Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister

I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.

For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.

On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.

Donovan didn't hesitate.

He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.

Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.

He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.

He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.

He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.

When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.

He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.

Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.

He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.

I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.

"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her."

Chapter 1

Ava Miller POV

My mother’s voice on the phone was the only thing louder than the oppressive silence of the library.

"The wire transfer is pending, Ava. Midnight tonight. You survive until then, and you get the fifty million. You break character, and your father will kill you himself."

The line went dead before I could even breathe.

I stared at the heavy mahogany desk in front of me.

My hands were shaking.

I pressed them flat against the cool leather surface, willing the tremors to cease.

Three years.

That was the sentence.

One thousand and ninety-five days of being someone else.

I looked down at the diamond wedding band on my finger.

It was heavy.

It felt like a shackle forged from cold starlight.

To the world, I was Isabella Miller. The spoiled, fiery Mafia Princess who had tamed the ruthless Donovan Blackwood.

But in this house, I was a ghost.

I was merely collateral damage in a peace treaty between two crime syndicates that hated each other.

I closed the thick book I had been pretending to read.

The clock on the wall ticked.

Ten hours left.

Ten hours until the contract expired.

Ten hours until I could take the money and disappear.

The door to the library creaked open.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Donovan Blackwood walked in.

He was a man carved from violence and expensive suits.

As the Don of the Blackwood Famiglia, he controlled half the city, owned the police force, and had killed men for simply looking at him wrong.

He was beautiful in the way a loaded gun is beautiful.

Deadly. Sleek. Cold.

He didn't even look at me.

He walked straight to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of amber liquid.

I sat perfectly still.

That was my superpower.

Silence.

My twin sister, the real Isabella, would have thrown a vase at him. She would have screamed for attention.

But Isabella had run away three years ago.

She had fled the night before the wedding, terrified of the monster she was promised to.

So my father put me in the white dress.

He told me to keep my mouth shut and play the part.

If I didn't, he would bury me in the foundation of his new casino.

Donovan downed the drink in one swallow.

He finally turned his icy blue eyes toward me.

They were devoid of warmth.

To him, I was the daughter of his enemy.

I was a burden he had to tolerate to keep the peace.

"Isabella," he said. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.

I stood up.

"Yes, Donovan."

My voice was soft.

He hated that.

He hated that I didn't fight back. He thought it was a game.

"Chloe is coming over," he said. "Stay in your wing."

Chloe Sanders.

The mistress.

The woman he actually wanted.

She wasn't a made member of the mafia. She was a thrill-seeker who got off on the danger.

She had returned from Europe a month ago, and since then, I had become invisible.

"Understood," I said.

I didn't care.

I really didn't.

Every time he went to her, it meant he wasn't looking at me.

It meant my secret was safe.

But tonight was different.

Tonight was the last night.

Donovan narrowed his eyes.

He took a step toward me.

"You are too quiet today," he said.

I clasped my hands in front of me.

"Just reading."

He scoffed.

He walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine.

The scent of whiskey and gunpowder filled my nose.

It made my stomach turn.

I remembered a year ago.

The storm.

He had ordered me to deliver medicine to Chloe's apartment because his drivers were busy.

I had stood in the rain for twenty minutes.

I heard him through the door.

He told his Capo he would always choose her.

He said his wife was just a contract.

I knew that.

But hearing it out loud, while shivering in the rain, felt like a slap.

When I handed him the bag, he didn't say thank you.

He told me to give it to her directly. To show respect.

I did it.

I scrubbed my skin raw in the shower that night.

I felt dirty.

Donovan stopped at the door of the library.

He turned back.

"Don't wait up," he said.

"I won't."

He left.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

I went upstairs to my room.

I started to pack.

Just a small bag.

Essentials only.

Passport. Cash. The burner phone my mother had sent.

The hours bled away until I heard a crash downstairs.

It was past midnight.

Technically, I was free.

I should have climbed out the window right then.

But I heard shouting.

I crept to the landing.

Donovan was stumbling through the foyer.

He was drunk.

He was shouting at a shadow.

"You threatened her!" he roared.

I froze.

He looked up and saw me.

His face twisted into a snarl.

He charged up the stairs.

I backed away.

"Donovan, you're drunk," I whispered.

He grabbed my arm.

His grip was like iron.

"Chloe told me," he spat. "She told me you said you'd kill her if she didn't leave."

I shook my head.

"I never spoke to her."

"Liar!"

He shoved me.

It wasn't a hard shove.

But I was wearing wool socks on the polished wood.

I slipped.

My head cracked against the banister with a sickening thud.

Pain exploded behind my eyes.

Black spots danced in my vision.

I slumped to the floor.

Donovan stood over me.

He didn't look concerned.

He looked disgusted.

"You deserve that," he muttered.

He turned and walked into his bedroom, slamming the door.

I lay on the floor.

My head throbbed.

I touched my temple.

My fingers came away red.

I closed my eyes.

*It's just a contract,* I told myself.

*I just need to survive the night.*