Chapter 3

She rolled over, grabbed her phone. No new messages. The number was still saved as "UNKNOWN" in her contacts. She could block it. She should block it. Instead, she opened the thread again and typed: "Why should I trust you?"

The response came faster than she expected. "Because I'm the one telling you to question him, not to fall for him."

Wila sat up, heart hammering. "Who are you?"

"Someone who knows. Meet me. The coffee shop on Mercer and 3rd. Noon today. Come alone."

She stared at the message. This could be a trap. Or it could be the only person who might actually tell her the truth. She thought about Jaque’s face last night, soft in sleep. She thought about the photo with two silhouettes. She thought about the locked thread and the deleted account.

"How do I know you're not one of his people?" she wrote.

"You don't. But you already know you can't trust him. So what do you have to lose?"

She didn't reply. She didn't need to. The answer was nothing. She had nothing to lose except the fantasy she was still clinging to.

At 8:30 AM, she showered, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, and sat on her bed staring at her laptop. The forum thread was still open. She'd saved the screenshots, but she hadn't done anything with them. She didn't even know what she was looking for.

Her phone buzzed. Jaque.

"Morning, beautiful. Did you sleep at all?"

She hesitated. Every instinct told her to play it cool, to pretend everything was fine. But the text from the unknown person was still fresh. She needed answers.

"Not much. Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"That photo you posted yesterday. The one with the sunrise. Where was that?"

A pause. She watched the typing indicator appear, disappear, appear again.

"Chicago. I had an early meeting."

"But your book signing was in New York."

"I flew back. It's not that far."

"The photo was time-stamped 6:02 AM. The signing was at 10 AM. That's a four-hour window, but the flight from Chicago to New York is two and a half. So you would have had to leave by 7:30 at the latest. Why post a sunrise photo from Chicago if you were already in New York?"

She held her breath. She'd laid out the logic like a chess move. Now she waited for his response.

"Wila... are you investigating me?" His voice was light, almost teasing, but she caught an edge underneath.

"I'm trying to understand. There's a difference."

"I posted it from the airport. I took the photo the night before and posted it the next morning. People do that."

It was plausible. Annoyingly plausible. She wanted to believe him. But the warning from the unknown person echoed in her head.

"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm just... paranoid."

"I get it. You barely know me. I'm a stranger who happened to message you. If I were you, I'd be suspicious too."

His understanding threw her off balance. She'd expected defensiveness, deflection. Instead, he'd met her halfway.

"I want to see you," he said. "In person. I know the conference isn't until next week, but I can't wait that long. I'm doing a private event tonight in the city. A small dinner with some donors. Nothing public. Will you come?"

Her pulse jumped. "Tonight?"

"Yes. I'll send a car. You don't have to stay long. I just... need to see you. Really see you. No screens between us."

The desire to say yes was almost physical. She wanted to be in the same room as him, to smell him, to touch him. To see if he was real.

"Okay," she said. "Send me the address."

"I will. And Wila?"

"Yeah?"

"I know this is strange. I know you have doubts. But I promise, when you meet me, you'll know. You'll feel it."

She wanted to believe that. God, she wanted to believe.

After they hung up, she sat in the silence of her room. The text from the unknown person glowed on her screen. Noon. Mercer and 3rd. She had two hours before she had to decide which version of reality she was walking into.

At 11:45, she left her apartment. Lena was still asleep, sprawled across the living room couch with a textbook over her face. Wila slipped out quietly, the door clicking shut behind her.

The coffee shop was a small place wedged between a dry cleaner and a bookstore. She arrived early, ordered a black coffee, and took a seat in the corner where she could see the door. The minutes crawled. She checked her phone every thirty seconds.

At exactly noon, the door swung open. A woman walked in. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Sharp features, dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She wore a blazer and jeans, professional but casual. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on Wila.

She walked over and slid into the seat across from her. "You're Wila."

"And you are?"

"Cynthia Jenkins."

Wila almost dropped her coffee. "Jaque's assistant?"

"The same."

"You sent me that text?"

Cynthia nodded. "I've been watching you. When you messaged Jaque, I flagged your account. I've seen this happen before. Fans get close, they get confused, they get hurt. But you're different. You're actually paying attention."

"What do you mean, 'flagged my account'?"

"I monitor his messages. It's my job. I make sure the dangerous ones don't get through, and I make sure the ones that do are... handled."

"Handled?" Wila's voice rose. "You mean manipulated?"

"I mean protected. Both of you." Cynthia leaned forward, lowering her voice. "You've seen the inconsistencies. You know something's off. I need you to tell me everything you've found."

"Why should I trust you? You work for him."

"I work for the company. There's a difference. Jaque is the face. But the brand is bigger than him. And the brand has... assets."

"Assets?"

Cynthia glanced around the coffee shop, then pulled out her phone. She swiped to a photo and slid it across the table. Wila looked down. It was a picture of Jaque, but not Jaque. The man wore the same clothes, had the same smile, but the background was different—a hotel lobby in what looked like Tokyo.

"That was taken three days ago," Cynthia said. "Jaque was in London that day."

Wila's blood turned cold. "So it's true. There are two of him."

"More than two." Cynthia took the phone back. "I don't know the exact number. That information is above my clearance. But I know enough to know that you're in danger."

"Danger? From what?"

"From them. The others. They're not all... stable. Some of them have started to develop their own personalities. Their own desires. And when they see Jaque forming a real connection with someone, they get jealous."

"Jealous of what? He's not even real. None of them are."

"He's real enough to feel. And so are they." Cynthia's eyes were intense. "You need to be careful tonight. The dinner—it's not just donors. There will be others there. People who look like Jaque. You won't be able to tell them apart. And neither will he."

"Then how do I know you're telling the truth?" Wila's hands were shaking. "How do I know you're not one of them?"

Cynthia smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Because I'm the one who's trying to help you. The others—they want to replace him. They want to be the one you fall in love with. And they'll do anything to make that happen."

She stood up. "I have to go. I've already said too much. But remember: don't trust anyone who looks like Jaque. Not even him. Not until you're sure."

"How do I become sure?"

Cynthia paused at the door. "You can't. That's the tragedy. You can never be sure. But you can choose to love him anyway, knowing what he is. Or you can walk away."

She left. Wila sat alone in the coffee shop, the cooling cup of coffee in front of her, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her chest.

She had two hours until the car arrived.

At 6 PM, a black sedan pulled up outside her apartment. She'd changed into a simple dress, her hair loose, her phone tucked into a small clutch. She felt like she was walking into a battlefield, not a dinner party.

The driver was silent. He didn't look at her, didn't speak. The city scrolled past the windows. They drove for thirty minutes, pulling up to a building she didn't recognize—a private club, maybe, or a hotel. The facade was unmarked, but the door was opened by a man in a suit.

She stepped inside. The lobby was all marble and soft lighting. A woman at a desk smiled and said, "Ms. Dent? Mr. Deeds is waiting for you in the Garden Room. Follow me."

She followed. Her heels clicked on the floor. Her heart was a drum.

The Garden Room was a glass-walled conservatory filled with plants and fairy lights. Long tables were set with white linen and crystal. People milled about, champagne flutes in hand. And standing near the center, talking to a group of older men, was Jaque.

He saw her. His face lit up. He excused himself and walked toward her, and for a moment, everything else faded. He was real. He was here. He was smiling at her like she was the only person in the room.

"You came." He took her hands. "I was so afraid you wouldn't."

"I said I would."

"I know. But I also know that doesn't always mean anything." He pulled her closer. "You look beautiful."

"So do you."

He laughed, a warm sound. "Come on. Let me introduce you to some people. And then I want to steal you away for a bit. There's a balcony out back. Private."

She nodded, letting him guide her. For the next hour, she smiled, shook hands, made small talk. All the while, her eyes moved. She studied his face, his gestures, the way he held himself. She looked for tells. For cracks.

He was perfect. Too perfect.

At 8 PM, he took her hand and led her through a side door onto a balcony. The city spread out before them, glittering. The noise of the party faded.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he said, leaning on the railing. "I know we're moving fast. I know it's crazy. But I don't care. I feel like I've been waiting my whole life to meet you."

"Jaque..." She didn't know what to say. The words from Cynthia echoed in her head. "Don't trust anyone who looks like Jaque."

"What is it?" He turned to face her. "You seem distant."

"I'm just... overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed good or overwhelmed bad?"

"Both."

He stepped closer. "Can I kiss you?"

Her breath caught. "I don't know."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either."

He smiled, but there was something new in his eyes. Something old. Something patient. "Okay. I can wait. I've waited this long."

"How long have you waited?"

"For you? A few days. For someone like you?" He looked away. "Years."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to close the distance and let him kiss her. But the thought of the other Jaque—the one in Tokyo, the one in Chicago, the ones Cynthia warned about—kept her frozen.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Anything."

"Are you real?"

The question hung in the air. He stared at her, and for a second, she saw something flicker in his expression. Something raw. Something afraid.

"I'm as real as I can be," he said. "I don't know how to answer that question. Because I don't know what real means anymore."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

She looked down at her hands. "I got a message today. From someone who said you're not the only one. That there are others. Copies."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "Who told you that?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. It matters."

"Cynthia."

He closed his eyes. "I should have known she'd find you."

"She found me. She warned me. She said I can't trust you."

"She's right." His voice was barely a whisper. "You can't. Not completely. But you can trust me more than you can trust them."

"Them?"

"The others. They're out there. They look like me. Some of them sound like me. But they're not me. They don't feel what I feel."

"How do I know you're the one who feels?"

He stepped forward, took her face in his hands. His touch was warm. His eyes were desperate. "Because I'm the one who's terrified of losing you. They're not terrified. They're just... curious. They want to know what it's like to be loved. But I already know. I've been waiting for it."

She wanted to pull away. She wanted to run. But she couldn't move.

"Kiss me," she said. "If you're real, kiss me."

He leaned in. His lips brushed hers, soft and tentative. Then firmer. She felt the warmth spread through her chest, the flutter in her stomach. It felt real. It felt true.

But when she opened her eyes, she saw something over his shoulder. Movement near the door. A figure. Another man. Wearing the same suit. The same smile.

Watching them.

She pulled back, gasping.

"What is it?" Jaque turned.

The figure was gone. The doorway was empty.

"I saw someone," she said. "Someone who looked like you."

Jaque's face went pale. "We need to leave. Now."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her back inside, through the party, past the confused stares of the guests. They didn't stop until they were in a hallway, away from everyone.

"Who was that?" she demanded.

"I don't know. One of them. They must have followed me."

"Followed you? You mean they're here? In the building?"

"They're always here. They watch. They wait." He ran a hand through his hair, visibly shaken. "I thought I'd lost them. I thought I was careful. But they found out about you. They want to meet you."

"Meet me?"

"They want to see if they can fool you. If they can make you believe they're me."

Her stomach churned. "This is insane. This is... I can't do this."

"Wila, please. I know it's insane. But I need you to trust me. Just for tonight. Let me get you out of here, and I'll explain everything. I'll tell you the whole truth. I swear."

She looked at him—his eyes, his face, the way his hand trembled in hers. He was scared. Genuinely scared. And that, more than anything, made her believe he was real.

"Okay," she said. "Get me out of here."

He led her down a service stairwell, through a kitchen, out a back door into an alley. A car was waiting—a different car, a nondescript sedan. He opened the door for her, and she climbed in.

As the car pulled away, she looked back at the building. In a window on the second floor, she saw a figure standing. Watching. The same silhouette from the photo.

She turned away, pressing her hand to her chest, feeling her heart race.

Beside her, Jaque was silent. His hand found hers in the dark. She let him hold it.

But she didn't let go of the doubt.

"You promised me the truth," she said.

"I know."

"Start talking."