My husband wouldn't touch me. Three years, and he was saving himself for his old flame.

Every night, he'd slip a blindfold over my eyes.

Then he'd say he needed a shower first—just give him a minute to get ready.

The man who came back was never him. It was a midnight stand-in, someone Curt had hired just for me.

I pretended not to know. But this time, I caught the man's wrist before he could reach for protection.

“Leave it.”

I pressed myself against him and kissed his lips.

“Let's have a baby instead, husband.”

His breathing turned heavy, and he gave in fast.

Later, I gave birth to twins. Curt Dudley's eyes were bloodshot when he confronted me.

“I've never once touched you. Who the did you have these kids with?”

……

For three straight years, Curt had sent another man into my bed to play him—the same stand-in, the same lie, every single night. He'd even had the man slip sleeping pills into my orange juice.

“If she keeps clinging to you, just throw her a few kisses, play along for a bit, and keep pouring until she's out cold.”

“Once she's dead to the world,”

“she won't know the difference.”

Everyone thought I was asleep.

Curt thought so too.

That's the only reason he dared say it out loud, right there in the living room—not knowing I was lying in the dark with my eyes wide open, hearing every word pass between them.

All this time, I'd believed my bond with Curt was growing deeper by the day.

Turns out, none of it was real.

Even when I couldn't see.

Curt had been playing me like this the whole time.

Every night, once the air between us turned close and heavy, Curt would be the one to reach for the lamp. Then he'd ease the blindfold over my eyes himself, careful as a lover.

At first, I was confused. “Curt, why do you make me wear this every night?”

Every time, he'd cup my face, stroke my cheek like I was something precious, and give me the same answer.

“Because you have no idea how stunning you look like this.”

The bedroom would fill with the low sweetness of burning incense.

His lips trailing over me, inch by inch.

Then, just as my skin flushed warm,

Curt would pull away. Said he needed a shower first, needed to get ready.

And every single time, I'd drift off before he came back.

By the time I woke up,

the only way I knew what had happened the night before was because Curt told me.

Last week, he said I'd been like a kitten, sweet and clingy.

The day before yesterday, he said I'd drifted off almost right away, but held onto his waist and wouldn't let go.

Yesterday, he said I was getting more alluring every day, that my waist had gotten even slimmer.

I believed every word without question.

Then yesterday, I got a phone call from five years in the future.

The girl on the other end was screaming, sobbing, telling me:

“Georgia Pruitt, don't believe him!”

“Curt has been lying to you about everything.”

“From your wedding night, he never once touched you.”

“That night he went to his old flame, Lila Mercer. They spent the night together in a hotel, the real bride and groom.”

“And you? The stand-in drugged your juice and you slept the whole night in his arms……”

“Every single night for the past three years, the man next to you in bed was never Curt!”

“It was a midnight stand-in he hired!”

Listening to the girl on the other end, all I felt was that it was absurd. Insane.

“Did someone put you up to this? Is this some kind of prank?”

When she heard I didn't believe her, the girl got desperate.

“Georgia, I am you!”

“Can't you hear it? My voice is exactly the same as yours.”

“Your parents split up when you were little. You grew up like an orphan—and that's why you've spent your whole adult life desperate for a family of your own.”

“But Curt Dudley has been lying to you.”

“If you don't believe me, try something tonight. Don't drink the orange juice he gives you, and see what happens……”

So tonight, when the orange juice came—

I didn't drink it.

Pretended to. Tipped the glass, let it touch my lips.

The second Curt left the room, I ran to the bathroom and spat every drop out.

He thought I was dead asleep, same as always.

He had no idea I heard every word.

“You haven't done anything out of line these past few days, have you?”

Curt pointed at the security camera in the living room,

a mocking smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“Whatever you've done, I already know.”

“I'm warning you—you're here as my stand-in. While I'm busy with Lila, you keep Georgia from catching on.”

“If she notices anything off, I'm coming for you first.”

Cigarette smoke drifted through the room.

I could picture it—Curt on the living room couch, cigarette pinched between his fingers, exhaling smoke like he had all the time in the world.

Rage climbed up from somewhere deep inside me.

Every night, I thought it was Curt lying next to me.

And all along, for Lila—he'd sent a stranger to spend the night in my bed. Three years. Three whole years.

After a long silence, the stand-in spoke again, hesitant.

“Mr. Dudley, Miss Pruitt still hasn't realized I'm a stand-in. Do we really keep going?”

Richard Gilbert lowered his eyes.

“I'm afraid if this goes on much longer, things will spiral out of control……”

Curt just laughed softly and clapped him on the shoulder. “Relax. You're the one person I trust.”

“When I first had you step in after the wedding, it was because I couldn't stand leaving Lila alone.”

“Georgia had no clue. The entire honeymoon, it was you beside her the whole time.”

“Three years and she still can't tell the difference.”

“With a brain that dense, she'll probably go her whole life without figuring it out.”

Something dimmed in Richard's eyes. He opened his mouth, then stopped.

“But things have been different lately.”

“Miss Pruitt, she……”

Before he could finish, a flush crept up behind his ears.

I knew exactly what he was trying to say.

These past few months, I'd been clinging to him harder at night.

Kisses and holding weren't enough anymore.

I'd been wanting more.

He was barely holding it together.

Curt looked Richard up and down, amused. “I know what you're worried about. Don't be.”

He clapped the man on the shoulder again, casual and easy, like none of it mattered.

“You can't even function in that department. It's not like I don't know.”

“Even if I put a real beauty in front of you, you wouldn't flinch. Let alone someone as plain as Georgia……”

Richard said nothing. His throat moved once, barely.

He was thinking about last night.

Georgia in a lace nightgown, every line of her slender figure traced by the fabric.

Just thinking about it made his eyes burn.

That was……plain?

“Mr. Dudley, she's still your wife. It's not really fair to her. Maybe tonight, you could stay……”

Richard hesitated, wanting to say more.

Curt cut him off, impatient.

“I don't have time. Lila's pregnant. I promised her I'd take her to her prenatal checkup tonight……”

His phone rang. He took the call, and within minutes he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

“Richard. Play your part—be a good stand-in.”

“Remember, no matter how much I despise Georgia Pruitt, she's still the wife I married and brought home.”

“You can look. You don't touch.”

Richard nodded, obedient and quiet. “Okay.”

The living room door slammed shut.

A few seconds of hesitation.

Then the bedroom door handle turned, and the door swung open.

I squeezed my eyes shut, kept my breathing slow and even, pretending I was still deep in the sleep the sedative was supposed to have given me.

His footsteps were soft, as if he didn't want to wake me.

Richard walked to the edge of the bed and stood there for a while.

I could feel his gaze on me, heavy with something complicated.

“Georgie?” he called, barely above a whisper.

I didn't move.

He was silent for a few more seconds, then reached out and gently lifted the sleep mask from my eyes.

The room was dim. Only the small amber nightlight was on.

I didn't dare open my eyes. All I could do was track his movements by feel.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed and watched me for a long time without speaking.

Then he raised his hand and touched my face.

A shudder ran through my whole body.

The next second, his hand drifted slowly downward, fingers trailing along my neck……

Every muscle in me went taut.

Curt had warned him. This was only a performance. He wasn't allowed to touch me. Had he gone rogue?

Did Richard actually feel something for me……

While my mind was still racing,

I heard a faint sigh from just above me.

“Georgie, if only I were the one who'd married you.”

“If only……”

“I were Curt Dudley.”

Richard leaned down and pressed a light kiss to my forehead.

Then he stood and went into the bathroom.

The water turned on.

Unlike Curt, Richard showered fast. He was out in under ten minutes.

He climbed into bed so carefully, as if afraid of disturbing something fragile.

He lifted one corner of the blanket and slid in beside me.

Same as every other night, his hand slid to my waist and loosely held on.

Restrained. Distant.

Deliberately polite.

Like completing a task.

I laughed to myself, cold and silent.

Three years. Every single night, the same thing.

If I was “asleep,” he'd just hold me like this, proper and still, until morning.

If I wasn't “asleep,” he'd follow Curt's instructions: “kiss her a couple of times, make it look intimate.”

But he never crossed the line.

Because Curt wouldn't allow it.

And because Richard “couldn't.”

I didn't know how long I lay there, until the breathing beside me turned deep and steady.

Only then did I open my eyes in the dark.

In the spill of moonlight, I could see the face of the man beside me. He really did look like Curt.

A single thought.

It rose slowly inside me.

The next morning, by the time I got up, Richard was already gone.

Breakfast sat ready on the table, along with a handwritten note.

“Had to go in for overtime. Don't forget to eat. Love you.”

My gaze dropped to the signature at the bottom.

I smiled, slow and knowing.

The handwriting was trying its hardest to imitate Curt's.

But everyone has their own habits when they write.

Pay even a little attention, and the tells are obvious.

I finished breakfast and stared out the window at the empty garage for a long time, thinking.

If I'd heard correctly last night,

one very familiar name had come up.

Lila Mercer.

Curt's ex-girlfriend from eight years ago. The old flame everyone thought had burned out for good.

She'd come back to the country.

And she and Curt had been rekindling it in secret—for three full years.