Dominic's POV
I'm waiting.
Standing in the hospital parking garage, staring at my phone, pretending I have important emails when really I just don't want to go inside.
My daughter was born twelve hours ago, and I'm hiding in a parking garage like a fool.
Marcus—my father—called me six times this morning. Each message more demanding than the last. "Go see your wife. Meet your baby. For God's sake, Dominic, at least try to care about your family."
But that's the trouble. I do care. That's why this hurts so much.
I shove my phone in my pocket and head toward the lift. My shoes echo on the ground. Each step feels heavy than the last.
I didn't want this marriage. Didn't want a wife who looked at me like I was a business deal. Didn't want a baby conceived because my dying father wanted an heir before he died.
I wanted Eva.
The thought hits me like it always does—sharp and surprising, even after three years. Eva with her bright laugh and messy hair and the way she used to trace building drawings on my chest while we lay in bed. Eva who promised forever and then went to Spain without looking back.
The elevator dings. I step inside and press the button for the maternity floor.
I built a kingdom to forget her. Turned my father's failing business into a tech giant. Made billions. Married a beautiful lady who wanted my name and money but nothing else.
And it still wasn't enough to fill the hole Eva left behind.
The elevator doors open. I walk down the hallway on autopilot, nodding at nurses who meet me. Everyone knows who I am. Dominic Thornfield. Billionaire. New father. Perfect life.
If only they knew the truth.
Room 412. I stop outside the door, my hand on the handle.
I can do this. I can walk in there, see the baby, say something polite to Celeste, and leave. Thirty minutes tops. Then back to the office where I belong.
I open the door.
Celeste is sitting in the hospital bed, holding a tiny bundle wrapped in pink. She looks up when I enter, and something strange happens.
Her face changes. Not dramatically. Just a flicker of feeling that crosses her features so fast I almost miss it.
She looks happy to see me.
No. That can't be right. Celeste has never been happy to see me. Not on our wedding day. Not during nine months of pregnancy. Not ever.
"Dominic," she says softly.
Even her voice sounds different. Warmer. Less sharp around the edges.
I force myself to walk closer, keeping my face neutral. "The nurse said you and the baby are doing well."
"We are. Thanks to the amazing people here." She looks at someone standing near the window. A nurse I hadn't noticed. "Jenny has been wonderful."
Since when does Celeste learn nurses' names?
I look at the baby—my daughter—and something cracks in my chest. She's so small. Perfect tiny fingers curled against a pink blanket. Dark hair like mine. She makes a small sound, and my hands itch to hold her.
But I can't. If I hold her, if I let myself feel anything, this whole careful wall I've built will come crashing down.
"What's her name?" I ask, keeping a safe distance away.
"Lily." Celeste's voice is gentle. " I was thinking Lily Rose Thornfield. If that's okay with you."
If that's okay with me? Celeste has never asked my view on anything. She picked our apartment furniture without asking me. Chose her own wedding dress without caring what I thought. Announced her pregnancy like she was giving a weather report.
"It's fine," I say, my mind running. "Whatever you want."
"Dominic." She shifts the baby in her arms. "Do you want to hold her?"
No. Yes. I don't know.
"I should let you rest," I say instead. "I just came to check that everything was set properly. The private area. The guards. I've hired a night nurse to help you at home."
Something flashes in her eyes. Hurt? Since when does Celeste care if I keep my distance?
"Right. Of course." She looks down at Lily, and I swear I see tears in her eyes. "You have work. You're busy. I understand."
This is wrong. All of it. Celeste crying? Celeste acting like she wants me there?
The nurse—Jenny—clears her throat. "Mr. Thornfield, maybe you could just hold her for a moment? It would be good for Lily to hear your voice."
Celeste looks up at me with an expression I've never seen on her face before. Hope. Like she actually wants me to bond with our kid.
My baby.
Against my better sense, I walk to the bed. Celeste carefully moves the tiny bundle into my arms, and suddenly I'm holding Lily for the first time.
She's so light. So fragile. She makes a small noise and turns her head toward me, and something in my chest shatters completely.
"Hi, Lily," I say. "I'm your dad."
The words feel strange in my mouth. Dad. Father. Words I never thought I'd use with this child, created in a marriage built on lies and business deals.
But looking down at her tiny face, I can't help but feel something. Something real and terrifying and totally undeniable.
"She looks like you," Celeste says softly.
I glance up, and she's watching me with the strangest look. There's something in her eyes that reminds me of— No. Don't go there. "She has my hair," I say carefully. "But her face is all yours."
"Is it?" Celeste touches Lily's tiny hand. "I don't know. I think she looks like herself. Like her own person."
What an odd thing to say. As if Celeste didn't spend nine months looking at ultrasounds and planning exactly what this baby would look like, which features she hoped would come from which parent.
Lily yawns, and I can't help the small smile that crosses my face. She's perfect. Completely, incredibly perfect.
"You're smiling," Celeste notes. "I wasn't sure you knew how anymore."
The comment hurts because it's true. I haven't smiled—really smiled—in three years. Not since Eva left.
"She's my daughter," I say, the words coming out rougher than meant. "Of course I—" I stop myself. Don't finish that thought. Don't admit that I already love this tiny person more than I thought possible.
"Of course you what?" Celeste presses softly.
I look at her then. Really look. And that's when I notice all the small things that are different.
The way she's holding the baby—naturally, like she's done it a thousand times, when Celeste was afraid of pregnancy and refused to go to parenting classes.
The way she's looking at me—openly, without the deliberate coldness that usually lives in her eyes.
The way she's sitting—relaxed instead of tight, like she's comfortable in her own skin.
"Who are you?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
She freezes. "What?"
"You're different. Since yesterday. Since the delivery." I study her face, my photographic memory comparing every feature to the hundreds of times I've seen her before. "The way you talk. The way you move. Even the way you're looking at me right now. It's all different."
Fear flashes across her face. Real, real fear. "I nearly died, Dominic. That changes a person."
"Does it change which hand you use?" I point to where she's holding Lily. "You're left-handed. You've always been left-handed. But you've been favoring your right side since I walked in."
She quickly shifts Lily, but it's too late. I've already seen the truth—she's more comfortable with her right hand.
"Celeste was left-handed," I continue, my mind rushing. "You're not."
The nurse—Jenny—steps forward. "Mr. Thornfield, your wife has been through a traumatic birth. Complications can cause brief changes in motor function—"
"Don't." I hold up a hand, not taking my eyes off the woman in the bed. "I have a perfect memory. I watch everything. And I'm realizing that my wife—a woman I've lived with for eighteen months—is suddenly acting like a completely different person."
Tears spill down her face. Real ones. Not the trained tears Celeste uses to manipulate people.
"Dominic," she whispers. "You're right. I am different. But not in the way you think."
"Then explain it to me."
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Looks at the nurse, then back at me. Takes a shaky breath.
"I can't. Not yet. You'll think I'm crazy. You'll think the stress affected my brain or that I'm lying or—" She stops, wiping at her tears. "Just please. Give me time. Let me figure out how to tell you the truth without losing everything."
The truth. What truth could possibly explain this?
Unless— My blood runs cold. " Are you Celeste at all? Did something happen during the delivery? Is this some kind of—" I can't even say it. It sounds too crazy.
But she's nodding, tears streaming faster now. "Something happened. Something impossible. And I don't understand it either. But I promise you, Dominic, I would never hurt Lily. I would die before I let anything happen to her."
The way she says my name. The passion in her voice when she talks about saving Lily. The tears. The fear. The hope in her eyes when she looks at me.
It all feels familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
"There's something else," Jenny says quietly. She shows me her phone. "We found this in the room earlier. A hidden camera."
My entire body goes hard. "What?"
"Someone's been watching," the woman in the bed—not Celeste, apparently—says hurriedly. "Someone tried to kill Celeste during the arrival. And when they realize I'm not her—when they figure out something changed—they might try again."
This is crazy. All of it. Impossible.
But I'm looking at proof. A secret camera in my wife's hospital room. A woman who looks like Celeste but acts like someone else. A daughter who needs safety.
My phone buzzes. A text from Vanessa, my business partner: "Heard the baby arrived safely. Such a miracle after all those difficulties. I'll visit this afternoon."
Something about the words makes my skin crawl. The way she stresses "miracle" and "complications."
I look up at the two women staring at me, waiting for my reply.
"Tell me everything," I say quietly. "Right now. I don't care how crazy it sounds. I need the truth."
The woman in the bed—whoever she really is—takes a big breath.
"My name isn't Celeste," she says. "It's Eva."
The room tilts sideways.
"Eva Hart," she continues. "And three years ago, I broke your heart and ran away to Barcelona. Last night, I died in a car crash. And then I woke up here. In your wife's body."
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't understand what she's saying.
Because if it's true—if this is really Eva wearing Celeste's face—then everything I thought I knew about the world just broke into a million pieces.
And I have no idea what to do next.