Chapter 1

I came home for college summer break, and my dad made a table full of my favorite food.

As he ladled a bowl of homemade soup for me, he smiled warmly.

"I made this especially for you, sweetheart. Quick, try some!"

But looking at that gentle, smiling face, my blood ran cold.

I fought back the sheer terror, slipped my phone under the table, and secretly dialed 91

"I need to report an emergency," I whispered.

"I think someone is pretending to be my father."

"And..."

I stared at the kitchen, where the man was slowly turning his head toward me. My voice trembled violently.

"I think my real father might already be dead."

1.

"Ma'am, please try to stay calm."

On the other end of the line, the dispatcher’s voice grew instantly serious.

"Did you say... someone is posing as your father?"

I cupped my hand tightly over my mouth, terrified the man in the next room would hear. I kept my voice at a barely audible whisper.

"Yes."

"I suspect... something terrible has happened to my real dad."

There was a two-second silence on the line.

Then, I heard the dispatcher murmur to someone next to her: "Potential identity theft, high-risk physical threat. Transferring to Major Crimes."

Soon, a deep, steady male voice broke in.

"This is Detective Marcus Kane from Major Crimes. Are you in a safe position right now?"

I instinctively looked back.

In the kitchen, the man who called himself "my dad" was standing with his back to me, slicing a watermelon.

The heavy kitchen knife slammed onto the cutting board.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The sound heavy, echoing, like it was pounding directly on my chest.

Cold sweat drenched my back. "For now... yes."

"Do not provoke him," Detective Kane ordered quickly. "Give me your address. We are moving in now."

With shaking lips, I rattled off my address.

"Got it. We’ll be there in thirty minutes, absolute max."

"Until then, keep him calm. Act normal. Do not let him suspect anything. Understood?"

"Understood..."

Just as I hung up, the man in the kitchen suddenly stopped his movements.

"Chloe,"

His voice was incredibly gentle. "Why are you standing by the door?"

My heart squeezed tight.

For a terrifying second, I wondered if he had heard my call.

But he just turned around, holding a plate of freshly cut watermelon, smiling at me.

"Come on, let’s eat."

That face... it was so unfamiliar it made my skin crawl.

But his tone of voice was exactly, perfectly identical to my dad's in my memory.

I forced myself to squeeze out a smile. "My professor just called. Just some minor stuff about next semester."

"Oh."

He nodded, seemingly accepting the lie completely.

Walking back into the dining room, he sat down, his eyes filled with fatherly warmth. "I made your favorite steak. Try it."

With that, he cut a piece of steak and placed it on my plate.

I stared at the meat, my stomach turning in violent waves.

Because I was absolutely, one hundred percent certain: the man sitting across from me was not my father.

My dad was actually quite handsome in his younger years.

He had thick eyebrows, a strong square jaw, and tanned, weathered skin.

But this man was thin, with deeply sunken eyes and a high, sharp nose bridge.

It was a completely different face.

Yet, from the moment I walked through the door, the way he called me "sweetheart," the way he automatically handed me my house slippers, even his habitual nagging about "eating the steak while it's hot"—everything was identical to my father.

It was as if my dad's soul had been stuffed into a stranger's body.