Chapter 3

Elisa Francis POV:

Five years before this moment, my world changed forever. Evelyn, Edward and Dian's beloved daughter, my unknown twin sister, died. The grief consumed them. Their "perfect" family image, a carefully constructed facade, crumbled. They needed a replacement. They needed Evelyn back.

They found me in a small, underfunded foster home. I was eighteen, just weeks away from the most important competition of my life – an international piano scholarship that would have sent me to a prestigious music academy in New York. Music was my entire world. It was my escape, my comfort, my only true home.

One day, men in dark suits arrived. They spoke with the foster parents. Soon after, strange things began to happen. My practice room was vandalized. My scores went missing. Then, a shocking accusation: I was caught with a forged application, a blatant attempt to cheat. It was a setup. I knew it. But I had no proof. The evidence was overwhelming, fabricated with precision.

I was disqualified from the competition. My dream, meticulously built brick by brick, shattered into a million pieces. The music academy rejected me. My future, once so clear, became a terrifying blank.

The public, who had followed my progress as a musical prodigy, was bewildered. "The genius who fell," they called me. They mourned my lost talent. They speculated about my sudden, unexplained withdrawal. I couldn't explain. I couldn't clear my name. The Francis family had ensured my silence, and my isolation was complete.

Then, they offered me a deal. Edward and Dian appeared at the foster home. They told me about Evelyn. They offered me a contract. Five years. I would live as Evelyn, in their opulent mansion, attend her social events, and learn her mannerisms. In return, they promised to clear my name and secure my entry into any top design school after the contract expired. My career, they assured me, would be fully restored.

I signed the papers. I was desperate. My musical dream was dead. I suspected them, of course—who else would benefit from my destruction? But suspicion was a luxury the desperate couldn't afford. I had no proof, no money, no future. They had made sure of that. The design school was a new, albeit unfamiliar, path. It was a chance, however slim, to reclaim a future. I had no other options.

I moved into the Francis mansion. On paper, I was Evelyn Francis. I had her clothes, her room, her social calendar. In reality, I was a ghost. My days were filled with strict lessons on Evelyn's etiquette, her friends, her preferences, her entire life. I was Evelyn's shadow, her replacement, a living trophy for their grief. I was their domestic helper, their confidante, and their punching bag.

I took on the unspoken duties of raising Kai. Dian was too consumed by her grief to be a mother. Edward was too busy with his empire. I cooked his meals, helped him with his homework, and read him bedtime stories. I nurtured him, loved him, and tried to be the sister he had lost. He was small, scared, and vulnerable. I poured all my unmet maternal instincts into him, hoping to forge a genuine connection.

The Francis family used me. They paraded me at parties, a perfect replica of their lost daughter, charming their business associates, maintaining their flawless public image. They had taken my talent, my identity, and my future. They had offered me a gilded cage, and I, out of desperation, had stepped inside.

The power imbalance of the contract gnawed at me. I was trapped. My aspirations, once soaring, were grounded. I suppressed my true self, my unique artistic vision, suffocating under Evelyn's perfect facade.

The world saw Evelyn Francis, a socialite, beautiful and poised. They did not see the orphan, Elisa, struggling within, her dreams crushed, her spirit slowly eroding. I was a caretaker, a puppet, a tool. My silent suffering was invisible behind the expensive gowns and forced smiles.

I bore it all. The emotional abuse, the constant comparisons to Evelyn, the casual cruelty. I believed their promises. I clung to the hope that, one day, they would honor their word. One day, I would be free. One day, I would be Elisa again.

The tragedy of Evelyn's death had not just claimed her life; it had stolen mine. My opportunity for a brilliant musical career, sabotaged by their machinations, was a constant ache. Now, five years later, the contract was ending. They still controlled my future, but the illusion of power was fading.

My heart had grown cold to their expectations. I no longer craved their acceptance, only my freedom. My identity, once fluid and uncertain, was hardening. I was not Evelyn. I would never be Evelyn. Their neglect of my true talent, my unique voice, was a wound they kept reopening. I had adapted, I had survived, but the hidden burden of the contract had cost me everything.