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.

She didn't give him a chance to speak. "Which mother in her right mind would want her child dead?!" Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. "Do you truly believe I would ever—ever—harm this baby? After everything?"


Nathaniel stared at her, his expression unreadable.


Evelyn's chest heaved, her breaths shallow and uneven. "You think I'm the one who's untrustworthy? Look at yourself." Her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with venom. "You let that viper slither into this estate, let her whisper in your ear, let her poison everything—and now you accuse me of betrayal?"


Evelyn's fingers dug into the mattress. "I drank that tea because I didn't know. I trusted—foolishly—that no one would dare harm an unborn child in this house. But I was wrong." Her gaze locked onto his, unflinching. "And so are you."


Nathaniel's fists clenched at his sides.


For a long moment, neither of them moved.


Chapter 45 - Chapter 45.