Chapter 7
1411 Words
The hospital room was quiet, interrupted only by the steady beeping of the heartbeat monitor and the soft hum of air-conditioning. Vont stood at the foot of the bed, eyes glued to the sleeping woman who everyone insisted was Alyanna Martinez. To everyone else, this was the princess of the Martinez empire—spoiled, wealthy, feared, and adored.
To Vont, she was a stranger wearing Alyanna’s face.
He swallowed hard, hands tucked into tight fists. Something is wrong. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. Even if the doctor, the nurses, and even Alfonso Martinez believed she was Alyanna, Vont refused to let himself be fooled. Alyanna had grown up with him; he knew her voice, her laugh, the tiny scar she had on her jaw from falling off a bike at age ten. He knew every detail.
And the woman lying here didn’t have that scar.
That alone was enough to send shivers down his spine.
But he couldn’t confront anyone—not yet. Not with Alfonso Martinez ready to kill him at the slightest mistake. If he voiced his suspicions, the old man would label him insane, irresponsible, or worse—disloyal. And disloyalty to the Martinez family was a death sentence.
No, Vont had to confirm everything before making a single move.
He took a deep breath, stepped back, and left the hospital room quietly.
He needed answers.
He needed the truth.
He needed to find the identity of the woman who died—the woman in the other car.
Vont walked through the hospital corridors like a ghost, moving silently, unnoticed. His body ached, his cheek still stung from all of Alfonso's slaps, but none of that mattered. Alyanna mattered. The truth mattered.
He stopped at the nurses’ station.
The nurse on duty, the same one who had spoken to him earlier, jumped slightly when she saw him approaching.
“Sir! You should be resting,” she stammered.
“I need information,” Vont said sternly but not unkindly. “The woman from the other vehicle—the one who died. What’s her name?”
The nurse hesitated. “Sir, that’s confidential—”
“Please.” His voice cracked slightly. “It’s important.”
Something in his tone must have convinced her. She glanced sideways, lowered her voice, and checked the chart on her desk. After a moment, she spoke quietly, as if sharing a dangerous secret.
“Her name was Samantha Refer. Married.”
Vont blinked.
“Married?”
The nurse nodded. “According to the ID in her wallet. She was wearing a wedding ring, too.”
Something inside Vont twisted. The idea of a young woman dying so suddenly—leaving a husband behind—made his chest tighten. And yet… something still didn’t sit right with him.
“Do you know where… where she is now?” he asked.
“The funeral home picked her up this morning,” the nurse answered. “I can give you the name.”
She scribbled the funeral home information on a small piece of paper and handed it to him.
Vont bowed slightly. “Thank you.”
As he turned away, the nurse called out softly, “Sir… please be careful.”
He gave her a faint nod and continued walking.
Careful.
Yes.
Because he had a feeling his life was about to get much more complicated.
Two hours later, Vont stood outside the funeral home, hands cold despite the warm afternoon sun. The place was eerily silent except for the faint chatter of mourners inside.
He wasn't sure what he expected to find here, but his instincts pushed him forward.
He stepped inside.
The faint scent of flowers and incense filled the air. People he didn’t recognize were gathered in a small, dim room—faces filled with sorrow, confusion, and whispered conversations. A few looked up as he entered, but no one recognized him, so no one approached.
Good.
He walked further inside until he found the viewing room at the end of the hall. The name printed on a small placard made his breath catch.
Samantha Refer
His heart hammered against his ribs.
Slowly, painfully, he approached the coffin.
Every step felt like walking deeper into a nightmare he didn’t understand.
When he finally reached the coffin and looked inside… the world froze.
Vont stopped breathing.
His body went still.
His blood ran cold.
Inside the coffin…
…was Alyanna.
Her hair.
Her features.
Her scar on the jaw—clear and visible.
Her small mole above the left eyebrow.
Her ring—a ring Alfonso gave her on her 18th birthday.
Vont’s hands trembled violently.
No…
He gripped the edge of the coffin, knuckles turning white.
No, this can’t be happening.
His mind screamed. His heart burned. His voice felt trapped in his throat.
But the truth lay there—in cold, horrifying stillness.
Alyanna Martinez was dead.
The woman in the hospital bed was not.
Vont forced himself to swallow the rising panic. If he reacted—if anyone saw him break down—if anyone learned the truth…
He and his father would die.
Alfonso Martinez would destroy them instantly.
They would be framed, erased, buried, and forgotten.
Vont straightened, pulling every ounce of control into his expression. He stepped back from the coffin, his breathing flat, expression blank, as if he were unfamiliar with the face inside.
He turned around slowly—nobody was watching him.
Good.
His mind spun rapidly.
Alyanna is dead.
A stranger is alive, mistaken to be her.
And no one knows but me.
A heavy cloak of responsibility settled on his shoulders. He walked out of the viewing room calmly, though inside, he was breaking.
The moment he stepped outside the funeral home doors, he sucked in a shaky breath.
“What the hell do I do now…?”
He dragged a hand down his face.
He couldn’t tell Alfonso.
He couldn’t tell anyone.
He couldn’t tell the police.
This secret could turn deadly in seconds if he slipped.
There was only one path forward.
He had to keep the truth buried.
For Alyanna.
For himself.
For his father.
For survival.
Vont returned to the hospital as quickly as he could, ignoring the pain in his leg as he hurried through the hallways. When he reached the room, the woman who looked like Alyanna was still asleep.
He quietly closed the door behind him.
He approached the bed.
He gazed at her—this woman with Alyanna’s face, but a stranger in every other sense.
Soft breathing. Calm expression. Innocent.
If she woke up confused, she could ruin everything.
If she woke up not remembering, then perhaps he had a chance to control the situation.
He brought a chair closer and sat beside the bed.
He would not leave.
He couldn’t leave.
This woman was the only person alive who could unravel everything.
And Vont couldn’t allow that.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
A plan was forming—a dangerous, delicate plan. But it might be the only way to survive.
He had to talk to her the moment she woke up.
He had to explain the situation.
He had to secure her cooperation.
He had to make sure she pretended to be Alyanna.
And to do that… he would first need to understand who she really was.
“Samantha Refer,” he whispered. “A married woman… in an arranged marriage…”
He frowned.
Why did she look exactly like Alyanna? Why did a married woman from another city have the exact same face as the Martinez heiress? Was it coincidence? Fate? Something darker?
He didn’t know.
Not yet.
But he would find out.
And he would make sure Samantha agreed to whatever he needed her to do.
He leaned back in the chair, gaze never leaving her sleeping face.
“I can’t afford to lose everything,” he murmured softly. “You can save me… or ruin me.”
He clasped his hands together tightly.
“So when you wake up… you and I are going to talk.”
His eyes darkened, determination solidifying with every passing second.
He wasn’t losing his life.
He wasn’t letting his father die.
If Samantha lived, she would carry Alyanna’s identity.
Whether she liked it or not.
And Vont would make sure she understood that.
He pulled the chair even closer.
And he waited.
For her.
For the truth.
For the moment everything would change.
- Writer
