Chapter 27
Back in the master bedroom, Della paced the length of the room, her thoughts a chaotic mess. The kiss still flamed on her lips, a sensation she couldn't shake no matter how much she told herself it was wrong. Her pulse raced as she replayed the moment, over and over.
Her fingers brushed her lips as if she could erase the memory of how his felt against hers. She wanted to scream at herself for crossing that line, for complicating things even further. She was supposed to be Emily. And yet, standing there in his room, she felt like nothing but an imposter.
To distract herself, she stopped by the vanity. Her fingers idly trailed over the decorations—a set of crystal perfume bottles, a silver hairbrush, and a few pieces of jewellery. One particular object caught her eye, half-hidden behind a jewellery box: a locket, its gold surface dulled with time but still holding a sentimental value.
She reached for it. Her fingers trembling slightly. The gold locket felt cool against her skin as she turned it over, noticing the floral design engraved on the front. With a gentle press, the clasp popped open, revealing a tiny photograph
Her breath caught at the sight of Hunter and Emily *the real Emily*. The woman in the photo was smiling brightly, her head leaning against Hunter's shoulder. Her expression was softer, her lips curved in a way Della hadn't seen before. She looked... happy.
A pang of guilt shot through her chest. She shouldn't be holding this. She shouldn't be in this room, in this house, living this lie.
Her fingers traced the edge of the photo. "He must miss her so much," she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
"Do I?"
The voice made her jump, and the locket nearly tumbled from her hand. Spinning around, she found Hunter standing in the doorway.
"I—"Della swallowed, hastily snapping the locket shut and setting it back on the vanity. "I didn't mean to— It was just… sitting there," she stammered, her cheeks flushing.
He crossed the room, his gaze never leaving hers. "You seem… surprised. Did you forget about it?"
Her pulse quickened. "No, I just… It's been a while since I've seen it."
His brows furrowed slightly "It was your favourite. You'd always kept it close."
Della's stomach twist. She averted her gaze, afraid he might see through her lie if she met his eyes.
"You don't seem as attached to it now," he remarked, his tone casual but with an edge that made her skin prickle.
"I suppose people change," she replied, forcing an even tone.
Hunter didn't respond immediately. Instead, he picked up the locket, his thumb brushing over the photo inside. "You gave this to me after our first anniversary," he murmured, more to himself than her. "Said it was an admonition of our friendship."
Della's chest ached. She didn't know what to say, every word catching in her throat.
When he finally looked back at her, his expression was unreadable. "Do you still think about those days, Emily?"
Her breath hitched, and she felt the floor beneath her shift. For a moment, his gaze threatened to undo her completely.
"Of course," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hunter studied her for a beat longer, then turned away, his shoulders tense. "Strange… you don't look like someone who remembers."
The words cut deeper than Della expected. As he left the room.
The silence that followed was deafening. Della sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she clutched the fabric of her dress. She stared at the locket, now sitting innocuously on the vanity, as though it hadn't just ripped open a wound she hadn't realised was there.
She was a fraud, an imposter. And yet, as much as she hated herself for it, she couldn't deny the pang of jealousy she'd felt when he'd spoken about Emily. The real Emily.
What was she doing? Pretending to be someone she wasn't, living a lie that could destroy both of them. And yet, when Hunter looked at her the way he had tonight, when his lips had claimed hers with such fierce, she'd felt… wanted. But now, she wasn't so sure.
Her fingers brushed over her lips, the memory of their kiss still striking. Her chest tightened as conflicting emotions warred within her, guilt, longing, and an ache she couldn't quite name.
She didn't know how long she sat there, lost in her thoughts. She couldn't keep this up forever. And yet, the thought of leaving—of losing whatever fragile connection she'd built with Hunter—was almost unbearable.
The morning after the storm. Hunter approached Della while she sat by the large bay window overlooking the sea. She was lost in thought, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her teacup.
"We're hosting guests tonight," Hunter announced, breaking the quiet.
Her head snapped up, surprise flashing across her face. "Guests?"
He nodded. "A couple staying nearby. They're here on their honeymoon as well. Apparently, they've heard about us and thought it would be lovely to meet."
Della's stomach churned. The idea of playing hostess—*as Emily*—terrified her. "Do I… know them?" she asked cautiously.
"Not personally, I believe," Hunter replied, his tone almost too casual. "But they claim to have met you once in the city."
Della froze. *Met me? No, they met Emily.*
His sharp gaze sauntered on her for a beat too long, as though he were waiting for her reaction. "I've arranged dinner outside by the beach."
She forced a smile, though her pulse quickened. "That sounds... lovely."
The butler and house staff set up a dining table near the shoreline, with soft candlelight, white linens, and fresh flowers. The scent of saltwater socialize with the aroma of freshly grilled seafood.
Della spent hours agonising over her outfit, finally settling on a flowing white dress that caught the breeze just right. She had styled her hair carefully, every strand in place, trying to embody the polished elegance she imagined Emily would exude.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon. she stood by the window and watched Hunter. He was overseeing the final touches, his sleeves rolled up, his presence impossible to ignore.
She sighed. *I can do this. I have to do this.*