Chapter 1

I sat at one end of the long table in Blackwood Manor, dressed in the white silk gown Damian liked best. The dress cost fifty thousand dollars, with a neckline plunging low enough to expose collarbones that had to appear fragile yet elegant to satisfy that man’s aesthetic. The fabric clung to every inch of my curves like a second skin, or perhaps more accurately, an exquisite prison uniform.

I smiled, my hands busy cutting a steak cooked only to rare. The knife and fork glided across the fine silverware, making the faintest of sounds.

"Did you change the flowers today?"

Damian Blackwood sat at the head of the table, not bothering to look up. His attention was entirely consumed by the tablet in his hand, which displayed the daily stock fluctuations of the Blackstone Group. Even at home, he was a monarch, forever ruling his commercial empire.

His voice was deep and cold, like the low strings of a cello—beautiful, but devoid of warmth. In three years, I had never heard a trace of genuine affection in that voice.

"Yes, Damian." I set down my cutlery, my voice as soft as a feather, deliberately mimicking a tenderness I never truly possessed. "I know... I know you like these flowers. They are very fresh, flown in from the Netherlands just this morning."

I almost slipped up. In front of Damian, I could not mention the name Claire Lancaster; it was taboo. Yet, I had to mimic her every moment, living as her shadow. I had lived this schizophrenic existence for exactly one thousand and ninety-five days.

Damian finally raised his head to look at me.

Those were eyes as deep as black holes, eyes that once struck terror into the business world. In this instant, he looked through me to that shadow far away in Europe—Claire Lancaster, the prodigy violinist, the untouchable "white moonlight" forever in his heart.

"You are very thoughtful, Catherine," he said.

It was a compliment. It meant he wouldn’t nitpick that the wine I prepared for dinner wasn't vintage enough, wouldn't criticize my earrings for lacking elegance, and wouldn't wake me in the dead of night to brew him coffee.

I am Catherine Vaughan Blackwood, recognized in Chicago's high society as the perfect substitute.

Three years ago, my family's business, Vaughan Pharmaceuticals, was on the brink of bankruptcy. A failed clinical trial faced the company with billions in claims, and the stock price plummeted by eighty percent overnight. My father, frantic, suffered a sudden heart attack and lay in the ICU with daily medical bills running into five figures. My mother washed her face with tears all day, and my brother ran everywhere begging for help, but no one extended a hand.

Just then, Damian descended like a deity.

I still remember that day. He stood at the end of the hospital corridor in a custom Italian suit, flanked by six lawyers. The sunlight streamed in from the window behind him, gilding him with a golden edge, looking like a savior.

"I can save Vaughan Pharmaceuticals." His first sentence seized the lifeline of my entire family.

My mother almost knelt to thank him.

But his next words froze the air: "The condition is that Catherine marries me and signs this prenuptial agreement."

It was a fifty-page agreement detailing my obligations: I must keep my hair long and curled; I must wear white or light-colored clothes; I must learn flower arranging, specifically freesias; I must give up my job and be a full-time housewife; I must show adoration and dependence on him in public; I must...

My father struggled to sit up in his hospital bed. "Damian, are you buying my daughter?"

"It is a transaction, Mr. Vaughan." Damian’s tone was as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "I need a wife, and you need money. Catherine is suitable—she looks like someone."

He didn't say who, but we all knew. Claire Lancaster's photos had appeared in gossip magazines, and I did indeed bear a sixty or seventy percent resemblance to her, especially in profile and eyes.

"I need to think about it," I said at the time.

Damian smiled. It was the first time I saw him smile, yet it sent a chill down my spine. "You have twenty-four hours. By this time tomorrow, either sign, or watch your father's company go into liquidation bankruptcy—and your father may never wake up from the blow."

That night, I sat by my father's bedside till dawn. Watching his pale face, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the monitor, I knew I had no choice.

The next day, I signed that deed of sale.

Damian kept his word. The check arrived the same day, and Vaughan Pharmaceuticals was saved. My father's surgery was successful, and the company gradually got back on track.

And I began my career as a stand-in.