Chapter 2

I stumbled into the main house, dripping pool water, Leo' s name a raw wound in my throat.

Eleanor Montgomery, Ethan' s mother, the architect of my stolen life, found me in the hall.

Her face, usually a mask of cold control, crumpled.

"Seraphina? What' s wrong? You' re soaked."

"Leo," I choked out. "Leo is… gone."

Then, the recovered memories spilled out, a torrent of accusations.

"My name is Elara. Elara Vance. You know it. You did this to me."

She stared, her eyes wide with a dawning horror, or perhaps, just fear of exposure.

"He' s dead. Because of Ethan. Because of her."

Eleanor sagged against the wall. "Oh, God. No."

The television in the grand living room was on, of course.

A reporter gushed about Ethan Montgomery, CEO of Montgomery Holdings, a man of deep feeling, finally reunited with his true love, Seraphina Hayes, after seven years of heartbreak.

His public image: devoted, romantic, resilient.

My private reality: a murdered child, a stolen identity, a life in ruins.

Eleanor' s composure broke. Tears streamed down her face.

"I… I am so sorry, Elara," she whispered, using my true name for the first time in seven years. "The guilt… I…"

Then the flashback hit me, unbidden, sharp as broken glass.

Our wedding day. Ethan' s eyes cold, his touch like ice. He' d barely looked at me.

The news of Seraphina' s yachting "accident" a week later.

Ethan' s rage turning on me. "You did this! Your family, this marriage, it drove her to it!"

The public humiliation he orchestrated. Tabloids filled with faked photos, stories of my "promiscuity."

He needed to discredit me, to make sure any child I bore would be questioned.

Then the "experimental treatment" Eleanor suggested. For my "hysteria."

Doctors with needles. Darkness. Waking up with a new face, a new name. Seraphina.

Ethan' s voice, soft, almost tender, as he looked at the stranger wearing my skin. "Seraphina, you' re back."

But his eyes were still cold when they landed on Leo, our son.

Leo, who had my original eyes.

Even through the fog of amnesia, I had felt the chill.

Ethan never held Leo with warmth.

Leo used to ask, "Mommy, why doesn't Daddy hug me like he hugs you?"

I had no answer then. Just a vague ache.

Now, the ache was a gaping wound.

Those were not loving hugs he gave "Seraphina." They were acts of possession, of delusion.

He was hugging a ghost he'd created.

My son' s innocent questions were warnings I couldn' t understand.

Now I did. Too late.