Mirabella blinked awake, her head feeling lighter, the haze in her mind slowly lifting. She sat up cautiously, rubbing her eyes as she reached out for her glasses on the bedside table. Just as her fingers grazed the cool surface, a gentle but firm grip caught her wrist. Startled, she looked up to see a large, soft hand—warm and surprisingly delicate—holding her steady. Before she could react further, the stranger gently placed something cool and smooth into her palm. It was her eyeglasses. Without hesitation, she quickly slipped them on, and instantly, the world around her snapped into breathtaking clarity. The blurry shapes and muted colors sharpened into crisp details; she could see everything—every wrinkle on the hospital sheets, the faint pattern on the curtain—everything except the strange, lingering sense of confusion inside her. Her eyes widened in astonishment. "Wow," she whispered, voice trembling with surprise. "I can see clearly… Like, really clearly. My old glasses were nearly expired—I didn't realize how foggy everything was." Her gaze darted around the room, trying to piece together her surroundings, when suddenly, her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. From just beside her bed, a tall, strikingly handsome man materialized, as if by magic, as if summoned from her subconscious. She jumped, her body stiffening, almost losing her balance. Her eyes locked onto his, wide with shock and a flicker of fear, unsure whether he was real or a figment of her foggy memory.
Mirabella's heart pounded wildly in her chest as her mind raced, suspicion creeping in. Could this be the man who had made her swallow those strange pills? The one who seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if conjured from her deepest fears? He was undeniably handsome—his chiseled features reminiscent of Henry Cavill, with a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a perfectly sculpted face that seemed almost unreal. His dark, tousled hair fell just above his brows, framing piercing blue eyes that held a calm, yet intense gaze. His broad shoulders were draped in a crisp, tailored shirt that accentuated his athletic build, and his posture exuded quiet confidence—like a man used to being in control. She instinctively scooted back against the headboard, clutching her blankets tighter as her mind scrambled for answers. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice trembling slightly but edged with suspicion. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of deception, unsure whether she was still dreaming or trapped in some strange nightmare.
Josef's expression remained calm, almost nonchalant, as he studied her with an unreadable intensity. His blue eyes flickered with suspicion and curiosity. "If you aren't my wife," he mused softly, a hint of amusement curling at the corner of his lips, "then who exactly are you?" Mirabella's eyes narrowed sharply, her voice rising with anger and frustration. "Who are you? Tell me the truth!" she demanded fiercely, her fists clenched in defiance. "Are you the one who kidnapped me? What's going on here?" Josef's lips curled into a slow, sardonic laugh, a sound that echoed in the tense silence. He shook his head, eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of amusement and something darker. "Kidnap you? That's a new one," he said smoothly, voice dripping with irony. "Honestly, it'd be nice to kidnap my wife—who went missing five years ago—and finally find her again. Maybe then I'd get some answers." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, leaving Mirabella stunned and trembling, as a chilling realization began to dawn on her: this man knew more than he was letting on, and the truth she sought was far darker than she had ever imagined.
Mirabella's voice trembled with certainty. "But I'm not your wife. I've never been married." Her eyes flicked desperately to Josef, searching for any sign of deception. But before she could finish, he moved swiftly, almost impatiently, and grabbed a small, worn photograph from the nearby table. Without a word, he hurled it across the room toward her. Mirabella reached out instinctively and caught it, her fingers trembling as she looked down at the image.
Her breath caught in her throat. The photograph was a wedding picture—an elegant woman in a flowing bridal gown standing beside a striking man with dark hair and piercing eyes. The woman in the picture looked eerily like her. Her heart pounded fiercely as she studied the image, her nerves fraying. The resemblance was uncanny; she could see her own features in the woman's face, the same eyes, the same expression of nervous anticipation.
Suddenly, Josef reached into his suit pocket and pulled out her ID and a marriage certificate, dropping them onto her lap. Mirabella's eyes widened as she read the name and social security number printed clearly on both documents. They matched exactly—the name she'd always known and the number engraved in her memory.
Mirabella cursed softly under her breath, her mind racing as the pieces clicked into place. She knew exactly what had happened—she had always suspected something was off, but now the truth hit her like a blow.
Five years ago, after her college graduation, her identical twin, Miracle, had appeared unexpectedly. Miracle had always been a rebellious, trouble-prone girl, having left the orphanage at a young age when they were too old to be adopted. While Mirabella had worked tirelessly, taking on various jobs to put herself through school, Miracle had dreamed of a glamorous life—she wanted to be a model, to go abroad and find her fortune.
But her plans had been derailed. Mirabella had refused to help her financially, fearing more trouble. That's when Miracle snapped. She had stolen everything—her sister's debit and credit cards, her IDs, her savings—and had emptied her accounts, maxing out her credit cards in her desperation.
Mirabella's eyes widened as the realization settled heavily in her chest. Her twin, in her recklessness, had used her identity for something far darker—something that had landed her in this mess, perhaps even led to her disappearance. Her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and despair, she whispered, "Miracle… that's who you are. It was you this whole time. You stole my life, my identity."
Josef's eyes narrowed sharply. "Do you still think it's not you? That this is all a mistake?"
Mirabella hesitated, her mind racing. Maybe, just maybe, if she came clean now, she could still find a way out of this—prove her innocence, explain everything. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice.
"I'm sorry, but—" she began, her voice trembling.
Before she could finish, Josef's expression darkened. He stepped closer, his voice low and threatening, each word laced with menacing intent.
"If you're lying to me," he cut her off, "I'll make your life a living hell. I'll ensure you never get another job, never find peace. You'll suffer every single day, until your last breath. No one messes with me and walks away clean."
Mirabella's heart pounded fiercely in her chest, her mind spiraling into chaos. Panic threatened to swallow her whole—she'd never land her dream job now. Her life, the one she'd fought so hard to build, was slipping through her fingers. Since she was an orphan, life had already been a relentless hell—every struggle, every sacrifice, every sleepless night had been for a chance at something better. And now, it all seemed like it was about to vanish.
She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She'd survived everything thrown her way so far. She was a fighter, a survivor. If she could just find a way to turn this around, maybe—just maybe—she could come out of this unscathed.
A daring thought flickered in her mind. What if she pretended? Pretended to be his missing wife. Maybe, if she played her cards right, Josef's attitude would soften, and she could manipulate the situation to her advantage. She could endure this charade until she found the right moment to reveal her true self, ask for a divorce, and reclaim her life.
It was risky, but it was her only shot. She clenched her fists internally, steeling herself for what was to come. No matter how dark the road ahead seemed, she was determined—she would survive this too, and in the end, she'd find her way back to the life she deserved.
Mirabella took a shaky breath, her eyes pleading. "I'm so sorry. I had an accident five years ago," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "I was hit by a car and had brain surgery. Maybe that's why I didn't recognize you, or remember everything that happened between us." She hesitated, hoping her words sounded convincing.
This was partially true—she truly had been in an accident five years ago, hit by a car, and underwent brain surgery. She had experienced some short-term amnesia, but she had recovered fully afterward. Still, her heart was pounding with hope that Josef would buy her story.
Feigning innocence, she looked up at him, her eyes searching. "Please tell me what really happened. I want to understand."
Josef's lips curled into a faint, sardonic smirk, but inside, a flicker of hope ignited. He watched her with guarded eyes, studying her every movement, every tremor, searching for the truth behind her words.
For the past five years, he had cast countless doubts, gone through a million reasons why Mirabella might have left him so suddenly after their wedding. Was it betrayal? Disinterest? Cold-hearted abandonment? But now, as he looked at her—confused, vulnerable, and genuinely pleading—one explanation seemed to stand out as the most acceptable, the least painful.
Maybe she truly didn't remember, maybe her accident had erased the memories—or at least, some of them. And if that was the case, perhaps he could forgive her, or at least understand her. Deep inside, he hoped her story was true. Because if it was, it would mean she was innocent in his eyes once more—and that, somehow, there was still a chance to salvage what was left of their fractured lives.
Josef's gaze hardened as he reached into the drawer of the table beside the bed, pulling out a pen and a small notepad. Without hesitation, he demanded, "Write down the name of the hospital where you were admitted. Now."
Mirabella's hands trembled as she grabbed the pen, her fingers shaky. She hesitated for a moment, then quickly scribbled the hospital's name and details on the paper. Her eyes darted nervously to Josef, waiting for his reaction.
Without a word, Josef snatched the paper from her trembling hands, folded it carefully, and silently turned away. He slipped it into his pocket, leaving the room without another glance.
Fear consumed Mirabella. She scrambled off the bed, her heart pounding in her chest. Frantically, she looked around the room, searching for a way out.
"Damn," she muttered under her breath, "if that's gonna work, I better leave this place before he catches me alive." Her mind raced as she prepared to make a run for it, knowing the stakes had just gotten a lot higher.