuse to kidnap me?

Realizing that I still have the New York Times Bestselling book in my hand, I drop it. It falls to the floor with a dull thud, and his gaze leaves me for a moment to stare at the book on the floor.

I shut my eyes. I didn't mean to drop it. I did that out of fear. He is too close and the aura he emits is nothing good.

He looks dangerous as well as handsome, and I don't know what to think of him.

Then, he looks up. I see a flicker of something in his eyes, but I don't know what it means.

He takes another step forward, and I take another backward until my back hits a wall, stopping me from moving further. Before I can change position and continue to move away from him, he quickly steps forward and cages me between his arms, his eyes fixated on mine as though he is searching desperately for answers to the numerous questions in his head.

I wish I could do the same too because I have a lot of questions in my head, but I can't even bring myself to look into his eyes for more than a second.

His breath fans my entire face, and I shut my eyes again.

He smells nice.

His cologne is heavenly, so is his breath.

Strawberry? I love strawberries.

"Now that you have risen from the dead, give me two genuine reasons why you ran off," he says between gritted teeth, his expression now readable. It is filled with nothing but rage. His eyes are stormy red too.

I can't find my voice. I want to tell him that I am Olivia. I want to tell him that I am an orphan and I have stayed in California all my life. I want to tell him all about me, but my tongue is tied-twisted.

I can't bring myself to form a single word of defense so he will know that this is not the woman who ran away but a woman who has been mistaken for someone else and kidn*pped.

Something clicks in my head.

My work.

I have to resume work this morning and I am not in California from the look of things. How do I get to my boss to inform him about the situation? Where the hell is my phone?

"Answer me, woman!" He yells into my face, and I get startled, my eyes closing on their own accord.

The voice is ringing a loud bell in my eardrum, and it feels like it is still echoing. I tremble a little, my lips quivering in fear.

Who is this man?

I am not that woman. I am different.

"Cat got your tongue? I said why did you leave? Why did you humiliate me? Why did you consent when you knew you were going to run off like the coward that you are? Why?!"

I almost curl into myself. I wish the ground would open up so I could be swallowed by it and rescued from this man.

I don't know him.

He grabs my jaw, ensuring that I maintain eye contact with him. "Answer me now!"

I stutter. I can't form any words. My head is blank. I can't think straight.

With my chest heaving up and down in fright, I open my mouth wider, making him let go of my jaw.

I shake my head. "I swear to you, I don't know what you are talking about."

He snorts in disbelief.

I know he won't believe me easily, but I will prove to him that I am different so he can let me go. I will take a bus back home and be safe from him.

"I am Olivia," I announce loudly, my breath hitching for a second, hoping that I will be able to convince a strong-headed man like him. "I have lived all my life in California. I don't know who you are talking about. I have never been to New York. My parents died when I was still little. My aunt took me in and cared for me until I began to fend for myself. I don't know you, Mister."

I blurt out the words in one breath. I never knew I would say all of those words, but I guess it will be worth it.

The man begins to laugh like a maniac. That sort of wicked laugh that spells out disbelief.

I am not lying. I won't lie unless necessary.

My aunt taught me never to lie. She said it kills the soul and changes your personality. She warned that lies make the heart dark because a lie will keep coming as easily as the truth.

I always avoid lying.

Why can't he just believe me?

"You think I am a fool? You are Isabella, and you know it!" He points an accusing finger at me.

Before I can open my mouth to counter him, he grabs my neck, as if to strangle me.

He raises me with his hand still on my neck and turns around, then he pushes me into the bed and my wig comes off immediately to reveal my true hair.

My eyes widen in fear, and I try to turn slightly to grab the wig, but his hands on mine stop me from picking it up.

He climbs over me and looks from the wig to my hair, then he exclaims loudly in disbelief, "What the hell!”