Chapter 108: Lookalike

Alaric didn’t notice her withdrawal. He was too far gone, his fingers digging into her hips, anchoring her to the bed as he found his release with a long, broken groan. He collapsed against her, his forehead resting on her shoulder, his chest heaving. He stayed there for a long time, holding her so tightly it hurt, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he loosened his grip.

​Slowly, he pressed soft kisses along the back of Sofia’s neck.

But Sofia remained still.

The name he had moaned moments earlier echoed endlessly in her mind.

​”That was great,” Alaric murmured against her skin.

Sofia felt nothing.

​Ignorant of what he had just done, he furrowed his brow when he realized she wasn’t saying a thing.

​”Baby… are you okay?” he asked, gently trying to turn her toward him.

Sofia nodded quickly.

“I’m just… sleepy.”

Alaric scoffed lightly, assuming the exhaustion came from their passion. He kissed her neck again and pulled her closer, his arm tightening around her waist.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

​Sofia remained still, her eyes wide and staring into the darkness of the room. Every time she tried to close them, she heard it again: Elizabeth. The name felt like a brand on her skin. She wasn’t a woman to him; she was a replacement part for a broken life.

​She felt Alaric’s breathing level out as he fell into a deep, satisfied sleep. His arm, heavy and possessive, stayed clamped around her waist, anchoring her to him. To any outsider, they looked like a perfect couple, but Sofia had never felt more alone.

​She didn’t sleep. She stayed awake for hours, listening to the clock on the mantel. She thought about Damien, and then she thought about the man currently snoring softly against her neck. One man wanted her forgiveness; the other wanted her for a replacement.

​When the sun finally began to peek through the heavy curtains, Alaric stirred. He was “perfect” this morning. He acted as if nothing was wrong. To him, nothing was wrong. He brought her a cup of coffee, his eyes bright and warm, acting like the doting lover.

​”I have some pack business to attend to,” he said, kissing her forehead with a tenderness that now made her stomach turn. “Stay here. Explore the grounds. Serene is dying to see you.”

​Sofia nodded, forcing herself to hide the discomfort twisting inside her.

​After Alaric left, Sofia dressed in a simple gown she picked out from the closet.

She needed air, but before she could reach the gardens, a small hand grabbed hers.

​”You’re finally awake!” Serene chirped. The eight-year-old was dressed for school, her blonde pigtails bouncing. “Come on! I have to show you the gallery before I leave for school.”

​Sofia managed a faint smile.

“Alright.”

​Sofia followed the eight-year-old girl down the long, winding hallways. Serene chattered happily, pointing out statues and gardens, until they reached a quiet wing of the house filled with paintings.

​”This is my favorite,” Serene said, pulling Sofia toward a large gold-framed portrait.

​The woman in the portrait was wearing a white lace wedding dress. She had the same blonde hair, the same curves, and the same blue eyes. It was like looking into a mirror that showed a version of herself from ten years in the future.

​”See?” Serene whispered, leaning her head against Sofia’s arm. “I told Daddy you’d come back, Mommy.”

​Sofia felt a wave of nausea. She realized the true horror of Alaric’s “kindness.” He hadn’t just saved her; he had recruited her into a play. He was letting his child believe a lie, and he expected Sofia to be the lead actress.

​”Serene… honey,” Sofia started, her voice shaking. “I’m Sofia. I’m not—”

​”I know you have a new name!” Serene giggled, hugging Sofia’s waist. “Daddy said we have to be patient while you remember us. But I knew it was you the moment you walked in. You have the same smell.”

​Sofia looked back at the portrait of Elizabeth. She felt like a prisoner in a dead woman’s life. Alaric wasn’t just in love with her because of who she was as a person; he was using her to fix the broken pieces of his family, whether she liked it or not.

​At that moment, she realized she was in a trap far more dangerous than the one Damien had put her in. Damien’s hate was honest, but Alaric’s love was a delusion.

​She wanted to correct Serene. To tell the girl the truth.

But the child had already been taught the lie.

And the only person who could undo it… was Alaric.

​Just then, Serene’s nanny stepped quietly from the hallway shadows. When her eyes landed on Sofia standing before the portrait of Elizabeth, she turned pale. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for Serene.

​”Come along, little Princess,” the nanny whispered, her voice tight. “The car is waiting.”

​The nanny didn’t look Sofia in the eye. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, but Sofia caught the flash of pity—and fear—in her expression. It was as if the nanny was looking at a ghost that had suddenly decided to walk the halls again.

​As Serene was led away, waving happily, Sofia turned to walk back to her room. She needed to get away from that painting. But as she moved through the mansion, the feeling of dread only grew.

​Every staff member she passed—the maids scrubbing the floors, the guards at the doors, the footmen in the foyer—reacted the same way. They didn’t just give her the polite nod they would give a guest. One by one, they stopped what they were doing and dropped into deep, formal bows.

​”She looks so much like her,” she heard a maid whisper, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror.

​They weren’t looking at Sofia. They were looking at the dress, the hair, and the face of a woman who should have been in a grave.

​Sofia felt the walls closing in. This wasn’t a home; it was a shrine, and Alaric had made her the idol. The “kindness” he had shown her back at the Full Moon Pack felt like a cold, calculated move to put his broken world back together.

​She struggled to breathe. Every bow felt like another weight being placed on her shoulders. She broke into a light jog, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floors, until she reached the heavy oak door of her suite.

​She slammed it shut and leaned against it, her chest heaving.

​”I’m not her,” she gasped to the empty, luxurious room. “I’m Sofia. I’m Sofia.”

​She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. Wearing the silk gown she had chosen from the closet, she looked exactly like the woman in the gallery. She realized then that even her clothes had been chosen to mimic Elizabeth’s style.

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