Part 1The Proxy Wife: Counting Down to Goodbye

I impersonated my twin sister to marry the youngest son of the wealthy Pierce family.

After the wedding, Julian Pierce saw me only as a gold-digging trophy wife.

He took compromising photos of me and sent them to his frat boy group chat for laughs.

He burned the lucky charm I prayed for at the cathedral for my sick foster mother.

When anyone mentioned our marriage, his eyes dripped with sarcasm.

"She’s desperate to lock me down. She marks the days on her calendar, counting down to our anniversary like it’s Christmas."

But he didn't know.

I wasn't counting down to forever.

I was counting down to the day my sister returned.

The day I would return the title of "Mrs. Pierce" and disappear from his life forever.

* * *

Midnight.

The sound of fabric tearing woke me up.

I opened my eyes to feel Julian’s hand on my lower back. His touch was so cold I shivered.

"You're freezing..."

His hand wandered lower with cruel intent, teasing every vulnerable spot.

Julian had been drinking.

When he kissed me, there was a faint scent of whiskey on his breath.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trembling.

I knew that resisting or begging would only fuel his aggression.

Suddenly.

The room was flooded with blinding light.

I opened my eyes to see Julian pointing his phone camera directly at me.

The lens focused on my face.

It captured my silent endurance, my pain, the humiliation and panic of being exposed under the harsh light.

"Julian!"

I couldn't help but cry out, "What are you doing?"

Julian pulled away with a look of indifference. He adjusted his clothes and sent the photo to his group chat.

"A bet is a bet. Who wanted to see her face?"

The chat exploded with voice messages.

"Damn, Jules! You actually did it."

"Your wife looks good like that. You're a lucky man."

"Why just the face? Come on, let's raise the stakes next time."

The click of a lighter.

Julian walked out with a cigarette between his lips.

His casual, mocking voice drifted through the crack in the door.

"If it were Summer, I wouldn't dream of it."

"But her? Doesn't matter. Just giving the boys a show."