Chapter Three

Flashes of that night flicker behind my eyelids, vivid and sharp, like shards of glass cutting into my mind.

The memory is seared into me, as clear as if it happened only moments ago. It was a night much like this one, filled with a toxic mix of longing and despair. My husband's coldness had reached its zenith, and the distance between us had become an abyss.

I never meant for it to go that far. It was an accident, but the outcome was the same. The life drained from his eyes, and in that split second, I knew I had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. I was left alone with a corpse—and an overwhelming, shameful sense of relief. Then the guilt hit me like a freight train moments later, crushing me under its weight.

I am not a cheater, but I am a killer.

Now, as I sit across from this imposter who mirrors my husband's face and form, the irony is almost too much to bear. He is so different, yet so eerily similar. His tenderness is a cruel reminder of what I lost long ago, of what I can never have again.

"Juliana," he says softly, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. His eyes, full of earnestness, search mine, and it makes my heart ache in ways I didn't think were still possible.

'Why are you here? ' I ask, my voice barely steady. 'What do you want from me? ' There are so many questions I need answers to, but to dare ask them would mean exposing my own dark secrets.

Instead, what escapes my lips is, "I'm tired. I'll be retiring for the night." I stand and head toward the stairs, my steps heavy with the burden of my past.

As I ascend, I hear his quiet footsteps trailing behind. "Juliana," he calls again, his voice a gentle plea. I pause, my hand gripping the banister, but I do not turn around.

"What do you want from me?" I repeat, the question hanging in the air like a noose tightening around my neck.

"To give you the love you deserve," he replies, his voice unwavering. "To show you that you are worth it."

Tears sting my eyes as I continue up the stairs, my heart a storm of fear, guilt, and a flicker of something I dare not name—hope. Reaching the top, I prepare to turn and face him one last time.

But at the last moment, I falter.

An impulse surges through me, and I find myself turning right into his arms. He catches me, holding me close, and for a brief, reckless moment, I let him. Our lips meet in a kiss that is desperate, almost frantic, as if trying to bridge the chasm of years and sins between us.

"Juliana," he calls again.

Then reality snaps back with brutal clarity.

Concern etched into his features, pulling me back to the present. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, with my hand wearing a breathtaking ring which possesses a weight I can't ignore.

"Goodnight," I say softly, more to myself than to him, before walking on and slipping into my room. Closing the door behind me to lean against it, my breath shaky and uneven. The ring catching the light. 

"Giovanni," I call out, my voice quivering with a mix of desperation and despair. 

"Giovanni," I repeat, louder this time, as if saying his name might summon him back to me, as if it might undo everything. Because I love him, I want him—I want, more desperately than anything, for him to want me, to love me in return.

But it's just a longing, a futile hope.

An impossible dream.

Because I killed him, in cold blood.

Settled in the silence of my room, I find a twisted comfort in my solitude, even as the weight of my crime presses down on me in the form of a dazzling, wedding ring. My punishment, however, waits just outside, calling my name—a man, a stranger who claims to be my dead husband.