CHAPTER TEN

Penelope's POV

I moved quickly, weaving through the morning crowd as I headed back to California Dream Hotel. My heart pounded, not from exertion but from the pressure of everything pressing down on me. Every step I took felt like I was running on the edge of a sharp object, shaky between survival and disaster.

I needed clothes—Madison's clothes. If I was going to keep up this act, I couldn't afford to be sloppy.

As I entered the lobby, I plastered on a weary smile and approached the front desk. The receptionist, the same lady I had met that night with sharp eyes and neatly pinned blonde hair, barely looked up from her screen.

"I lost my key last night," I said smoothly, forcing calm into my voice. "Can I get a replacement?"

The woman glanced up, her brows knitting together in concern. "You're Madison Laurent, correct?"

I nodded, shifting my weight slightly, hoping she wouldn't pry. I believe she didn't recognize me again from the previous night, right?

Her fingers tapped against the keyboard before she reached for a spare keycard. But just as she was about to hand it over, she hesitated.

"Are you alright, Mrs Laurent?"

I stiffened. "Of course. Why?"

She gave me a curious look. "Your identical sister came looking for you the other night," she said slowly. "She was in a panic. Not long after, she was wheeled out by the paramedics. I—" she hesitated, her voice dropping. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

A chill crawled down my spine, but I forced a grateful smile. "That's kind of you, but I'm fine. My sister just… had a bit too much to drink."

The receptionist studied me for a moment longer before finally nodding and handing me the key. "Alright. Take care, Mrs Laurent."

I swallowed hard and turned, slipping away before she could notice my shaking hands.

---

When I stepped into Madison's hotel room, I immediately noticed something was off.

The room was too clean.

The knife I had left clumsily on the floor? Gone. The trail of blood on the rug from Madison's mouth? Wiped clean. The sheets on the bed had been changed, and even the lingering scent of iron had been erased.

It was as though nothing had happened here.

I exhaled sharply. Who the hell had cleaned up? And more importantly—why?

Shoving the unease aside, I hurried to Madison's suitcase, flipping it open. I dug through her designer dresses until I found something that fit the occasion—a silky, armless pink dress with a high slit that hugged my curves perfectly.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

It was uncanny how well Madison and I matched in size and shape. After losing weight during my pregnancy, I had manage to adapt Madison's feature in her weight and size. I could slip into her life as if I had always belonged there.

But the thought made my stomach twist.

I grabbed the suitcase, dragging it behind me as I checked out. I had barely stepped out into the car park when a dark-colored Lamborghini sportscar came into view.

My breath hitched.

Julien.

The sleek car was parked at an angle, its engine humming low like a predator waiting to pounce. The tinted window rolled down, and then—he stepped out.

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.

Julien Laurent had always been attractive in a dangerous, unattainable way, but seeing him in broad daylight, casually leaning against the car, was an entirely different thing.

He wore a fitted black T-shirt that stretched over his toned torso, paired with tailored dark jeans that hugged his frame just right. A silver necklace glinted around his neck, the only accessory breaking the monochrome look. His dark brown hair was tousled, just messy enough to look effortlessly sexy, and his piercing eyes locked onto me, a slow smirk playing at his lips.

I was mesmerized, and he knew it.

His gaze travelled down my body, taking in the dress. His smirk widened. "Is it just me, or does this dress fit you better than when I first got it for you?"

I swallowed hard. He had gotten it for her.

"This is not good, love," he teased, stepping closer. "You'd distract me."

I ignored the way my pulse quickened, forcing myself to focus. But instead of brushing past him like I intended, my body acted on its own.

I leaned in and wrapped my arms around him.

Julien stiffened, caught off guard. I wasn't sure why I did it—maybe it was the exhaustion, the weight of playing this role, or maybe, deep down, I needed something to anchor me.

"You look so stunning," I murmured before I could stop myself.

I felt him exhale against my hair. And just when I was ready to pull away, he didn't let me go.

His hands slid down to my waist, his grip firm yet teasing. Then, lower. He cupped my ass, his fingers pressing into my skin through the silky fabric.

My breath hitched.

Julien bit his lip, his smirk deepening. "Well," he murmured, voice low, "I need to try my possible best when my wife dresses absolutely beautiful, uh?"

Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing mine.

A soft, fleeting kiss.

I barely had time to process it before he pulled back, eyes glinting with mischief.

"I missed you so much," he murmured. Then, after a pause, he completed the sentence with a wicked smirk—

"In my bed."

My stomach flipped.

He winked and turned, opening the passenger door for me.

I hesitated.

This was a game I wasn't ready to play. A game I didn't even fully understand.

Yet here I was, diving headfirst into it.

I gripped the suitcase tighter and slid into the car.

As the door shut beside me, a single thought echoed in my mind.

What dangerous game am I playing?