My boyfriend, Liam, died on William Zio’s private yacht. The official story was that he argued with someone, slipped, and fell into the sea. But I knew the truth—he was beaten to death. It was all because Seraphina Vance, the unforgettable flame of William’s life, had idly flirted with Liam, complimenting his voice. William’s jealousy had erupted like a volcano. He’d ordered his men to beat Liam to a pulp and toss his broken body into the freezing, midnight water. “Seraphina said you have a lovely voice?” William had sneered. “I suppose I’ll have to hear it for myself.” When the news of Liam’s death reached me, I didn’t cry. I simply tore up the acceptance letter from the top-tier university I was about to attend. I flew back home and became the most docile canary in William Zio’s gilded cage. He would often tip my chin up with his fingers, murmuring to me as if I were a cherished pet, “Aria, my dear, I can give you anything you desire. Anything but my love.” I’d look up at him, my voice a soft whisper. “Anything?” But inside, my heart was a frozen, silent wasteland. What good is your love to me? It’s your life I want. 1. Everyone in New York’s elite circle knew that I, Aria Thorne, was Seraphina Vance’s stand-in. Three years ago, after a spectacular fight with William, Seraphina had stormed off to America in a fit of pique, cutting off all contact. That was when I made my move, leveraging a side profile that was a five-point match to hers to become the perfect shadow by William’s side. I learned to be pliant, obedient. If William pointed east, I would never dare to look west. Slowly, I became the woman who stayed by his side the longest, second only to Seraphina herself. Sometimes, he would gaze at me, lost in thought, his fingertips tracing the line of my jaw. “Your eyes are the most like hers,” he’d murmur, “but she would never look at me the way you do…” I knew he was looking through me, seeing someone else. Then, recently, whispers started circulating that Seraphina was coming back. The day her flight landed, William had the entire airport terminal carpeted with ten thousand roses, a display of extravagant welcome. And I, naturally, became the subject of gossip once more. “The real thing is back. The understudy should know her place.” “If Seraphina hadn't left, trash like her wouldn’t even be fit to polish Mr. Zio’s shoes.” “That whole doe-eyed act of hers makes me sick.” In the back of the town car, I scrolled through my phone, my eyes welling with tears, a single drop trembling on my lashes. “Upset?” William pulled me into his arms, his tone unreadable. I rested my head on his shoulder, my voice soft and sticky like honey. “William, I know how important Ms. Vance is to you… I won’t compete with her.” “The fact that you chose to bring me home first today… that’s more than enough for me,” I whispered, then tilted my head up to press a soft kiss against his cheek. He was clearly pleased, scratching me under the chin as if I were a kitten. I snuggled closer, remaining in his embrace until the car glided to a stop in front of his private villa. As we got out, I clung to his arm, my reluctance palpable. “Be good,” he said, his gaze dropping to my chest with undisguised intent. “Mrs. Gable made you that restorative broth. Drink it and get some rest.” A sly smile touched my lips. I leaned in close to his ear, my breath a warm caress. “Tonight… I have a new toy for us to play with.” A faint blush crept up his neck, and he wrapped an arm tightly around my waist. “You little temptress.” His kiss was bruising, almost violent, as if he wanted to meld me into himself. My hand slipped down from his waist, but he caught it firmly. “None of that now,” he murmured against my earlobe, tapping the tip of my nose. “Wait for me.” I relaxed in his arms, letting out a soft, breathy sigh. “William, I won’t fight for you… I only want you.” Then, with a catch in my voice, I added, “It’s just… sometimes I feel so insecure.” A tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. At the sight of it, his expression softened. His warm palm stroked my shoulder. “Aria, I won’t cast you aside.” After another moment of tender reassurance, I wiped my eyes and turned to go. “Aria,” he called out suddenly. I turned back, my heart feigning a hopeful leap. “Your purse.” He held out the new Chanel bag he’d bought me. The light in my eyes dimmed instantly. I took it obediently and watched his car disappear down the long drive. It’s starting, Seraphina. Are you ready? Inside the villa, the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, greeted me warmly with a bowl of the broth. I took it, my makeup smudged from my performance, and hurried upstairs, locking the bedroom door behind me. The moment the lock clicked, all the strength drained from my body. I slid down the door, slumping to the floor like a deflated balloon. I stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on, letting the hot water cascade over my face. I scrubbed at my skin, at every inch of my body, as if trying to wash away some indelible stain. The stinging in my eyes from the scalding water finally shocked me back to reality. I stared at my reflection in the fogged mirror. The woman looking back was a stranger—pale, her eyes a hollow void hiding a universe of madness. My right hand began to tremble uncontrollably. I gripped my wrist, my nails digging into my own flesh. It was happening again. This body, and the soul trapped within it, were rejecting the role I had been forced to play for three long years. 2. There was a time when I was the princess in my parents’ world, cherished and adored. Then a car crash shattered everything. Overnight, I lost them both, plunging into a severe depression that left me a sullen, silent shadow of my former self. It was in the darkest days at that private clinic for troubled youths that I met Liam. Everyone at the clinic was afraid of him. Like me, he wore the label of “problem.” But he wasn’t withered and silent like I was. He was a caged beast, snarling at any doctor or nurse who dared approach, his words sharp as broken glass. He was a creature of thorns and solitude, fiercely independent. But with me, he was different. He knew I was terrified of thunder, so on stormy nights, he would sit vigil in the hallway outside my room, a silent stone guardian, not leaving until the last rumble faded and he had to drag his numb legs away. When I once mentioned offhandedly that I missed the salty air of the ocean, he scaled the clinic walls and disappeared for three days. He returned with a bottle of murky, briny water and a fresh set of bruises he refused to explain. He found a pop-top tab from a soda can and spent a whole month grinding it against the concrete pavement until it was a misshapen, makeshift ring. When the other kids taunted me, calling me an unwanted orphan, he forced it onto my finger. … “Aria,” he’d said, “with me, you can still be a princess.” So you see, William? The person you destroyed wasn’t just some nobody. You destroyed the one who, with all his fierce, untamed tenderness, pulled me back from the abyss. You destroyed my entire world. “Liam, you broke your promise.” I curled into a ball in the darkness, my voice barely a whisper, clutching the small, worn good-luck charm he’d given me. He had pressed it into my hand at the airport when he saw me off to study abroad. His eyes were red, but he tried to act cool and detached. He’d fidgeted for what felt like an eternity before pulling a crumpled, red fabric charm from his pocket and shoving it at me. “Just picked this up on the way,” he’d mumbled, his neck stiff, his ears burning crimson. “Figured you might get bullied out there alone. So, you know… take it. It’s from me… and I’ve never given a girl anything before.” His voice grew quieter with each word, his face redder. I’d smiled and, right there in front of him, solemnly hung it around my neck. He’d darted his eyes away, so flustered he nearly tripped over his own feet. As the plane took off, I watched his figure shrink on the tarmac and made a silent vow: Liam, wait for me. I’m coming back. During my first year away, his messages arrived like clockwork, bridging the time difference. A “Good morning” at 8 AM, a “Good night” at 10 PM. He shared every trivial detail of his life with infectious excitement: “Aria, old Mr. Henderson’s dog had puppies. They’re ugly as little rats.” “Why are you taking so long to reply? Is your homework more important than me?” “I’m looking at an apartment with a yard. When you come back, we’ll have our own home.” … His very last message was sent under a sky full of fireworks. “Rich people are something else. Even their fireworks are blue. When you get back, I’ll set some off for you too. A whole night’s worth.” But after that night of blue fireworks, his messages stopped. I never heard from him again. Then the news came: Liam had fallen from a private yacht and was lost at sea, his body never recovered. I didn’t believe it. I flew back in a frenzy, broke through the police tape, and screamed his name at the vast, merciless ocean that had swallowed him whole. The only answer was the crash of the cold, indifferent waves. And the owner of that yacht? At that very moment, William Zio was at a rooftop restaurant, his arm around his one true love, Seraphina Vance, as they enjoyed afternoon tea. “William, darling, it was just one person. Why is it causing such a commotion?” Seraphina, draped in a pristine white gown, spoke words laced with poison. William handed her a glass of juice, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “He was a nobody, darling. Not worth ruining your day over. With me here, no one will dare to make a fuss.” Two weeks later, the case was closed. "Accidental drowning." The real killer never even had to show his face. It took me months to find out that the yacht belonged to the prince of New York’s elite—William Zio. 3. I never expected to meet Seraphina so soon. William was personally giving her a tour of the greenhouse, a "hobby" he’d built on a whim but had rarely ever set foot in. Dressed in the latest Chanel suit, Seraphina tilted her chin up, surveying the space like a queen inspecting her domain. In reality, for the past three years, it was I who had tended to every plant, every blossom within these glass walls. “Ms. Thorne,” she paused, her manicured fingertips brushing against a cluster of gladioli I had painstakingly nurtured. Her voice dripped with mock surprise. “You look so fragile, yet you seem quite skilled at tending to flowers.” Before the words had fully left her mouth, she casually snapped the stem of a perfectly bloomed gladiolus. The movement was slow, deliberate, her eyes flashing with unconcealed provocation. I immediately lowered my gaze, my voice soft and submissive. “It’s just a simple skill. I’m not worthy of Ms. Vance’s praise.” William stood nearby, saying nothing to stop her. In fact, he seemed to find my deference rather pleasing; the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “However,” Seraphina said, dropping the broken flower and grinding it under the heel of her shoe. Her gaze flickered meaningfully towards William before settling back on me. “These flowers are too… cold. They don’t suit William. He only likes roses—intense, vibrant.” I looked up, my expression a carefully crafted mix of admiration and timidity. “You have excellent taste, Ms. Vance. William often says you’re just like his favorite rose—brilliantly beautiful, the one and only in his heart.” My “relayed” compliment pleased her, and William as well. A flicker of triumph crossed her face. She linked her arm through William’s, resting her head on his shoulder, but her eyes, now sharp with a condescending command, returned to me. “Well then, I’ll have to trouble you, Ms. Thorne. Those rose bushes over there look a bit messy. Since you’re so skilled, why don’t you tidy them up?” William remained silent, which was his form of consent. Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, saw what was happening and quietly offered me a pair of gardening gloves. But Seraphina let out a light laugh, stopping her. “Oh, no. All the top florists I knew back in the States say you must work with your bare hands to feel the true life of the flowers. Gloves? So unprofessional.” It was a blatant lie, and everyone present knew it. William adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze falling on me with a weight that was both probing and permissive. “Do as Seraphina says.” He was using this to placate Seraphina’s bruised ego, and to reassert my complete and utter obedience. I bowed my head without argument, knelt, and began to gather the thorny, withered rose clippings scattered on the ground. “Heh,” Seraphina’s mocking laugh came from above. “William, look at her, kneeling there. Doesn’t she look just like a…” She didn’t finish, but I felt the thick, suffocating malice in her unspoken words. I looked up at her and managed a pale, humble smile. A sheen of cold sweat broke out on my forehead as a thorn bit deeply into my finger, the pain making my performance of delicate suffering all the more convincing. “As long as it makes Ms. Vance happy.” My reaction seemed to bore her. She huffed and settled into a nearby wicker chair to sip her tea. I continued my work, focused, as if the world around me had faded away. Until Mrs. Gable cried out in alarm, “Ms. Thorne! Your hand! My goodness, you’re as white as a sheet!” Her words were my cue. My body went limp, darkness swam before my eyes, and I collapsed sideways. In the last moment of fading consciousness, I felt a strong arm snake around me, catching me before I hit the ground. It was William. I leaned against his chest, my breath shallow, and whispered an apology laced with guilt. “I’m sorry, William… I still… couldn’t do it right…” The hospital room smelled of antiseptic. I woke with a soft groan, a pained frown on my face as I felt the sting in my arm from the IV drip. William was instantly at my side with a glass of warm water, his own brow deeply furrowed. “The doctor said you’re suffering from exhaustion and low blood sugar. What’s going on?” I lowered my head, my long, dark hair falling forward, making my face seem even paler. Under his increasingly impatient gaze, I finally seemed to gather my courage and spoke in a small voice. “I… I remembered you mentioning how difficult it was to cultivate the new ‘Roman Holiday’ roses… I thought that if, for your and Ms. Vance’s engagement party, the venue could be decorated with flowers I grew myself… it would be the last thing… I could do for you.” My voice choked with unshed tears. I turned my head away defiantly, my shoulders trembling. The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped several degrees. He had just proposed to Seraphina, driven more by a fear of losing control and being abandoned by her again than by love. And I, upon hearing the news, hadn’t thrown a tantrum. Instead, I had silently set about preparing a “final gift” for him. The stark contrast was a thorn digging into his conscience. “The last thing?” He grabbed my chin, his grip tight, forcing me to face him. His eyes burned with a mixture of anger and a flicker of panic he himself didn’t recognize. “Aria, who gave you permission to decide you’re leaving?” I looked at him through a blur of tears, my expression one of heartbroken disbelief. “I know I’m just a substitute. Ms. Vance is back… I can’t be so shameless as to overstay my welcome.” “Who told you you were a substitute?!” he snarled, as if I’d struck a nerve. He released me abruptly, but his fingertips still felt the phantom heat of my tears. “Besides, when did your coming and going become your decision to make?” 4. That night, in a break from all precedent, William stayed with me until I fell asleep before leaving to see Seraphina. In my dreams, I saw Liam again. He was wearing that same faded white shirt, standing in front of the little house with the yard we had always dreamed of. The morning sun cast a golden halo around him. “Aria,” he said, smiling and waving me over, his eyes as clear and unpolluted as the day I first met him. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.” I smiled back, but as I did, tears began to stream down my face. “Liam,” I whispered, “I miss you so much… Wait for me, okay? I’ll come find you soon.” A few days later, I returned to the villa from the hospital, only to find that Seraphina had moved in. She sat in the garden, playing with a fluffy white Pomeranian at her feet. She didn't even bother to look up. “Ms. Thorne, you’re so delicate. Shouldn’t you have rested a few more days?” I offered a polite smile. “Thank you for your concern, Ms. Vance. I’m much better now.” She ignored me, scratching the dog under its chin, her words dripping with double meaning. “Chai is such a good boy. It’s a shame, though. At the end of the day, he’s just an animal. He can’t change anything.” She let out a sharp, piercing laugh. I stood my ground, my face a placid mask. As expected, the little dog, as if agitated by something, suddenly perked up. It broke free from Seraphina and charged straight at me. Amid the gasps of the staff, it sank its teeth into my calf. A sharp, searing pain shot up my leg. I cried out. Mrs. Gable rushed forward and forcefully shoved the dog away. It yelped and scurried off, leaving my leg bleeding freely.
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