My wife was raped and murdered. To avenge her, I drove a knife into her killer's stomach seven times. The sentence: ten years.

Three years later, I walked out early on good behavior. My father—the richest man in Havenport—slid an inheritance contract across the table. I tore it in half and chose to work as a private chef instead.

The first job I picked up sent me to an address that stopped me cold.

It was the crime scene where my wife had been killed. Our home. Our marital home.

I cooked in a daze, my hands moving on autopilot while my mind spiraled. Then I heard keys rattling in the front door lock.

I looked up.

A woman walked in—smiling, laughing—and she looked exactly like my wife.

...

I couldn't move. My heart hammered so hard it felt like it would tear through my throat.

She was holding a man's hand, beaming with happiness as they strolled toward the dining table in the kitchen.

I knew that man.

Cyril Jennings. The defense attorney who'd represented me in the rape-and-murder case.

Cyril caught her arm before she could sit down, grinning as he pulled a ring from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide.

Their friends crowded around, whistling and cheering. Panic surged through me. I shot to my feet.

"You can't marry him!"

She turned. The look she gave me was blank—confused, distant, like I was a stranger.

Cyril's expression shifted the moment he recognized me. His face went dark. "Francis Gilbert? What the hell are you doing here?!"

His gaze dropped to the grease-stained chef's uniform clinging to my body, and the corner of his mouth curled upward.

"Well, well. Looks like the great Mr. Gilbert is out of prison—and he's our cook for the evening."

Snickers rippled through the room.

"Wait—he's the guy whose wife got raped? The one who killed the attacker?"

"This is priceless. He used to be a big shot—you couldn't walk down the street without people stopping to shake his hand. Now he's serving us dinner!"

Cyril took her right hand in his and dropped to one knee, smiling up at her.

"Relax, Mr. Gilbert. Kathleen Fox isn't your dead wife. She's the woman who's about to become my wife."

Kathleen Fox stood there, eyes bright with laughter, pressing one hand playfully over Cyril's mouth while extending the other toward him.

"You don't need to say another word. Yes. I do."

My wife loved me more than life itself.

If she were still alive, she would never—never—accept another man's proposal.

But this woman looked like her. Sounded like her...

I was drowning in it, torn apart, when my gaze drifted up without thinking.

Kathleen had pushed her sleeve back, and there, on the exposed stretch of her forearm—a small, heart-shaped birthmark.

My heart seized.

That birthmark was unique to my wife. One of a kind. No one else in the world had it.

I lunged forward, grabbed Kathleen's hand, and pointed at the mark on her arm.

"This birthmark—have you had it since birth?"

Cyril seized the front of my shirt and wrenched me backward, slamming me onto the couch.

He jabbed a finger at my face. "Francis, you've cooked the food. Now get out."

"I'm proposing to my girlfriend. Interfere again and see what happens."

I got back up and gripped Kathleen's arm, holding on tight.

"Kathy—did you lose your memory? How can you not remember me?"

"Let me take you to the hospital. Please..."

Kathleen wrenched free, her face cold as stone.

My wife was an only child.

I refused to believe two people in this world could look that identical.

I tried to convince Kathleen to come to the hospital for a DNA test.

Cyril stepped in front of me, raised his hand, and cracked his palm across my face. He pressed his finger against the tip of my nose.

"Francis Gilbert, you grease-stained cook—open your eyes and look around. This is my house now. Not yours. Not anymore."

This house had been our home—mine and my wife's.

After she died, I couldn't bear to stay. I hired an agent to sell it so I wouldn't have to live surrounded by her ghost.

I never imagined the buyer would turn out to be Cyril Jennings—a student I'd once pulled out of poverty and put through school.

And I never imagined that a woman who could be my wife's mirror image would appear in the home we'd once shared.

I stood in the center of the living room, pressing a hand to my stinging face as I looked around.

Every trace of the life I'd shared with my wife had been stripped away. The furniture, the layout—all of it was different.

Even the preserved flower arrangement on the wall cabinet—the symbol of our love—had been torn down and replaced with something draped in red cloth.

My mind went blank.

Kathleen... might really not be my wife.

Because my wife had made me a promise: only the day the preserved flowers wilted would be the day she stopped loving me.

But preserved flowers never wilt. And my wife would never stop loving me.

I turned away, hollow inside. Amid the cheering crowd, Cyril slid a ring onto Kathleen's finger and kissed her.

A bitter ache flooded my chest. Heat crawled up my spine.

Before I could make myself leave, I stole one last glance over my shoulder.

Kathleen was at the dining table, and the small gesture she made sent a violent tremor through my eyes.

I was certain—Kathleen was my wife.

I rushed over, seized the wedding band on her ring finger, and wrenched it off. The ring hit the floor with a sharp crack.

I clasped both her hands in mine and looked her dead in the eyes.

"Kathy, listen to me. You really are my wife."

"When I used to make this dish for you, I'd always slip in tiny pieces of minced ginger—so small nobody else would ever notice, let alone pick them out. Only my wife would know that detail. Everything about what you just did proves you're her."

Kathleen tried to pull her hands free. I held on for dear life.

She struggled once, twice—couldn't break loose.

Flushed with humiliation and fury, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face.

"Get out!"

I didn't get angry. I smiled.

There was nothing in this world more miraculous than the person you loved—the person you'd lost—coming back to life.

I grabbed Kathleen's arm and started for the door. Cyril charged over and yanked her back.

He scooped the ring off the floor and shoved it in my face.

"Francis, I already told you—Kathleen is not your dead wife. She's my fiancée."

"She wears my ring because she's mine. What gave you the right to knock it off her finger?"

"How much do you want?" I said.

Cyril jabbed a finger into my chest.

"This ring cost three hundred grand. Limited edition—only one in the entire country."

"Took me the better part of a year to secure it. You owe me at least a million."

I stood my ground, took Kathleen's hand, and walked toward the door.

"Money's not a problem. I just don't have that much on me right now. The moment I get back, I'll wire it to you."

"A million? I could pay you ten million and not blink."

"Now step aside. I'm taking my wife home."

Cyril lifted his foot and kicked me square in the chest.

"Francis, do you actually think I'm stupid?"

"Three years ago, when you were still running your business, you didn't even have ten million in cash. You think a stint in prison changed that?"

The kick sent me crashing into the wall. Above my head, the red-draped object on the cabinet swayed, threatening to fall.

Several hulking men with full-shoulder dragon tattoos rose from the couch, cracking their knuckles as they closed in around me.

I hauled myself up and spoke plainly.

"Cyril, I'm telling the truth. I'm the son of Sean Gilbert—the richest man in Havenport."

"Let me take Kathleen for a verification test first. The second it's done, I'll put ten million in your hands."

I wasn't lying to them.

Havenport's wealthiest man really was my father.

It was a secret known only to those in the highest circles of society.

My relationship with my father had been strained for as long as I could remember. Every plan he laid out for my life, I despised. When I couldn't take it anymore, I ran away from home as a teenager.

While I was in prison, he'd offered me a deal—my ten-year sentence reduced to three, in exchange for coming home and taking over the family business.

But after I got out, I never honored that promise. So he froze every bank account I had.

I grabbed Kathleen's arm and turned to leave, but Cyril's fist connected with my face before I could take a single step.

"Do you have any idea who Old Mr. Gilbert is in Seaview City?" he snarled. "When that man tells you to shut up, you don't even breathe loud. You think his son would be some pathetic loser like you?" He jabbed a finger at me. "A nobody cook trying to bluff me? Beat his ass!"

They lifted their boots and drove them into my skull, one kick after another.

Kathleen was caught in the crossfire. I threw myself over her, shielding her body with mine, taking every blow across my back.

"Francis!" Cyril roared. "My wife doesn't need your protection!"

He bent down and snatched up an iron rod, swinging it high overhead—straight at my head.

I hunched forward, bracing for the impact, but Kathleen shoved me aside.

The rod cracked against her shin. A bruise bloomed instantly, angry and swollen.

"Kathy!"

Something inside me snapped.

I balled my fists and threw them into Cyril's face—once, twice, again and again—hammering his nose until I felt cartilage shift. The thugs stumbled back, wariness flickering in their eyes.

I had Cyril pinned beneath me. Blood streamed from his nostrils as he thrashed, unable to break free, fury and panic twisting his expression.

"Honey!"

Kathleen's scream cut through the chaos. I turned on instinct.

A wooden bat filled my vision—

CRACK.

Agony exploded across the top of my skull. Hot blood slid down my forehead, my temples, pooling in my eyes. Stars burst white and jagged.

I staggered sideways and collapsed against the cabinet. Through the haze, I saw Kathleen cradling Cyril's face in her hands, her eyes soft with worry.

Grief and rage ripped through me in equal measure.

She hadn't been calling for me.

Something toppled from the top of the cabinet and landed at my feet with a sharp clap. A red cloth unfurled across the floor, revealing what it had been hiding.

A photograph.

Kathleen stood in a pool of blood, smiling. Beside her, Cyril pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

The date stamped in the lower right corner of the frame was the exact day my wife had supposedly been raped and killed.

The caption read: A Happy Moment.

My heart seized. Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

Cyril crouched down, his face split in a mocking grin, and patted my cheek—once, twice, slow and deliberate.

"Well, well. Looks like you've stumbled onto the truth."

Kathleen leaned her head against Cyril's shoulder and smiled at me—at the hollowed-out shell of me—like I was the funniest thing she'd ever seen.

"Francis, three years later and you're still this stupid."

My voice came out broken. "Kathy... you never lost your memory..."

Laughter erupted around me. They pointed at the devastation on my face and howled.

"Look at him—like a beaten dog!"

"He actually believed it! Didn't even know he'd been played!"

Kathleen tilted her head toward Cyril's ear, her breath warm against his skin.

"Honey, what if he finds out I faked my death? He did stab a man to death. What if he stabs me too?"

Cyril's arm slid around her waist, pulling her close.

"Then we make sure he goes back to prison for a few more years. Or better yet—" His lips curled. "He dies."

He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Carina. The man who killed your father is at my place. If you want revenge, come get it."

I dragged myself up and threw my arms around Kathleen's legs.

"Kathy—what are you talking about? What is this?"

She lifted her foot. The stiletto of her heel dug into my cheek.

"Francis, you stabbed her father to death. We're just inviting her to settle the score."

My lips trembled. "Kathy, you were raped—everything I did was to avenge you!"

She doubled over laughing. Cyril watched me with the lazy amusement of a cat toying with something half-dead.

"But she was never raped, Francis. The only truth in any of it is that you lost your mind and killed a man."

A tremor started in my legs and climbed through my entire body.

"How could you frame me like this? I killed the breadwinner of an entire family!"

Cyril grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. "Oh, it gets better. You also ruined a girl who'd been accepted to a top university. She had to drop out because of you."

A roar tore from my throat. "Cyril! I'm the one who sponsored you out of that mountain village! I'm the one who got you into a top law firm! And this is how you repay me?"