Chapter 33: Chapter 33: The Ghost in the Flesh
The mansion had never felt this cold.
Melanie blinked fast, willing her voice not to shake. “Was that why you married me?”
Celia turned to Melanie now, her eyes dim but alert. She took in the expensive dress, the styled hair, the soft makeup.
But her mind wasn’t on Celia anymore.
He nodded, looking toward the window. “Two years ago. Everyone thought she died. The investigation led nowhere. I tried everything — private investigators, security firms… I grieved her, Melanie. And now she’s here. Alive.”
She scoffed, her heart aching. “You expect me to believe that?”
“You’re safe now,” he said softly. “No one is going to hurt you again.”
“We can’t stay out here. She needs help.”
Celia didn’t look at him. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
“I was so stupid,” she muttered under her breath. “Stupid to think this could ever be real.”
The moment the vehicle pulled away, the silence was suffocating.
Celia’s knees suddenly buckled. Leonard caught her before she collapsed.
Not just jealousy.
Not just fear.
Leonard stiffened.
He stood, and his gaze met Melanie’s across the room. For a moment, neither said anything.
Leonard didn’t move. Not a breath, not a flinch.
And then he whispered, almost inaudibly, “…Celia?”
The woman looked up at him through matted hair and tear-streaked cheeks. Her face was bruised, dirt smudged along her jaw. But behind the suffering, the pain, and the filth — was a face Melanie had never seen before.
Only when the door shut behind them did she finally speak.
Leonard stepped closer. “Melanie, please—”
Melanie stood by the doorway, arms folded, watching as Leonard crouched in front of Celia, gently placing a blanket over her knees.
Melanie, on the other hand, sat frozen, watching the broken girl in the seat next to her curl into herself and cry silently.
The car door closed with a soft thud.
“Who is she… really?”
His honesty stung more than a lie ever could.
“She looks like me,” she finally said, voice barely above a whisper.
The world stopped moving.
Even with the warm lights on and the fire crackling faintly in the sitting room, Melanie felt a chill that wouldn’t go away.
Leonard’s throat bobbed. He took a step back, gently loosening Celeste’s grip on him.
Melanie’s throat tightened. She looked away quickly.
Inside her, something cracked.
Melanie blinked, unsure what to say. Even if she tried to speak, she wasn’t sure what words would come out. She looked at Leonard again, searching his face, hoping for something — anything — that would anchor her in this chaos.
But she had already turned away, retreating toward the door.
“No,” Leonard said quickly, stepping toward her. “Melanie—”
But the unbearable ache of falling for someone who might never have chosen her — if fate hadn’t made her look like the ghost of someone else.
They ended up in his study.
But his expression was unreadable.
“Was I just a stand-in?” she asked, the words ripping from her throat before she could stop them. “A replacement for someone you lost?”
“I was kidnapped,” she cried. “Tortured. They faked everything… The fire, the explosion… It was a setup. They made the world think I was gone, but I wasn’t—I was trapped, Leo.”
Then Leonard moved toward her, quietly gesturing for her to follow him out. Melanie hesitated, but she obeyed, her heels making soft sounds on the marble floor.
Leonard kept his eyes on the road. His hands gripped the wheel a little too tightly.
“I didn’t marry you because you look like her,” he said, his voice firm now. “It started as a contract. Nothing more. But I chose you, Melanie. Not Celia’s shadow. You.”
Because standing just inches away from him, clinging to his jacket like a drowning woman to driftwood, was someone who should not exist.
His hands stayed limp at his sides while the woman continued to cry into him, trembling violently like she hadn’t felt warmth in years.
“Get in the car,” he said quietly.
He helped Celia into the backseat. Melanie stood still for a moment longer before moving to sit beside her, forcing her thoughts to stop racing, her heart to calm.
But Leonard had.
Behind her, the silence of Westwood Manor returned — vast and suffocating.
It was on Leonard.
Leonard slowly looked down at the woman in his arms. His face was unreadable — not cold, not warm, but stunned.
Her voice was quiet, hollow. “Don’t follow me.”
Leonard’s voice was calm. Too calm. “We’ll talk more when you’re stronger. Right now, you need to rest.”
Leonard let out a slow breath. “Celia was someone I once cared about. Deeply. We… were supposed to get married.”
His lips parted to say something, but no words came. Only a deep, heavy breath.
“She’s… someone from my past,” he finally said.
Melanie stood beside him, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. Her voice got stuck in her throat as the woman threw herself at Leonard with trembling arms.
Melanie shook her head slowly, not meeting his eyes. The words sounded right, but her heart refused to accept them.
“You’re… with him now?” she asked, her voice cracking.
Leonard’s jaw clenched. “I won’t lie to you. The first time I saw you, I… I was reminded of her. The resemblance was shocking. But that’s not why I married you.”
“She went missing?” she asked.
Melanie stood there, trying to breathe through the weight pressing down on her chest. The silence between them had grown too loud.
Everything about their story suddenly felt tainted. If she’d looked different, if she hadn’t reminded him of someone else… would she even be here?
“I tried to get back to you,” Celia sobbed. “But they made sure no one would find me. I didn’t even know if you’d still be here. But I escaped. I ran… all the way back.”
Melanie’s voice finally found its way out. “Leonard… who is she?”
He had memorized it once, maybe even loved it once.
And the way he said her name like it still meant something.
Westwood Manor
Melanie took a step back, her heart hammering in her chest. Her fingers curled unconsciously around the fabric of her dress. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from them — the way this woman clung to Leonard like a lifeline, the way she spoke his name like a sacred prayer.
“But—”
Leonard’s entire body froze.
“Leo,” the girl sobbed, pressing her cheek against his chest. “Leo… It’s me. I’m not dead. They lied. They all lied.”
Celia sat quietly on the edge of the plush couch, wrapped in a robe. Her hair had been washed, her wounds tended to by the house nurse Leonard had immediately called. She looked like a fragile version of someone who once might’ve commanded the room.
And this time, he didn’t.
Celia nodded faintly, her eyes glassy.
And now that face was staring back at him like a ghost returned from hell.
Silence.
Melanie’s arms folded tightly across her chest. “And what now?”
Melanie’s chest ached before she could stop it.
The honking cars, the impatient drivers behind them, the curious eyes from afar — none of it mattered.
Leonard turned to look at her, something unreadable in his eyes. “I don’t know.”
