His Perfect Lie, My Shattered World

werful man in the music industry. When the doctor confirmed our baby

wife; I was a substitute. A perfect imitation of his

either. It was a "legacy" for Gi

nto of my dead mother, and Emerson told me it was just a "cheap little figurine." H

lent miscarriage. Then, she threw the ashes of my mother and my un

of it was a calculated sham. I was just

ris. When he finally found me, begging me to come home for t

you talking a

pte

e Comb

ift for another woman-a living, breathing continuation of a

t on the edge of the paper-lined table, my fingers tracing the slight curve of m

d genuine as she pointed to the grainy black-and-white image on the screen. "A

me, so potent it al

intensity that made my heart ache with love. He' d murmur reassurances, his voice a low, soothing melody that calmed all my fears. Today, a last-minut

ne, my fingers flyi

The baby is healthy a

that rare, breathtaking smile he reserved just for m

of the private clinic, my phone remained silent. I pushed down a sliver of disappointment. He w

movement outside caught my eye. A sleek black car, Emerson' s car, was pulli

lready on the sidewalk, his back to me, moving with

he was leaning down, his arm wrapped around

out, my voice thin a

ll. He opened the passenger door of his car, his mo

ual pull towards him, towards the man I loved. I followed him, my steps silent on the

as turned away from me, but the cascade of dark, silky hair was an exact mirror of my own. My

one of Emerson's producers, Liam

ty, Emerson?" Liam chuckled. "You found a pre

thickened, pressing in on m

was low, devoid of the warmth I knew so well. It was th

ul second, my world righted itself. Then he continued, "She i

y trembled so violently I had to press my han

se

who had been in a coma for the last three years following a tragic car accident. The woman whose

had made my childh

brother, died, leaving me orphaned. She' d delighted in tormenting me, her cruelty a sharp, constant sting. My father, a composer of qui

championed my music, shielded me from critics, and loved me with a fierce, all-consuming passion that h

hing, including my father' s manuscript. Emerson had rushed in without a second' s thought, shielding the manuscript with

e had looked at me with tears in his eyes. "Adeline," he' d whispered, "

? I had fallen complete

to the casual destruction of my life, ano

"Getting that scar just to win her over? A bit dramatic, but

hed. My entire

eard it as clearly as if he' d screamed it

y hero, my entire world-all

d. "What happens when Gi

Gisele' s. It will be her heir, the Gonzales legacy. Adeline can be i

f and robotic. I walked out into the blinding afternoon sun, but I felt

needed him. Not Emerson. The him that was bur

he cemetery and the long, winding path up the hill. I fell to my knees be

Beloved Father

stering my hair to my face and soaking me to the bone in seconds. I didn't care. I just kept wipi

itting me. A large black umb

on' s voice was laced with worry, with a sharp edg

e, the face I had loved more than life itself, was a mask of con

ve suit heedless of the mud. "Were you thinking of him a

cticed. "Let's go home. I'll run you a hot ba

ered it, his voice instantly tense. He spoke in rapid, fluent Spanish, a language he though

ás seguro?" What? She

for me vanished, replaced by an urgent

hand, his movements abrupt. "

s focus entirely on getting to his car, on getting to her. H

ve me. And then, a sound escaped my lips. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh.

he real thing. The imitat

hill, my hand instinctively cradling my stomach. I stumbled once, twice, my ar

a legacy for a woman who despised me? A gift fr

s terrifyingly clear. The photographs on the wall, the music sheets on the grand piano, t

fingers numb as I picked u

oice flat and devoid of emotion

tory that had offered me a full scholarship three

t time all day. "I' d like to accept my pla

rade wa