It was as if thunder exploded in Jerissa's ears. A deafening buzz filled her head, drowning out every sound.
She returned home like a lost soul, her feet carrying her into the one place Franco had forbidden her to enter—his study.
As soon as she entered, she froze.
The walls were lined with photographs. A girl in a white dress smiling in the sunlight, laughing carefree... Her brows and eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to her own—seven parts alike, three parts different.
On the desk lay open journals, pages overflowing with longing, filled with one name: Nicole.
And at that moment, everything became clear.
Jerissa was nothing but a stand-in.
The grand wedding, the unique gown, the vows whispered to her... none of it had ever been meant for her. They were all prepared for the woman he had truly wanted to marry.
...
The bathroom door creaked open. Franco stepped in, setting down a neatly folded set of pajamas—soft gray cotton with a lace-trimmed collar.
Her stomach turned. She hated lace. It scratched her skin and caught in her hair. But of course, Franco didn't care what she liked. He only wanted to mold her into the image of another woman.
Jerissa closed her eyes and sank beneath the bathwater, letting the weight of it press against her chest.
Memories sharpened in her mind like glass shards.
The rows of clothes in the walk-in closet were all Nicole's favorite brands and style. Even the pastries the chef delivered every morning were also Nicole's favorite sweets.
The gentleness in his gaze when he looked at her was never truly hers. He was staring through her face, tracing the ghost of someone else.
He forbade her from drinking not because he cared for her health. But because Nicole hated alcohol.
Jerissa had confronted him once, even broken down in hysteria. And his reply had nearly shattered her.
"To resemble Nicole at all—that's your blessing. Otherwise, what makes you think you deserve to marry into the Alba family?"
When she still refused to back down, he wrapped it in business.
"As long as you stay my wife, your father's company will have every resource it needs. If you leave... don't expect Cortez Enterprises to survive."
He didn't need to say the rest. His warning was clear enough.
At that time, Cortez Enterprises had just begun pushing into foreign markets. If the Alba family turned its back, they'd be devoured by competitors before they even found their footing.
So she endured.
And in her endurance, a fragile, foolish hope sprouted.
Nicole was gone. But she was here—alive. Maybe, just maybe, with time, he would see her. Not as a substitute, not as a shadow, but as Jerissa.
So she started reclaiming herself—wearing the leather jackets she loved, racing with friends on roaring tracks, laughing wildly in the wind.
She wasn't fighting Nicole anymore. She was fighting her own desperate hope.
Until one day, all the racetracks in the city suddenly banned her.
Franco dragged her away, wiping the crimson lipstick from her lips. His voice was ice, every word was like a dagger piercing her heart.
"I have plenty of options. If it weren't for your sister's heart condition, the position of Mrs. Alba would never have been yours. A substitute is just a substitute. If you don't do it, someone else will. So stop making trouble... hmm?"
Each syllable pierced her chest, but worse was yet to come.
He began openly bringing other "substitutes" into their home.
Women who sounded like Nicole.
Women who moved like Nicole.
Even women who shared Nicole's name.
The entire social circle whispered and sneered—Jerissa, nothing more than a disposable prop, a placeholder in someone else's story.
If it weren't for Juliette's heart disease, the first person to replace her would be her own younger sister.
At that thought, Jerissa felt the air drain from her lungs. She burst to the surface with a splash, gasping.
Why?
Why should she live as someone else's shadow?
She was Jerissa Cortez—alive, breathing, a woman with her own desires, her own fire.
Staring into the mirror, she heard a voice ring clear within her chest, firm and unyielding, 'From this day forward, I will live for myself.'
