“Those can look similar.”
His smile returned, but thinner now.
A servant approached with fresh coffee. Jason waited until we were alone again before speaking.
“Claire, I’m going to be direct.”
“How refreshing.”
“Ethan may never recover.”
I set my cup down carefully.
Jason continued, “My grandmother will keep him breathing forever if machines allow it. She loved my uncle. Ethan is all she has left of him. But sentiment cannot run a corporation of seventy thousand employees.”
“And you can?”
“I already do more than most people know.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
His gaze narrowed slightly. “You’re his wife now. That gives you influence, whether you wanted it or not. Eventually, Vivian will ask you to sign things. Consent forms. Trust documents. Voting proxies. Medical authorizations.”
My pulse beat faster.
“And you’re asking me not to?”
“I’m asking you to read before you sign.”
That almost sounded reasonable.
Too reasonable.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Vivian chose you for a reason.”
I stilled. “My father told me the marriage was about the trust requirement.”
“Yes. That too.”
“What other reason?”
Jason picked up his napkin and folded it with unnecessary care.
“You look like someone Ethan once loved.”
The terrace seemed to tilt.
“What?”
Jason’s eyes stayed on mine.
“A woman named Claire Bennett.”
My mouth went dry. “That’s my name.”
“I know.”
The breeze moved the white curtains beside us.
For a second, all I heard was the river below.
Jason leaned forward slightly. “You thought this was coincidence?”
I stood too quickly, my chair scraping against the stone.
Jason rose as well. “Claire—”
“No.”
I walked away before he could say another word.
Inside the mansion, the halls seemed different. Yesterday they had been intimidating because they were grand. Now they felt constructed, every portrait and polished table hiding lines of sight, every door potentially listening.
I found Vivian in the library speaking with Dr. Moreau.
Both turned when I entered.
“Did Jason upset you?” Vivian asked.
“Did you choose me because of my name?”
Dr. Moreau excused himself quietly.
Vivian did not pretend confusion. “Partly.”
The bluntness hit harder than denial would have.
“Partly?”
“Your father’s debt made the arrangement possible. Your age and background made it legally clean. Your name made it… interesting.”
“Interesting?” My voice rose. “I am a person, remember?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop discussing me like a chess piece.”
Vivian’s jaw tightened. “Lower your voice.”
“No. I have spent twenty-four hours being moved from chapel to bedroom to breakfast like furniture with a pulse. I want answers. Who was the other Claire Bennett?”
Vivian looked toward the fireplace.
For a moment, I saw her age.
Not in her skin or posture, but in the weight behind her eyes.
“She was you,” Vivian said.
I stared at her.
“That isn’t funny.”
“It isn’t meant to be.”
“What does that mean?”
Vivian walked to the desk and unlocked a drawer. From it, she removed a thin folder and handed it to me.
Inside was a photograph.
I saw myself.
Not exactly. The woman in the picture was older than me by a few years. Her hair was shorter. Her face was narrower. But the resemblance was close enough that my breath caught.
The back of the photograph read: Claire Bennett — Research Division, 2018.
I looked up slowly.
“Who is she?”
“Ethan’s former fiancée.”
The words entered me one at a time.
Former.
Fiancée.