Chapter 1 The Contract Bride
# Chapter 1: The Contract Bride
I stared at the signature line on the final page, my pen hovering just above it. The document was thirty-seven pages long, detailing every aspect of my new existence. Not a marriage contract—a replication contract.
"Is there a problem, Miss Chen?" Russell Blackwood's voice was smooth as polished granite.
"Just... taking it all in," I replied, forcing a smile.
His office was immaculate—all steel, glass, and white surfaces that reflected the afternoon light in sharp angles. A fortress of wealth where even dust particles seemed to need permission to exist.
"The terms are generous," he continued. "Five million dollars upon successful completion of the one-year contract. Full medical coverage. Housing in the east wing. I've even allowed for one day off per month." He spoke as if offering me paradise, not a prison.
I signed my name—Cecilia Chen—feeling like I was signing away more than just my time. The moment the pen lifted from the paper, Russell pressed a button on his desk.
"Lawrence will show you to your quarters. You'll begin transformation tomorrow."
I nodded, clutching my small suitcase closer to my body. The weight of the hidden compartment inside pressed against my palm—my sister's autopsy report safely concealed within its false bottom.
My sister. His wife. Vanessa.
Lawrence, a stoic man in his sixties with silver hair and perfect posture, led me through hallways lined with portraits of Russell's ancestors—generations of Blackwoods staring down at me with the same steel-blue eyes Russell possessed. We eventually reached the east wing, where Lawrence opened a door to reveal a suite decorated in cream and gold.
"These were Mrs. Blackwood's quarters," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
I stepped inside, noting the fresh flowers, the delicate perfume lingering in the air, the closet already filled with exact replicas of Vanessa's clothes—all in my size.
"Dinner is at seven," Lawrence said. "Mr. Blackwood expects you dressed in the outfit laid out on the bed."
After he left, I locked the door and immediately pried open the false bottom of my suitcase. The autopsy report was still there, along with the newspaper clippings about Vanessa's "accidental" death six months ago. My hands trembled as I tucked them back into their hiding place. For six months, I'd been planning this infiltration—the ultimate act of sisterly vengeance.
A knock at the door startled me.
"Miss Chen? I've brought your schedule." It was a woman's voice.
I quickly closed the suitcase and opened the door to find a petite maid holding a tablet.
"I'm Margaret, your personal assistant," she said, handing me the device. "Mr. Blackwood has programmed your daily activities. You're to review Vanessa's mannerisms before dinner."
I glanced at the tablet. Videos of Vanessa were organized by category: "Walking," "Dining," "Laughter," "Morning Routine."
"There's also this," Margaret said, pulling something from her apron pocket. It looked like a small camera. "The facial calibrator. Mr. Blackwood insists you wear it during your practice sessions."
I took the device, feeling its cold weight in my palm. "What does it do?"
"It measures your facial expressions against Mrs. Blackwood's recorded ones. If the deviation exceeds five percent..." She hesitated.
"What happens?"
"The power to your suite will be temporarily disabled. Mr. Blackwood believes in... immediate feedback."
After Margaret left, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my sister's black cocktail dress laid out before me. I slipped the facial calibrator onto my temple as instructed and began watching videos of Vanessa laughing.
My twin sister. My identical twin sister.
The calibrator beeped softly, displaying a 97% match when I mimicked her laugh. Not good enough. The lights flickered warningly.
I adjusted my smile, tilting my head at the exact angle Vanessa did. The match improved to 98%. The lights stabilized.
By six-thirty, I had perfected Vanessa's walk, her smile, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. I dressed in the black cocktail dress, applied makeup exactly as she would have, and practiced her signature greeting in the mirror.
"Darling, how was your day?" I whispered, the calibrator showing a perfect 100% match.
At precisely 6:55, I left my suite and made my way to the dining room. Russell was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of red wine in his hand. He looked up as I entered, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.
"Vanessa always entered at 7:00 precisely," he said coldly.
"I apologize," I replied, using Vanessa's soft inflection. "I wanted to be early for you."
His expression softened marginally. "Come here."
I approached him, my heart hammering against my ribs. He reached up and touched my face, his fingers cold against my skin.
"The resemblance is remarkable," he murmured. "But then, it would be. Identical twins." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Yet there's something... different."
I forced myself to remain still under his inspection, though every cell in my body screamed to pull away.
"Sit," he commanded finally.
Dinner was a silent affair until dessert arrived—a delicate lemon soufflé.
"Vanessa's favorite," Russell said, watching me intently. "Tell me, how do you feel, wearing her clothes? Sleeping in her bed? Becoming her?"
I took a small bite of the soufflé, mimicking the precise way Vanessa would savor it. "I feel honored to preserve her memory for you."
"Is that what you think this is? Preservation?" His laugh was sharp. "No, Cecilia. This is resurrection."
After dinner, Russell led me to a room I hadn't seen before—a small theater with a single chair facing a large screen.
"Tonight's lesson," he said, inserting a memory card into a console. "Vanessa's evening routine."
The screen flickered to life, showing my sister in her bathroom, removing her makeup, brushing her teeth, applying night cream. Intimate moments never meant for anyone else's eyes.
"How did you get these?" I asked, momentarily breaking character.
Russell's smile was knife-like. "I had cameras installed everywhere. Vanessa never knew, of course. I wanted to capture every detail of her. And now, you'll learn them all."
As the video continued, showing Vanessa changing into her nightgown, I felt sick. Not just from the invasion of privacy, but from the realization of how deep Russell's obsession ran.
"I'll expect you to replicate this routine exactly," he said, his voice low and intense. "The calibrator will monitor you. If you fail..." He pressed a remote, and the lights in the theater went completely dark. "Punishment."
When the video ended and the lights returned, Russell walked me back to my suite. At the door, he leaned in close.
"One last thing," he whispered, his lips almost touching my ear. "I know why you're really here, Cecilia. And it won't work."
He walked away before I could respond, leaving me frozen at my doorway.
Inside my room, I finally let myself tremble. I removed the facial calibrator and sank onto the bed, trying to steady my breathing. On the nightstand was a framed photo of Vanessa and Russell on their wedding day. I turned it face down.
From the hidden compartment in my suitcase, I retrieved the autopsy report again. The cause of death was listed as accidental drowning, but the bruising patterns told a different story—one I intended to prove.
"I'm here, Vanessa," I whispered to the empty room. "I'll make him pay for what he did to you."
As I prepared for bed, following Vanessa's routine with meticulous precision, I felt the weight of the contract I'd signed. One year to become my dead sister. One year to gather evidence. One year to avenge her.
The facial calibrator on my nightstand blinked with a green light, monitoring even my sleeping expressions. I closed my eyes, forcing my face to relax in exactly the way Vanessa's would have.
The game had begun.
