Chapter 3

At two in the morning, I crept silently down the stairs and peeked into my old bedroom.

Ian was lying on his side on my mattress, with Nina curled tightly against his chest, her back toward the doorway.

I watched the quiet intimacy for a few moments, then quietly backed toward the shadow of the staircase.

A firm hand caught my wrist, pulling me into an alcove. Luke pressed his body against mine, his mouth capturing mine in a fierce, breathless tangle.

He seemed to be in an exceptionally dark mood tonight, driving into me with raw, possessive intensity.

The next morning, the rehabilitation specialist arrived right on schedule.

Over the past few days, whenever the doctor visited, both brothers made sure to stand side by side so I could practice telling them apart.

After reviewing the week's exercises, the specialist asked both brothers to stand in front of me.

"We will continue with in-person face identification today."

My mother sat on the sofa nearby, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her skirt.

My eyes landed instantly on Ian. He stood directly to Luke's left.

I had always seen their features clearly. What had changed was that I could now recognize which face belonged to whom.

"Which one is Ian?" the doctor prompted gently.

I deliberately stared back and forth between them for a prolonged moment before slowly raising my hand and pointing directly at Luke.

"This one?"

The doctor jotted something down in his clinical chart.

"Her facial recognition remains unstable. We'll need to continue consolidation therapy."

My mother's tense shoulders visibly dropped in relief.

Ian let out a light laugh, stepped over, and affectionately pinched my cheek.

"How do you still get it wrong?"

In the past, every time I guessed incorrectly, he would pout with genuine frustration, pressing my palms against his jaw to force me to memorize his bone structure.

Now, when I called another man by his name, he looked genuinely thrilled.

After the doctor left, my mother strolled over, trying to sound nonchalant.

"You still can't tell them apart in photographs either?"

"No."

"Take your time, darling. Neurological recovery can't be rushed."

My mind drifted back to the year I was first diagnosed.

My mother had lost sleep for months, frantically begging every clinic in the region for answers.

"Whatever it costs, we'll find someone who can help her recognize people."

Now that I was making progress, she seemed relieved each time I pretended to make a mistake.

That afternoon, she knocked on my third-floor door.

"Where did you put that white designer dress? The one Ian bought you for your birthday last year?"

"Nina is going out on a date with her boyfriend tonight. She's lost so much weight lately that none of her own clothes fit properly."

"She wants my dress? Tonight is the third anniversary of my engagement to Ian."

My mother didn't seem to find anything wrong with her request.

"Nina doesn't have much time left. Let the poor girl dress up nicely for a romantic evening."

"You have a whole closet full of clothes. Just wear something else; it's not a big deal."

I quietly pulled the pristine white dress from the wardrobe and handed it to her.

"I knew you were a good girl."

That evening, Ian made a rare effort to personally accompany me to the movie theater.

Halfway through the film, his phone screen lit up in the dark.

"Urgent client call. I need to step outside to take this."

Fifteen minutes later, the seat beside me dipped as a man sat back down.

Identical black coat, identical signature cologne, and the exact same luxury watch fastened around his wrist.

He naturally reached over and took my hand. I laced my fingers through his without hesitation.

I turned my head. It was Luke.

So a date could be split down the middle and handed off to a surrogate.

As long as I remained blind to his face, in their eyes, no crime had been committed.

When the movie ended, a new video popped up from Nina on Snapchat.

[Checked another item off my bucket list today!]

Below the caption was a video clip.

She was wearing my white dress, standing on a penthouse terrace blanketed in fresh white roses.

A man held a velvet box, down on one knee before her.

I tapped to play the video. I saw Ian gazing up at her with undisguised adoration.

I watched him smile tenderly, then slide a glittering diamond ring onto her left ring finger.

The clip ended with Nina throwing her arms around his neck, sobbing tears of pure joy.

I glanced sideways at Luke, who was still holding my hand, and marvelled at Ian's incredible time management.

One Ian was sitting beside me at the movies, while the other Ian was staging a lavish proposal for his dying sweetheart.

Nobody was left out.

When we returned to the villa, I simply continued packing my belongings in silence.

They truly believed that as long as I couldn't identify the man standing in front of me, this sick little theater could play out indefinitely.

What they didn't know was this:

I had seen through Ian a long time ago. And I had seen through every single one of them.