Chapter 3

Chloe's POV

Following behind Julian, we were heading toward the exit when a commotion broke out near the gates.

"Why won't you let me in?"

A girl dressed in a black hoodie was blocked outside the wrought-iron gate by security, stomping her feet in frustration.

The moment she spotted me walking out, she yelled toward me.

"Serena! Barring me from the cemetery and keeping me from seeing Chloe one last time—you've gone too far!"

I froze in my tracks.

It was Maxine Cole, my best friend.

Warm, outgoing, and outspoken, she had carried herself like a boy ever since we were kids.

I never expected to run into her here.

Just moments ago at the funeral, my heart had chilled at the thought that Arthur Sinclair and Evelyn Sinclair hadn't notified any of my friends.

It turned out Maxine had found out on her own and rushed over, only to be barred at the entrance.

My nose stung, and the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

"Minnie..."

"Shut up! You don't get to call me that!"

Maxine glared at me through the iron gate, her eyes rimmed with red.

"Serena Sinclair! What goes around comes around. You'll get what's coming to you sooner or later!"

My heart trembled. I rushed forward, desperate to explain.

"I—"

Julian had turned back without my noticing, coming to a stop beside me.

He had clearly heard her curse; frost gathered in the depths of his eyes.

"Who are you?"

Maxine lifted her chin, completely fearless.

"I'm Chloe's best friend!"

"Chloe Sinclair's friend?"

Julian scoffed coldly.

"Birds of a feather. Neither of you is any good."

The color drained from my face.

I could bear his cold indifference toward me. I could endure him blaming me for Serena's death.

But Maxine was innocent.

"Julian!"

Gritting my teeth, I called him by his name for the very first time.

"Why do you have to talk about Maxine like that?"

Maxine didn't appreciate my defense at all. She spat at me through the bars of the gate.

"Serena Sinclair, stop being so hypocritical! Do you really think speaking up for me makes up for what you did?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she glared at me with pure hatred.

"If you didn't have Chloe's face, I would've clawed it to shreds already!"

I wanted to say something, yet I couldn't explain a single thing.

Maxine had never liked Serena in the past.

More than once, she had warned me, "Serena isn't as nice as she seems. Stop letting her use you."

I had never believed her, always rushing to Serena's defense.

The two of us had argued about it several times until our faces flushed red.

Now, with one twin dead and the other alive, combined with everything that had happened, Maxine naturally assumed Serena was the one who had killed Chloe.

"Maxine, stop. Please,"

I pleaded under my breath.

I was terrified of the man standing beside me.

If Maxine kept causing a scene and genuinely provoked Julian, she would be the only one to suffer.

Julian fixed his gaze on the girl beyond the iron gate, speaking without a trace of emotion.

"What's your name?"

The question was asked calmly, but it sent my heart pounding frantically against my ribs.

He was planning to settle scores later.

With the Vance family's power, crushing someone like Maxine would be easier than squashing an ant.

"Minnie, it's over now. Please don't say any more..."

Without thinking, I pleaded with my friend while frantically grabbing Julian's arm.

"Julian, let's go."

Julian looked down at my hand resting on his arm.

My palms were sweating as I forced myself to push him gently toward the car.

"The funeral just ended. I'm exhausted, and I just want to go back and rest."

Julian cast me an unreadable glance, but he didn't pursue the matter further and got into the car.

I breathed a sigh of relief and climbed in after him, not daring to look back at the gate even once.

I was afraid that one more glance would make me burst into tears on the spot.

I didn't notice Maxine watching the car pull away, looking as though she had seen a ghost.

That woman had just called her Minnie.

Minnie was her pet name. Her friends usually called her Maxine.

Only Chloe would blurt out "Minnie" whenever she panicked.

She had complained countless times that "Minnie" sounded way too soft and lacked any edge.

Chloe had stubbornly refused to change it, saying it was meant to balance her sharp personality.

Over time, it had become their private little secret—something no outsider could possibly know.

Maxine blinked, certain she hadn't misheard.

But the person who used to call her Minnie was supposed to be lying in this cemetery forever.

Staring at the receding taillights, her heart beat faster and faster.

Something wasn't right.

Something was terribly wrong about all of this.

The car drove back into the city, finally pulling up in front of a luxury residential complex.

Hidden Creek, one of Los Angeles's premier luxury addresses. One residence per floor, home exclusively to the wealthy and powerful.

Julian led me upstairs and pushed the door open.

"From now on, this is where you live."

The apartment was bright and spacious, tastefully decorated, every detail speaking to its owner's exquisite taste.

Standing in the entryway, my feet felt rooted to the floor; I couldn't bring myself to step inside.

"Can I... not live here?"

I asked hesitantly.

"It feels too unfamiliar to me."

Julian glanced at me.

"This property is under Serena's name. When she was busy with work, Serena stayed here."

He walked in a couple of steps, his tone flat.

"I've already had her personal belongings packed away. Daily necessities, clothes, and jewelry will be delivered shortly."

"There's no need."

I waved my hands hurriedly.

"I have clothes. All my clothes are still—"

Before I could finish, a sharp, icy gaze locked onto me.

Julian turned around, his face grim.

"Chloe Sinclair, you've forgotten again."

"From now on, you are Serena Sinclair. Serena has impeccable taste in fashion. Put away those clothes of yours."

I clutched the hem of my shirt.

"To the outside world, you are Serena."

Julian continued,

"Your every movement, every word, and every deed cannot tarnish Serena's reputation—including what you wear."

He took a step closer, looking down at me.

"Serena is my fiancée. You may be wearing her identity now, but we both know full well you're just an imposter."

"Don't covet things that don't belong to you."

"Do you understand?"

Lowering my head, I nodded weakly.

"I understand."

Julian said nothing more, turning on his heel and leaving.

The door shut, and his footsteps faded away. Unable to hold myself up any longer, I collapsed onto the sofa.

I had never dared to covet anything to begin with. Why did he feel the need to remind me?

Growing up, good things never came my way. I was already used to it.

Even my feelings for him were something I only dared to bury in my heart, keeping them hidden until they rotted away.

I looked around the room.

Her things had been cleared out, but Serena's traces could never be erased.

Nail holes dotted the walls where paintings once hung, a faint trace of perfume lingered in the air, and even the indents on the sofa bore the imprint of its owner's habits.

Living here felt like living inside Serena's shadow.

I slowly stood up and walked over to the full-length mirror in the entryway.

The person in the reflection was pale, yet her features were identical to Serena's.

I raised a hand, tracing the face through the cold glass.

"Serena Sinclair,"

I said hoarsely.

"How I wish we could turn back time."

"If I could do it over, I would agree to whatever you said that day. I wouldn't make you angry."

"If you were here," I whispered, "you would know what to say."

The room gave me nothing back.

I stayed at the mirror until my feet hurt. Then I went into the kitchen because standing in one place had become unbearable.

There were two cups beside the coffee machine. One had a lipstick mark near the handle. The other was clean, turned upside down on a folded towel. I could picture Serena washing one and leaving the other for Julian. I had never watched them have breakfast here. My mind supplied it anyway.

In a drawer, I found takeaway menus, an invitation, and an envelope from the canvas supplier.

The address was familiar. I used to wait at the studio door for deliveries because Serena disliked having paint dust tracked across the floor. The receipt listed the wrong size canvas. I remembered fixing that mistake: a long evening on the floor, stretching the linen again while she sat on the windowsill and told me about an interview.

She had brought me tea. She had also asked me to finish before morning.

I sat down with the receipt in my lap.

When we were little, Serena used to sneak candy into my hand after our parents sent me out of the dining room. I always remembered the candy first. Maxine remembered the doorway.

"Why did they send you out?" she asked once.

I had got angry with her for spoiling the part of the story I liked.

Now I remembered both parts and could not fit them together.

My phone was on the counter. I opened Maxine's contact and wrote her nickname.

Minnie.

I stared at the word until the screen dimmed.

In our second year at college, I had come back to the dormitory at two in the morning with paint on my sleeves and a headache so bad I could not bear the ceiling light. Maxine had covered the lamp with a towel, pushed a bowl of noodles into my hands, and asked whether Serena knew I had class at eight.

I told her not to start.

She did not. She sat on the floor and untangled my charging cable while I ate.

I wanted to tell that person I was alive. I wanted her to say my name as though nothing about it needed explaining.

But the memory of her face at the cemetery returned: grief sharpening into rage, Julian asking who she was, the way he waited for an answer he could use later.

I deleted the nickname. Then I typed it again.

At last, I set the phone down without sending anything.

It was not a sensible plan. I had no plan. I was frightened of bringing her to this apartment and more frightened that, if I called, she might answer with the same hatred I had heard at the gate.

The invitation lay beneath the receipt. Serena's name was printed in gold. The front showed the painting from the funeral wreath.

I ran my thumb over the raised letters.

There had been another figure in an earlier version, before Serena asked me to change it. I could see the outline clearly even though I had not looked at the study for weeks.

For the first time since the hospital, I wanted a pencil.

I found none in the drawer. I put the receipt and invitation inside an empty notebook and left it on the table.

Then I made one cup of tea.

When I carried it into the sitting room, I found myself listening for another set of footsteps. For twenty-four years, I had wanted somewhere quiet where no one could order me out.

I had never imagined the quiet would feel like this.