Chapter 2

The fifth post showed a plate of sliced mangoes. Dated about a year and a half ago, right after we moved in together.

[She loves mangoes—eats them every single day. Not like you. You're allergic. I remember. Whenever you ate them, you'd break out in hives and could barely breathe. So I mixed some peanut crumbs into her favorite mango smoothie.]

My eyes widened in pure, cold shock.

He added peanuts?

I'm deathly allergic to peanuts—not just a rash, but the kind that swells my throat shut and cuts off my air. He knew. He'd always known.

That night, after I drank the smoothie, I ended up in the emergency room. He stayed by my side the whole time, holding my hand, his eyes red as he apologized, saying it was his mistake, that he hadn't checked what was in it.

I bought it hook, line, and sinker.

After that, I never touched mangoes again. Every time I saw one, I flashed back to that night —my throat closing, a sharp, physical wave of fear twisting in my chest.

I thought it was just bad luck.

Turns out, it was all on purpose.

He'd deliberately given me something I was deathly allergic to, then watched me lie in the ER, playing the perfect, loving fiancé.

All because the woman he loved hated mangoes.

All because he was shaping me into her copy.

I fought back the rising nausea in my throat and kept scrolling.

The sixth post was a photo of a pregnancy test—two bright lines. Dated three months ago, the day I told him I was pregnant.

[She's pregnant. Emily, I'm going to be a father. I wish the baby took after you. I hope it's a girl. Just as beautiful as you.]

The seventh post was a cropped snapshot from our wedding album—me in my wedding dress, him looking down at me with what seemed to be adoring love.

[Tomorrow's the big day. Emily, since I could never marry you, I found someone who looks just like you. She even goes by Milly too.]

[I remade her into you. Guess I'm pretty twisted, huh? But I can't help myself. It's the only thing I have in this life.]

The last post was from early that very morning.

No photo, just one single line.

[Happy wedding day, Ethan. You finally turned her into your Emily Sparks 2.0. Is this really what you wanted?]

I stared blankly at the screen, my eyes so dry I didn't think I could cry even if I wanted to.

The timer on the phone still had a minute and thirty seconds left.

I logged out of the secret account, switched back to his main profile, locked the device, and handed it back to Sophie.

"All done! Did you dig up anything good?" Sophie leaned in, wiggling her eyebrows playfully.

I forced a bright smile. "Nope, nothing but boring work messages."

"Ugh, total buzzkill!"

Someone helped Ethan to his feet, announcing that the groom was far too drunk and needed to rest. A couple of groomsmen hauled him away, and he half-opened his eyes, muttering sluggishly, "Milly..."

I used to think he was calling for me.

I couldn't have been more mistaken.

By the time I was escorted back to the bridal suite, Ethan had already been laid out on the bed. The bridesmaids chirped out a few cheerful wedding wishes before closing the door and leaving us alone.

The room fell silent, filled only with the sound of his heavy, drunken breathing.

I stood by the door, just watching him.

His suit jacket was gone, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing his collarbone. He lay on his side, brows slightly furrowed, lips moving as if mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

I walked over slowly and sat down in the armchair beside the bed.

He rolled over suddenly and snapped his eyes open, as if jolted awake by a nightmare. He stared at me, dazed at first, then his gaze sharpened. He jolted upright, stumbled toward me, and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Milly, don't leave me," Ethan begged hoarsely.

His voice was rough and slurred, and he held me so tightly I could barely breathe, as if terrified I would vanish into thin air at any second.

I stayed perfectly still.

"Milly, I'm so sorry..." Ethan pressed his face into the crook of my neck, his voice thick and shaky, on the verge of breaking. "Don't go, please... don't leave me alone."

I stared down at the top of his head, watching his shoulders tremble faintly.

"Ethan," I said quietly, evenly, " who exactly were you calling just now?"

He froze stiff.

Then he slowly lifted his head and met my gaze. For a split second, a storm of emotions flashed across his face—panic, crippling guilt, raw fear, and the utter humiliation of being caught red-handed.

"Claire..." he corrected himself, his voice rough with strain. " I drank way too much. I wasn't thinking straight, I was just talking nonsense..."

"You called me Milly," I said, holding his gaze firmly, making sure he didn't miss a single word. "Even on your secret account, you have me saved as Milly."

All the blood drained from his face in a heartbeat.

He sobered up immediately.