Kelvin sat in the darkness, staring at the screen, his mind racing through every possibility.
Manager Victoria?
One of the stylists?
An ex?
A stranger who recognized him on the street?
He didn’t sleep that night.
****** The next morning, Kelvin stood in front of the vanity, applying his makeup with shaking hands.
He had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.
He had to layer concealer twice to hide them.
His foundation went on patchy.
His eyeliner was crooked.
“Damn it,” he hissed, wiping it off and starting again.
A knock on the door made him flinch.
“Miss Austin?” Mrs.
Ahn’s voice.
“Mr.
Morrowgate requests your presence for breakfast in fifteen minutes.” “Coming!” Kelvin called back, his voice strained.
He looked at his reflection.
The makeup was passable.
The wig was on straight.
The dress—a soft pink number that Manager Victoria had selected—fit well enough.
But his eyes gave him away.
They were wide, nervous, hunted.
‘Get it together,’ he told himself.
‘You can break down later.
Right now, you have a role to play.’ He took a deep breath, plastered a serene smile on his face, and walked out the door.
******** Breakfast was a silent affair.
Alexander sat at the head of the table, reading a newspaper, a cup of black coffee in front of him.
He didn’t look up when Kelvin entered.
Didn’t acknowledge his presence at all.
Kelvin took his usual seat—as far away as possible—and a plate of toast, eggs, and fresh fruit was placed in front of him by a silent server.
“Your lipstick,” Alexander said without looking up from his paper.
Kelvin froze.
“What about it?” “It’s still rose.
I told you to change it back to pink.” Kelvin’s grip on his fork tightened.
“I didn’t have pink.” “Then buy some.
There’s a department store in Manhattan.
Use the company card.” “The company card?” Alexander finally looked up, his cold eyes meeting Kelvin’s.
“You’re my fiancée.
You have an image to maintain.
Clothes, makeup, accessories—everything is covered by the household budget.
I won’t have you walking around looking like a discount store mannequin.” Kelvin’s jaw tightened.
‘Discount store mannequin.’ The words stung more than they should have.
“I’ll go shopping today,” he said, keeping his voice level.
“Good.
Take Mrs.
Ahn with you.
She knows which brands are acceptable.” Alexander returned to his newspaper.
“And try not to embarrass me.” Kelvin stabbed a piece of egg with his fork with more force than necessary.
‘Three hundred and sixty-four days left.’ ******** The shopping trip was a surreal experience.
Mrs.
Ahn led him through the most expensive department store Kelvin had ever set foot in.
The saleswomen bowed when they entered.
The prices on the tags made his eyes water.
A single tube of lipstick cost more than his monthly rent.
“This shade, Miss Austin,” Mrs.
Ahn said, holding up a delicate pink lipstick.
“Mr.
Morrowgate prefers muted tones.
Nothing too flashy.” “Of course he does,” Kelvin muttered.
“And for your skin tone, I recommend this foundation.
It has a lighter coverage, more natural.
Men prefer natural beauty.” Kelvin stopped walking.
“How do you know what Mr.
Morrowgate prefers?” Mrs.
Ahn’s expression didn’t change.
“I’ve worked for the Morrowgate family for thirty years, Miss Austin.
I know many things.” There was something in her voice—a warning, perhaps.
Or a hint.
Kelvin filed it away for later.
By the time they returned to the mansion, Kelvin had enough makeup to stock a small salon.
His arms ached from carrying shopping bags.
His feet hurt from the heels.
His face hurt from smiling.
But he had done it.
He had survived day one.
He was just about to collapse into his bed when his phone buzzed.
A text message.
From the same unknown number.
[Unknown: You look pretty in pink.
But being a man suits you better.
] Kelvin’s blood ran cold.
He looked around the room, his heart pounding.
The curtains were drawn.
The door was locked.
No one should be able to see him.
But someone was watching.
‘The walls have ears,’ the first message had said.
Kelvin’s hands trembled as he typed back: [Who are you?
What do you want?] Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then: [Unknown: I want to help you, Kelvin.
But first, you need to prove you’re worth helping.] [Unknown: Don’t trust anyone in that house.
Not even the servants.] [Unknown: Especially not the servants.] The phone went silent.
Kelvin stared at the screen, his mind racing.
Someone knew his real name.
Someone knew he was a man.
Someone was inside the mansion—or had access to someone inside.
He was being watched.
And he had no idea who to trust.
That night, dinner was served at seven sharp.
Kelvin sat across from Alexander, pushing his food around his plate, too anxious to eat.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Alexander said, surprising him.
“I’m just tired.
It was a long day.” Alexander studied him for a moment.
“You look pale.
Are you sick?” “I’m fine.” “You’re lying.” Kelvin’s fork paused mid-air.
“I’m not—” “You’re a terrible liar.” Alexander set down his wine glass.
“Your left eye twitches when you’re nervous or angry.
Your voice goes up half an octave.
And you avoid eye contact.” He tilted his head.
“What are you hiding?” Kelvin’s heart stopped.
‘He knows.
He knows.
He somehow knows—’ “I’m not hiding anything,” he said, forcing his voice steady.
“I’m just…
nervous about meeting your grandfather tomorrow.” Alexander’s eyes narrowed.
He didn’t look convinced.
But he didn’t push.
“Fine,” he said, picking up his wine glass again.
“Don’t embarrass me.
That’s all I ask.” ‘That’s all you ask,’ Kelvin thought bitterly.
‘I’m literally risking my freedom, my safety, and my identity for your inheritance, and all you care about is not being embarrassed.’ But he said nothing.
He just nodded, forced another smile, and went back to pushing his food around his plate.
Later that night, Kelvin lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The unknown number hadn’t texted again.
But the silence was somehow worse.
It felt like the calm before a storm.
He replayed the dinner conversation in his head.
Alexander had noticed his left eye twitching.
He had noticed his voice going higher.
He had noticed the avoidance of eye contact.
‘I’m a terrible liar.’ How long would it take for Alexander to figure out the truth?
A week?
A month?
A day?
Kelvin’s phone buzzed.
He grabbed it, his heart racing.
But it wasn’t the unknown number.
It was Gabriella’s hospital.
A text notification about her condition.
‘Stable.
No change.’ No change meant no improvement.
No improvement meant the clock was still ticking.
Kelvin closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.
‘Two months.
I have two months to get that money.’ He couldn’t afford to get caught.
He couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
He couldn’t afford to trust anyone.
******** The next morning, Kelvin woke to a knock on his door.
“Miss Austin?” Mrs.
Ahn’s voice.
“Mr.
Morrowgate’s grandfather has arrived.
He requests your presence in the main hall.” Kelvin’s stomach dropped.
‘Today.
It’s happening today.’ He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the silk sheets.
He had fifteen minutes to get ready.
Fifteen minutes to become Kelly.
He made it in twelve.
Wig on.
Makeup done.
Dress—a modest cream-colored number with a high neckline and long sleeves—fitting perfectly.
He had even remembered to change his lipstick to pink.
He looked in the mirror and saw a stranger.
A beautiful, elegant, ‘convincing’ stranger.
‘You can do this.
You can do this.
You can—’ He walked out the door.
The main hall was filled with sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Standing in the center of it all was Chairman Morrowgate in his wheelchair.
But he was not alone.
Beside him stood a man who seemed to command the very air around him.
Tall—easily over six-foot-four—King Morrowgate was strikingly handsome in a sharp, almost predatory way.
His features were chiseled, his dark hair impeccably styled, and his broad shoulders filled out an expensive tailored suit that spoke of quiet power.
An aura of pure intimidation radiated from him, the kind that made servants freeze mid-step and executives instinctively lower their gazes.
People didn’t just respect King Morrowgate; they shook in his presence.
‘The first son of Chairman Morrowgate,’ Kelvin thought, heart hammering.
‘Why did he have to come too?’ “Ah,” the Chairman said, his voice gravelly but warm.
“So this is the famous Kelly Austin.” Kelvin curtsied elegantly, remembering his training.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Chairman Morrowgate.” “None of that formal nonsense.
Call me Grandfather.” The old man smiled, and for a moment, he looked almost kind.
“And this is my eldest son, King.” King Morrowgate simply nodded politely, his expression unreadable.
“Miss Austin.” His voice was deep, smooth, and dangerously calm.
The Chairman beamed.
“Kelly is Alexander’s new fiancée.
Isn’t she lovely?” King’s gaze flicked over Kelvin—once, politely.
He gave another small nod but said nothing more.
As the meeting progressed, however, Kelvin became acutely aware of those eyes.
King didn’t speak much to him directly.
He listened quietly while the Chairman chatted warmly, asking questions about Kelvin’s “background” and expressing delight at welcoming him into the family.
But throughout it all, King kept giving him these strange, intense looks.
Piercing.
Unblinking.
Like he was dissecting every gesture, every flicker of expression.
Kelvin’s skin prickled under the scrutiny.
His hands felt clammy inside the long sleeves of his dress.
‘Can he tell?’ The thought looped frantically in his mind.
‘Does he know I’m not…
that I’m a man?’ He forced himself to smile, to answer the Chairman’s questions with the practiced poise Victoria had drilled into him.
The old man didn’t seem to notice anything amiss—laughing softly, patting Kelvin’s hand, and reminiscing about “your mother” with that same eerie familiarity that made Kelvin’s blood run cold.
But King…
King noticed ‘everything’.
After what felt like an eternity, the meeting drew to a close.
The Chairman looked pleased as he prepared to leave.
King rose smoothly from where he’d been standing like a silent sentinel.
He stepped closer to Kelvin, towering over him, and for the first time that morning, the corner of his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk.
“It was nice to meet you, Kelly,” he said, voice low enough that only Kelvin could hear the deliberate slowness he used on the name—or was it a slip?
“We’ll meet again in the near future.” A chill shot down Kelvin’s spine.
Goosebumps erupted across his arms and neck.
He’d heard the rumors about King Morrowgate—that he was even more ruthless than Alexander, a man who crushed obstacles without mercy and saw through lies like they were glass.
That smirk felt like a promise…
or a threat.
Kelvin could only manage a weak nod, praying the meeting would end before his nerves completely shattered.
The Chairman, oblivious to the undercurrent, simply smiled and waved cheerfully as Mrs.
Ahn wheeled him out.
“We’ll have that tea soon, child.
Don’t be a stranger!” King lingered for half a second longer, those intense eyes locking onto Kelvin’s once more, before he turned and followed his father.
As soon as they were gone, Kelvin sagged against the nearest wall, heart racing.
‘God, please…
let this fake fiancée contract end before I ever have to see King Morrowgate again.’ And somewhere in the shadows of the hallway, Kelvin’s phone buzzed silently in his pocket.
A new message from the unknown number.
[Unknown: Careful, Kelvin.
The old man is meaner than he looks.
Don’t cross him.]