Nathaniel Carlisle, the empire’s most feared military officer and Duke, married a woman with the face of his dead fiancée.

Eleanor Whitmore was gone. Her death was undeniable, a wound that should have been buried with her.

Yet here she stands—alive, unbroken, and now his wife.

But something is wrong.

She flinches at his touch. Her wit is quieter, her defiance carefully veiled. And though she wears Eleanor’s face, she is not the woman he once knew.

Who is she?

Evelyn never meant to steal a dead woman’s life. A commoner from the slums, she only wanted to save her younger brother from war. But when fate handed her the chance to become Lady Whitmore, she seized it—never expecting to find herself bound to a man who stares at her like he’s searching for a ghost.

Now, she is trapped in a dangerous masquerade, forced to play the role of a woman she never knew, under the watchful gaze of a husband who seems just as haunted as he is obsessed.

He is her greatest danger.
She is his deepest obsession.

The knock came on the third morning—sharp, deliberate, echoing through the manor like a summons.


Nathaniel had already left her chambers before dawn, murmuring something about a meeting with a northern ally. Evelyn had drifted back into restless sleep, half-dreaming of tangled sheets and whispered lies. When she woke again, the sun was high—and the maid at her door looked nervous.


"There is… a guest," Clara said carefully. "Sir Bastian. He requests to see you, Lady Eleanor."


The name struck Evelyn like a slap. She sat up slowly, pushing back the tangle of sheets and memories clinging to her skin.


She swallowed, forcing her voice steady. "Did he say why?"


Clara hesitated. "Only that it is a private matter. He insisted on seeing you… alone."


Chapter 30 - Chapter 30.