The rhythmic, clinical "beep" of the heart monitor was the only sound anchoring the master bedroom to reality. Luca stood motionless by the window, his arms folded across his chest as he tracked the doctor's movements. On the bed, Elena lay pale and still against the white pillow, thin tracks of dried blood mapping the small cuts on her hands and feet where broken glass had sliced into her skin earlier. Despite the violent chaos that had torn through the room, her breathing had finally settled into a steady, quiet rhythm.
Luca's voice cut sharply through the silence. "What's wrong with her?"
The doctor paused, glancing at him before looking back down at the unconscious woman. "Physically," he said slowly, "her injuries are minor."
Luca's brow furrowed tightly. "Minor?"
"Yes." The doctor began organizing his medical instruments, his movements deliberate. "She has several cuts from stepping on glass and bruising from the accident. But nothing that should cause a patient to collapse like that."
Luca's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Then explain what happened in my house."
The doctor hesitated, the frantic accounts of the terrified servants still ringing in his ears. "The locked room. The panic. The systematic destruction. The blood."
"That's exactly what concerns me," the doctor admitted, stepping closer to study Elena's peaceful features. "When I arrived, your staff said she completely lost control."
Luca didn't respond, but his mind instantly replayed the wreckage he had walked into: the shattered furniture, the sea of broken glass covering the floor, and Elena standing dead center like someone trapped in a waking nightmare. "My wife has never behaved like that before," Luca said coldly.
The doctor nodded. "That's what makes this unusual. I want to take an X-ray of her brain."
Luca's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?"
"Because that kind of reaction isn't normal," the doctor explained, gesturing toward the shards still scattered across the room. "Extreme panic attacks can sometimes be linked to neurological damage. When someone suffers a severe head injury, it can affect how the brain processes fear and stress. The fall from the cliff could have caused internal trauma. If the accident affected her brain, it might explain the violent behavior." He paused, looking directly at Luca. "Or… she may be experiencing psychological instability."
Luca's gaze sharpened into a lethal glare. "You're saying she's going mad?"
"I'm not making that conclusion yet," the doctor said, raising his hands quickly. "But we need to rule out the possibility. Her physical injuries are minor, but her mind… that's what concerns me."
Luca remained entirely silent, his eyes fixing back onto the woman on the bed. Something about the situation felt profoundly wrong. The woman lying there looked exactly like Sarah. Every feature, every detail, even the small scar near her eyebrow was a perfect match. But the way she behaved was completely alien. Sarah had always been calm, graceful, and deeply calculated. She was never violent, and she had never been terrified of something as simple as a locked door.
Luca clenched his jaw slightly. "Prepare the X-ray."
The doctor nodded. "I'll have the equipment brought here." He took a step toward the door, then paused. "One more thing. If her reaction was caused by trauma… then it may not have started with the accident."
Luca's expression hardened into granite. "What are you implying?"
"She may have experienced severe trauma in the past," the doctor spoke carefully. "Something that triggers extreme fear in confined spaces."
Luca glanced back at Elena, his brows tightening slowly. Sarah had never mentioned anything like that before. Never. So why had this woman reacted with such primal terror?
Across the world, the heavy atmosphere of the Venzagrase family home felt colder than usual. Rachel sat rigidly on the couch, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were red and swollen from two long days filled with unbearable fear. They had checked every hospital and searched every road, but there was no sign of Elena.
"She wouldn't just leave…" Rachel's voice trembled.
Her mother sat beside her, gently rubbing her shoulder. "Rachel…"
But Rachel shook her head violently, her voice cracking under the weight of her tears. "No. Elena wouldn't disappear like this."
Near the window, her father stood pale and rigid, speaking quietly into the phone. "Yes. We want to file a missing person report."
The police had already started their investigation, but the waiting was a slow torture. Rachel's mind kept dragging her back to the same agonizing memory: Elena standing outside Adrian's villa, her broken expression, and that silent accusation hanging in the air. *You all betrayed me.* Guilt clawed mercilessly at Rachel's chest. If she hadn't taken Elena's place at the wedding, if she had just been honest from the very beginning, none of this would have happened.
Suddenly, the phone rang again. Her father answered it, his expression initially calm. Then, slowly, the color completely drained from his face.
Rachel stood up immediately, her heart hammering against her ribs. "What happened?"
Her father didn't answer right away, his hand trembling violently as he lowered the phone from his ear.
"Dad?" Rachel stepped forward.
Her mother looked frightened, her voice rising. "What is it?"
Her father's voice came out in a hollow, mechanical whisper. "They found a body."
The entire room fell into a suffocating silence. "…Where?" Rachel whispered.
"Near the cliff road outside the city," her father said slowly. "They believe it's Elena."
Rachel stared at him, her mind completely rejecting the words. "No." The syllable escaped her lips like a breath of wind. "No!"
Her mother covered her mouth, tears flooding her eyes instantly. But Rachel shook her head violently. "No! That's not possible!"
Later that evening, the freezing air of the hospital morgue made Rachel shiver to her bones. Her entire body trembled as she followed the police officer down the quiet, sterile hallway with her parents by her side.
"We found the body near the cliff where the accident occurred," the officer spoke gently, stopping in front of a metal table. "The clothing matches the description. We need you to confirm the identity."
Rachel's legs felt entirely weak, but she forced herself to look as the officer slowly lifted the white sheet.
She stared down—and a piercing scream ripped from her throat.
"No!" Her voice broke into jagged pieces. "That's not her! That's not my sister!" Tears streamed down her face as the officers exchanged confused glances. Rachel kept shaking her head, backing away from the table. "No! That's not Elena!"
Her mother grabbed her shoulders, trying to hold her. "Rachel!"
"You're wrong!" Rachel sobbed, struggling against her grip. "My sister isn't dead!"
The officer stepped forward compassionately. "Miss, the body was found exactly where the vehicle went over. The clothing is an exact match."
Rachel collapsed into her mother's arms, weeping hysterically. "No… she's not dead. I know she's not."
Her parents looked at her with crushing sadness. To them, Rachel was simply in deep denial, completely broken by the shock and the unbearable weight of their recent betrayal. They had taken her love away from her, ignored her feelings, and now their daughter was gone.
But deep inside her heart, Rachel knew something the others couldn't comprehend. The body lying under the white sheet in the cold morgue wasn't Elena. Somewhere out in the world, her sister was still drawing breath. Rachel could feel it.
At that exact moment, miles away in the quiet safety of Old Willow Street, Sarah gasped for air, her entire body drenched in a cold sweat.
She sat up rapidly in the bed, the faint scent of old wood and traditional medicine filling the small bedroom of her grandmother's house. Her chest rose and fell in a frantic effort to calm her breathing, but her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
The nightmare had felt entirely too real. The cold night air burning her lungs, the deafening *bang! bang! bang!* of gunshots echoing through the hills, and the terrifying command to stop her. She remembered running from his villa, her wedding dress soaked in a warm liquid that wasn't her own blood. Someone had been shot. She remembered stumbling into the middle of the road just as bright headlights appeared, a car speeding toward her far too fast, swerving violently to avoid her before crashing straight through the guardrail and disappearing into the darkness of the cliff.
Slowly, Sarah brought her trembling hands to her face, her eyes darkening into slits as the scattered pieces of her memory locked into place.
"He tried to kill me…" she whispered into the empty room, her voice dripping with sudden venom.
But as she stared at her own raw, dirt-caked fingers, a chilling question gripped her mind, terrifying her far more than the memory of the gunmen.
"And she fell off the cliff instead of me... Who is she? Why does she look exactly like me?"