I'm a Substitute Husband

Chapter 4: The Fire Beneath the Glass

The intruder’s blood hadn’t dried on the carpet when the silence fell. It was the kind of silence that followed death—a weight pressing against every breath, every heartbeat, as if the room itself remembered what had happened.

We should’ve moved. We should’ve run.

But we didn’t.

Isabella and I remained on the floor, her fingers still curled around mine, the echoes of the gunfire still trapped between our ribs.

She looked up at me, her cheeks pale and glistening with tears. “You didn’t even hesitate,” she whispered.

“There was no time to.”

“But you knew he looked like you.”

“I knew he wasn’t me.”

The window lay in shards around us, and the curtains danced like ghosts in the wind. Somewhere downstairs, the guards were hauling off the body, but no one dared to come up here now.

We were in another world.

“What’s Project E?” she asked.

I looked at her. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I wasn’t supposed to get shot either.”

My chest tightened. “It’s not just a cloning program,” I said. “It’s more than that. It’s… a blueprint. For replacing power. Replacing legacy. You’re not just marrying a man, Isabella. You’re marrying a threat they want to replicate. Or erase.”

She stood slowly, wincing. “And what if you’re one of them?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I remember things they don’t. I bleed. I hesitate. I protect you—not because I’m programmed to. Because I want to.”

She stared at me. “Then prove it.”

She stepped toward me and placed my hand over her heart. Her pulse was wild.

“Tell me this is real,” she whispered.

“It’s real.”

She pulled me into a kiss that burned.

It was different this time—not desperate like before. This was surrender. She let go of the lies, of her defenses, of the image of the man she’d loved and lost. In that moment, it was just me.

Just Ethan.

The one who bled. The one who burned.

We moved to the bed like waves collapsing into each other. The storm outside intensified, lightning flashing through the shattered glass, illuminating our bodies as we shed layers of fear and fabric.

And when she cried out my name, I believed it meant something.

But peace didn’t last.

Later, as she lay asleep beside me, her skin warm against mine, I crept out of bed.

I needed to see it for myself.

I returned to the lab beneath the estate. The one I’d discovered.

This time, I brought a crowbar.

Behind the server racks, hidden under tiles, I found a second door. Locked. Sealed with a biometric scanner. I pressed my thumb to it.

It hissed open.

Inside: a chamber. Cryogenic tanks. Eight of them.

Each one labeled:

E-01: Ethan (Terminated)

E-02: Ethan (Terminated)

E-03: Ethan (Operational)

My heart froze.

I was number three.

But then I saw it—E-00.

Not a clone. The original.

And it was empty.

I staggered back. Who was I? The clone? The original? Or someone they’d never expected?

A sound behind me.

I spun, weapon raised.

Isabella.

She wore a robe, barefoot, lips parted in disbelief.

“Why are there eight of you?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I don’t know anymore,” I said. “But I need to find out.”

She stepped into the room, eyes wide.

“You were supposed to be a stand-in,” she whispered. “But what if you’re the only real one left?”

We stood among the dead versions of me.

And then a voice crackled from a hidden speaker.

“Hello, Ethan. Or should I say… Subject E-03.”

We froze.

“You’ve found the tomb,” the voice said. “Good. That means Phase Three is ready.”

“Who are you?” I shouted.

“A father,” the voice replied. “And soon, a god.”

The door slammed shut behind us.

Gas hissed from the ceiling.

Isabella screamed.

I pulled her to me, covering her face. We had seconds.

I hit the emergency override.

Locked.

She clawed at my arm. “We’re going to die.”

“No,” I growled. “Not yet.”

Then, from the corner, a small panel blinked.

Isabella saw it first. “That symbol—it’s from my father’s company.”

She reached it, hands flying over the keys.

“Password protected,” she hissed.

“Try your name,” I said.

She typed it in.

Nothing.

Then she tried her mother’s.

Access granted.

The gas shut off.

The door opened.

We collapsed in the hall, coughing, barely conscious.

And behind us, every tank began to thaw.

Including E-04.

A perfect replica.

Already awake.

Already smiling.

Back in the hall, Isabella took my hand. “You saved me again.”

I didn’t answer. I was staring down at the burns on my palm—the gas had been acidic.

But my skin was already healing.

Too fast.

Isabella saw it too. Her expression turned to horror.

“You’re not human.”

And for the first time, I couldn’t deny it.

But the moment shattered when Isabella pulled away from me, her expression carved from stone.

“Isabella—” I began, but she shook her head.

“Don't.” Her voice cracked like glass under pressure. “You should’ve told me the moment you suspected. You stood there and kissed me, held me like you were flesh and blood—and maybe you are—but what if you’re just a copy of someone I used to love?”

“I don’t know what I am,” I admitted, stepping closer. “But I do know what I feel when I’m with you. Whatever they made me into, whatever experiments they ran—I choose you. That’s real.”

She turned her face to the wall, blinking back the rush of emotion. “It’s too much. Every time I think I’m finding the truth, something else falls apart. You say you’re not like them—but you are one of them.”

“I’m not him. I’m not the man they programmed or designed. But I’m the one who jumped in front of that bullet for you. I’m the one who found the lab, who risked exposure, who chose you again and again.”

Her eyes found mine. “And what happens when they activate something inside you? Some switch you don’t know about?”

“Then tie me down. Lock me away. But don’t walk away without knowing what this is,” I said, grabbing her hand and placing it against my chest. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”

Her breath hitched.

The moment trembled.

“I don’t know what I feel,” she whispered.

But she didn’t let go.

Just then, her phone buzzed violently. She glanced at the screen. Her face went pale.

“What is it?” I asked.

She turned the phone toward me.

It was a photo.

Of me.

Standing outside her father’s grave.

Only—I hadn’t left the house all night.

Another me.

“I think we have a problem,” I muttered.

The timestamp was from thirty minutes ago.

Which meant he was close.

“I need to find him,” I said. “If I don’t, he’ll destroy everything I’m trying to protect.”

Isabella hesitated, then reached under the bed and tossed me a leather case.

I unzipped it—two pistols, ammo, and a sealed envelope.

“This was left for you,” she said. “Three days ago. I didn’t give it to you because I didn’t trust you. But now…”

I opened it. Inside was a photo.

A child.

Me?

Scrawled on the back:

"He’s the key. Not you. E-00 must be terminated."

A chill ran through me.

“Looks like the war just started,” I said.

Isabella reached for my hand.

“No,” she said. “It started the moment I let myself fall for you.”

And then she kissed me again—fierce, defiant.

Outside, the wind howled.

But inside, the fire was lit.