3

He pressed himself tightly against the wall, barely daring to breathe, his eyes fixed on Crook as he was dragged into the secret room. It wasn't until the heavy door slammed shut, muffling Crook's furious roars, that he seemed to snap out of a dream, letting out a long breath of relief.

But before that breath could fully escape, a wave of endless unease surged in his chest.

His gaze shifted to Townsend, the man who had just moments ago worn a cold, ruthless expression. Now, standing at the door of the secret room, a faint smirk of triumph played on Townsend's lips—though the smile didn't reach his eyes, sending an inexplicable chill down Paul's spine.

Paul knew deep down that he was already entangled in this terrifying conspiracy, with no way back.

"Townsend, will this really work?"

Paul swallowed hard, his voice trembling slightly as he asked cautiously.

His mind was a tangled mess, thoughts clashing chaotically. On one hand, the prospect of replacing Crook and living a life of luxury dangled before him like a tempting lure, making his heart itch with desire.

On the other hand, the brutal and illegal scene he had just witnessed filled him with dread. If this plan fell apart, what awaited him would be utter ruin.

Townsend turned to look at Paul, his gaze appraising him like a tool, making Paul squirm uncomfortably.

After a long pause, Townsend finally spoke slowly:

"What's this? Scared now? Paul, do you still think you have a way out at this point? As long as you follow my plan, nothing will go wrong." As he spoke, he took a few steps closer to Paul.

Paul instinctively stepped back, stammering, "Townsend, I… I'm just a little worried. After all, Crook isn't some nobody. What if someone figures out I'm a fake…"

Townsend let out a cold snort, cutting him off:

"That's exactly why you need to pull yourself together and completely become Crook. From now on, you're not Paul—you're Crook. Every detail has to be perfect, got it?"

Paul bit his lip and nodded firmly. He knew he had no other choice.

Then, Townsend led Paul to another room filled with all sorts of information about Crook—his habits, preferences, details of his company's operations, even recordings of his daily life.

"Remember the training we've done this past year. Be confident! In the coming days, engrave every detail of Crook into your mind, especially how he interacts with the people around him. Those women are sharp—any slip-up, and you're done."

Townsend's tone carried an undeniable severity as he tossed Crook's clothes and belongings toward Paul.

"Put them on!"

Paul sat down in a chair, forcing himself to calm down and start flipping through the materials.

But his mind refused to focus. The image of Crook being dragged away kept flashing before his eyes—that furious, desperate glare, as if a pair of eyes were watching him from the darkness, ready to expose him as a fraud at any moment.

Time slipped by in a haze of tension and unease. Paul felt like he was groping through a fog, each step forward brimming with unknown fear.

Finally, when Townsend deemed Paul sufficiently prepared, he led him toward the exit.

Pausing at the office building's entrance, Paul gazed out at the familiar yet unfamiliar streets, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

He knew that from this moment on, he would have to face the world as Crook. This was a dangerously high-stakes gamble, and he had already bet everything he had.

"Remember, you *are* Crook. Don't slip up. Contact me if anything comes up," Townsend whispered in his ear, his voice slithering like a cold snake into Paul's mind, making him shiver.

Paul nodded, steeling himself as he stepped forward and blended into the crowd.

He felt every pair of eyes on him carrying a scrutinizing weight, as if they could see through his disguise. His heart raced uncontrollably.

But he could only feign composure as he made his way toward Crook's residence—the next "battlefield" he would have to conquer.

What awaited him there, he didn't dare dwell on. He could only press forward, step by step, into this suspense-filled unknown.

Walking toward Crook's villa, each step felt like treading on cotton—unsteady and weightless.

The sunlight bathed him, yet it couldn't dispel the heavy shadow in his heart. The cheerful chatter of passersby grated on his ears, sounding jarringly out of place, as if mocking his audacious and absurd undertaking.

He glanced back nervously from time to time, always feeling like a pair of eyes was watching him from the shadows—perhaps the lingering echo of Crook's unwilling gaze, or maybe the silent judgment of justice itself. The sensation prickled at his back, cold sweat seeping through his clothes.

"Can I really pull this off?" Paul questioned himself over and over in his mind, but his feet didn't dare falter.

He knew there was no turning back now. He could only grit his teeth and keep moving forward.

To play a role that didn't belong to him—

Crook.

The very thing he had dreamed of!

He'd undergone plastic surgery, altered his vocal cords, reshaped his body—

All for this day!

---

As the villa came into view, its grandeur and luxury loomed closer. Paul's heart leapt into his throat.

The villa's surroundings were meticulously landscaped, the towering iron gate exuding an air of authority, silently proclaiming the owner's prestigious status.

Paul stopped in front of the gate, taking a deep breath to calm his racing pulse. He raised a trembling hand and pressed the doorbell.

The chime rang out, stark and abrupt in the quiet surroundings. Paul's hand shook slightly as he stared at the closed gate, feeling as though he were awaiting judgment.

Soon, footsteps approached from within, and the gate slowly opened. The housekeeper, Aunt Zhang, appeared at the entrance. Paul scrambled to recall how Crook interacted with her from the files, forcing a smile and striving to keep his voice natural:

"Aunt Zhang, I'm back."

Aunt Zhang paused, caught off guard—Crook had never spoken to her quite like this before!

But she quickly recovered, beaming as she stepped aside to let him in. "Oh, sir, you're back early today! Come on in."

Paul stepped into the courtyard, feeling like an intruder in forbidden territory. Every plant, every stone radiated an alien aura, heightening his unease.

His eyes darted around, trying to familiarize himself with this new environment, but the panic in his chest refused to subside.

As he reached the villa's main entrance, the sound of women's laughter drifted out, striking his heart like a hammer.

He knew Crook's women were inside, waiting for "him"—and this would be yet another major test.

"Sir, what are you standing there for? Go on in, Beth and the others are waiting," Aunt Zhang prompted from beside him.

Paul snapped back to reality and forced himself to step through the villa's doors.

In the living room, Beth, Ava, and Trudy were gathered around the sofa, chatting or flipping through magazines. Seeing "Crook" enter, they stood up, their faces lit with warm or playful smiles as they approached Paul.

Beth, Crook's girlfriend, sauntered forward with her usual grace, her eyes brimming with affection as she reached out to link arms with "Crook."

Paul's body stiffened instantly, and he flinched slightly—a subtle move that made Beth frown, a flicker of confusion passing through her eyes. She asked softly, "What's wrong, darling? Are you feeling unwell today?"

Paul's heart skipped a beat. "Uh, no… it's nothing. Just tired from running around all day," he hurried to explain.

He avoided meeting Beth's gaze, terrified that her tender look might pierce through his facade.

Ava, smirking, teased, "What's up with you today, Crook? You look so serious. Trouble in business or something?"

She tilted her head, her eyes probing as if trying to read something from his expression.

Paul forced a faint smile. "Nothing like that. Just worn out. What were you all talking about? You seem so cheerful."

He walked toward the sofa, feigning ease, though every step felt agonizing, like balancing on a tightrope—one misstep and he'd plummet into the abyss.

Trudy said nothing, simply standing to the side, her gaze fixed on Paul with a quiet scrutiny that made him increasingly uneasy.

He sat on the sofa, unsure where to put his hands, silently praying nothing else would go wrong.

But the more he wished for calm, the stronger his sense of foreboding grew—as if a storm was brewing beneath the villa's serene surface, ready to erupt and sweep him, the imposter, into its merciless chaos!

Paul was tense, but he couldn't let anyone see it!