Chapter 1
The first swing of the axe destroyed the most beautiful wall of roses I had ever seen.
White petals exploded across the polished floor.
Someone screamed.
My seven-year-old niece, Lily, lifted the little emergency axe again and struck the flower wall with everything her tiny arms could manage.
"Lily! STOP!"
I ran toward her.
But she didn't stop.
She swung again.
A wooden support cracked behind the flowers.
Guests jumped from their chairs. A woman dropped her champagne glass. My wedding photographer stumbled backward, nearly knocking over a table.
And my bride stood near the altar, watching everything with an expression I couldn't understand.
Fear.
Not concern for Lily.
Not anger about the ruined decorations.
Pure fear.
"Lily!" I shouted.
My niece turned toward me.
Her pink satin flower-girl dress was covered in white petals. Her two braids had come loose, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Uncle Marcus! There's someone inside!"
I froze.
"What?"
She pointed toward the opening she had made.
"She's in there! She's crying!"
I looked into the darkness behind the flowers.
At first, I saw nothing.
Then something moved.
A hand.
A woman's hand.
My stomach tightened.
I pulled aside several wooden panels and pushed through the roses.
What I saw nearly stopped my heart.
A young Black woman sat tied to a chair behind the wall.
Her long dark hair was tangled around her shoulders. She wore an elegant dark dress, and a cloth covered her mouth.
Her eyes were red from crying.
When she saw me, she began struggling desperately.
"Oh, my God."
I rushed toward her.
"Somebody call the police!"
The wedding hall erupted into chaos.
I untied the cloth from her mouth.
She gasped for air.
"Please," she whispered. "Please help me."
I worked at the restraints around her wrists.
"Who did this to you?"
She grabbed my arm the moment her hands were free.
"Marcus, don't marry her!"
My heart pounded.
"What?"
She pointed toward the altar.
"That woman is not Nia!"
The words made no sense.
I turned.
My bride stood several feet away in her ivory lace wedding gown.
Her veil framed a beautiful face I knew better than my own.
Nia.
The woman I had loved for three years.
The woman I had kissed goodbye that morning before our wedding preparations began.
The woman who had promised to spend the rest of her life with me.
She looked exactly like herself.
Same eyes.
Same smile.
Same smooth brown skin.
But she was shaking.
"What is she talking about?" I demanded.
My bride stepped backward.
"Marcus, she's confused."
The rescued woman struggled to stand.
"No! Listen to me!"
I caught her before she fell.
"Who are you?"
"Evelyn Brooks. I'm Nia's childhood friend."
I stared at her.
I knew the name.
Nia had mentioned Evelyn several times, but she told me her friend couldn't attend because of a family emergency.
Now Evelyn was standing in front of me with red marks around her wrists.
And she was terrified of my bride.
"Marcus," the woman at the altar whispered, "please don't listen to her."
I stepped forward.
"Then explain why she was tied behind our wedding decorations."
My bride didn't answer.
Lily moved beside me.
She stared at the woman's face.
Then she whispered something strange.
"Uncle Marcus, her cheek looks funny."
I barely heard her.
"What?"
Lily pointed.
"Her skin moved."
My bride reached toward her veil.
"Don't come near me."
But Lily was already moving.
She rushed forward and grabbed something near the woman's cheek.
A thin, flexible edge lifted beneath her fingers.
My bride screamed.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
Lily pulled.
And the impossible happened.
The beautiful face I had been staring at all morning began to stretch.
The skin-like surface peeled away from the woman's cheek, then separated across her jaw and forehead.
It wasn't skin.
It was an incredibly realistic artificial disguise.
Beneath it was another face.
An older face.
A completely different woman.
She appeared to be in her mid-fifties, with sharp features, tired eyes, and a small scar beneath her chin.
Lily stumbled backward, holding the artificial face in both hands.
The entire wedding hall fell silent.
I stared at the stranger wearing my bride's wedding dress.
My knees almost buckled.
"What the hell is this?"
The woman covered her face.
"Marcus, I can explain."
I stepped backward.
"Who are you?"
She lowered her hands.
Her eyes moved toward the exits.
Then she looked at Evelyn.
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
Hatred.
And fear.
Evelyn gasped.
"Oh, my God."
I turned toward her.
"What?"
She gripped my arm.
"I know her."
The older woman shook her head desperately.
"Evelyn, don't."
I stared at them.
"Who is she?"
Evelyn began trembling.
I had never seen someone look so frightened of speaking a name.
She glanced toward Lily.
Then back at me.
"Marcus, your fiancée told me this woman was dead."
My chest tightened.
"What?"
The stranger stepped backward.
Evelyn pointed directly at her.
"That's the woman who destroyed Nia's childhood."
I looked from one face to the other.
My wedding guests were frozen.
My niece was crying.
And the woman I had almost married stood beneath the white roses with somebody else's face in her hands.
I forced myself to speak.
"Evelyn, tell me her name."
She swallowed.
Then whispered, "Celeste."
The stranger closed her eyes.
Evelyn's voice broke.
"Celeste Whitmore."
I stared at her.
The name meant nothing to me.
Until Evelyn said the next words.
"She's Nia's mother."
My blood turned cold.
Because Nia had told me her mother died when she was eleven.
And if her mother was standing at our wedding disguised as her daughter, then where was the woman I was supposed to marry?
I grabbed Celeste's arm.
"Where is Nia?"
She stared at me.
"Marcus, please."
"WHERE IS SHE?"
Her face crumpled.
May you like
Then she whispered something that made the entire room seem to disappear around me.
"If I tell you, they'll kill her."
