Chapter 1

I suspect the man in my house is not my husband.

I even suspect he might not be human.

It’s because Ethan has been acting too strange lately. He’s been a left-handed guy for over ten years, but suddenly, he’s doing everything with his right hand. Even the butterfly-shaped birthmark on his right thigh has vanished.

More terrifyingly, when he walked across the balcony this morning, the bright morning light hit him from the side. There were two shadows stretching across the hardwood floor.

One in front. One behind.

But when he hugged me, I could clearly hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.

I tried to tell myself I was just being paranoid.

Until this evening.

I was busy prepping dinner in the kitchen with the TV running in the background. Suddenly, the news anchor’s voice cut through the air with an urgent breaking bulletin:

"We have an update on the male body recovered from Swan Lake last week. The victim has been officially identified."

"The deceased is Ethan, male..."

*Boom.*

My brain went completely numb.

Behind me, the kitchen door creaked open. Ethan’s warm, gentle voice echoed in my ears:

"Honey, I’m home."

I shivered violently. I spun around, grabbing the chef’s knife off the counter and pointing it straight at him.

"Who the hell are you?"

---

Seeing me in a panic, Ethan didn’t get angry. He actually smiled.

He took two steps toward me.

"I’m Ethan, babe."

"What are we playing today? Is this another one of your mystery roleplays?"

I didn't say a word. I just took two steps back, keeping the knife raised.

Ethan paused, as if he finally registered the news anchor's voice coming from the TV in the living room. He glanced toward the hallway.

Understanding dawned on his face.

"Oh, I see. The news scared you."

"Lily, look at the screen carefully. The victim in the news is thirty-five. I’m only twenty-eight. The age doesn’t even match. This city is huge. It’s not rare for someone to share my name."

"Put the knife down, sweetheart. I don’t want you to hurt yourself."

Following his words, I looked toward the TV, my heart still hammering.

The anchor was still reading the update:

"The victim, Ethan, was a thirty-five-year-old unemployed male. The police are continuing their investigation..."

I froze. He was right. The age didn’t match at all.

Slowly, I lowered the knife.

Seeing this, Ethan quickly stepped forward. He gently but firmly took the knife from my hand, set it on the counter, and pulled me into his chest.

"You poor thing. You were terrified, wasn't they? Look at me. I’m right here. I’m perfectly fine."

"Go rest on the couch. I’ll finish cooking tonight."

He gently guided me out of the kitchen.

Sitting on the couch, the TV was still blaring:

"In other news, the city council held a meeting this morning to discuss..."

I couldn't hear a single word.

My eyes were glued to the busy figure in the kitchen. A cold dread slowly crawled up my spine.

Because I suddenly remembered... Ethan didn't know how to cook!

But the man in the kitchen was chopping vegetables with perfect, fluid motions. He even tossed the steak in the pan like a professional chef.

That kind of skill couldn't be learned overnight.

He was definitely not Ethan.

Then who was he?

I thought fast. My eyes swept over the coffee table. While his back was turned, I quickly snatched a small paring knife from the fruit bowl and slid it up my sleeve.

I had to test him.

A little while later, Ethan walked out carrying two plates of delicious-looking steak and pasta. He waved at me.

"Lily, wash your hands. Dinner’s ready."

I obediently got up, washed my hands, and sat down. I tried to sound casual as I asked, "Did you make the marinara sauce sweet? You know I only like sweet pasta."

Ethan paused, his hand holding the serving tongs freezing mid-air. He raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"I thought you only liked savory and spicy sauces? Since when did your taste change?"

He was right. I hated sweet pasta.

I nodded, brushing it off. "Ah, my bad. I misspoke. I meant savory."

I took my plate from him. Then, I deliberately stabbed my fork straight up into the mound of pasta, letting it stand upright.

Ethan immediately frowned and shook his head.

"How many times have I told you? Don't leave your fork standing upright like a tombstone. It's bad luck."

"Your mom is super superstitious about that. If she saw you doing this, you'd get another lecture."

The habit matched too.

In the past, whenever I did small, sloppy things like this, Ethan would always scold me gently.

But... hearing him mention my mom gave me another idea.

I took a bite of the steak and said casually, "Right, my mom's birthday is coming up. Can you help me pick out a gift? I was thinking of getting her a nice designer silk scarf for her upcoming trip. It’ll look great in photos."

Ethan leaned over and used his fork to pick a stray piece of cooked onion out of my plate.

He looked at me, exasperated.

"I cut the onions so big and you still almost ate one? I knew you'd spit it out if you tasted it."

He then sat back and smiled. "But your mom’s birthday isn't until November. We have plenty of time. You got her a silk scarf last year. Even though she loved it, we shouldn't repeat the same gift. How about we get her a nice leather tote bag this year instead?"

I chewed on my food silently.

His answers were flawless. He hadn't tripped over a single trap I set.

Was I really just losing my mind?

After dinner, seeing that I still looked pale, Ethan insisted on doing the dishes. He practically pushed me toward the bathroom to take a warm bath and get some rest.

Lying in bed, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Just as I was debating whether I should just have an open, honest talk with him, the bedroom door opened.

Ethan climbed into bed and pulled me gently into his arms.

"Lily, you've been off all day. Did that news report really mess with your head that much?"

"Don't worry. I’m right here. Tomorrow is finally the weekend. Let's go grocery shopping after I get off work. You've been cooped up inside for too long. I don’t want you getting cabin fever."

His heartbeat was strong and steady against my ear.

I didn't know how to answer, so I just gave a vague murmur.

But just as I lifted my head to say something else, a heavy, overpowering wave of exhaustion hit me. I drifted into a deep sleep in his arms.

In the middle of the night, a very soft footstep woke me up.

I opened my eyes sleepily.

I saw Ethan get out of bed and quietly walk out of the room. He seemed to be heading toward the home study.

Ethan's company had been handling a cross-border merger lately. Because of the time difference, it wasn't unusual for him to work in the middle of the night.

I didn't think much of it and closed my eyes again.

But the next morning, when I got up, I realized the study door was locked.

Even our spare key wouldn't turn the lock.

The lock had been completely replaced.

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