BESS' POV
I didn't sleep much.
My dreams were disjointed. Flickers of unfamiliar places, two men with the same face, one shadowed in darkness, the other crying out. When I opened my eyes, I felt like I'd brought something back with me. A question I hadn't yet asked.
By 7:00 a.m., I was in my office at APEX, hair not quite perfect, eyeliner slightly smudged, caffeine in hand. My blazer couldn't hide the edge in my mood. I went straight to the intercom.
"Cynthia, I need Steve Howard back in. This morning."
She paused. "Right away."
The file lay open on my desk. I'd gone over it twice already, and yet there it was, like a thread just waiting to unravel. He didn't tell me about Hill Group. The man he's accused of killing was the CEO, for God's sake.
Steve arrived just past eight. Same denim jacket. Same air of quiet desperation. He sat down across from me like he belonged here like he wasn't potentially facing life in prison.
"You called for me?" he asked.
"I did." I didn't waste time. "I revisited your file. There's something you left out."
His brow furrowed, but not in surprise. In strategy.
"You worked at Hill Group before you started your agency."
He didn't speak right away. His eyes scanned the floor like the answer might be hiding in the carpet.
"It was years ago," he said eventually. "Didn't think it mattered."
"It matters, Steve." I leaned forward, voice cool. "You told me you had no real connection to Darren Hill. That you barely knew the man. That was a lie by omission."
"I didn't kill him," he said flatly.
"Maybe. But you had motive. And history. That changes everything."
He exhaled slowly, tension tightening in his shoulders. "You think I'm lying?"
"I think you're hiding something," I said. "And if you want me to defend you, I need all of it. No more half-truths. No more convenient memory loss."
A long silence filled the space between us. Then he looked up.
And something in his expression changed.
"If I tell you the truth," he said, voice low, "you won't believe me."
"Try me."
His gaze didn't waver. "I think… someone else is walking around with my face."
It was such a strange thing to say. Ridiculous. Impossible.
Except my fingers froze above my notepad. Because part of me had already considered it. Not logically. But in that space between sleep and wake, where the impossible sometimes makes the most sense.
And I didn't know what scared me more that he said it, or that I didn't immediately dismiss it.
****
The clinking of cutlery, soft jazz over the speakers, and the scent of rosemary and something grilled. Jude picked the restaurant as always. He claimed it helped him think better when his food looked expensive.
I stabbed at my salad without much appetite. My mind was elsewhere.
"You've been weirdly quiet," Jude said, sipping his sparkling water. "That can only mean one of three things. One: you're having second thoughts about your career. Two: you're writing a secret novel in your head. Or three, and my money's on this, your client just dropped something wild."
I smirked. "You always think you know me."
"Because I do." He leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. "Spill it."
I pushed my plate away. "Steve. The guy I told you about yesterday. Came back in this morning, and I confronted him about not telling me he used to work for Hill Group."
"Oh," Jude said, straightening up. "That's a pretty big thing to omit."
"Exactly. He said it was irrelevant. That it was years ago."
Jude raised an eyebrow. "When your former employer ends up dead and you're the one on camera walking away from the crime scene, nothing's irrelevant."
I nodded slowly, watching the ice melt in my glass. "And then he said something… strange."
Jude waited, fork halfway to his mouth.
"He said he thinks someone else is walking around with his face."
Jude blinked. Then laughed. "That's either the boldest 'not guilty' defense I've ever heard or your guy's watched way too many sci-fi movies."
"Exactly what I thought," I said. "Except I didn't laugh."
"Because?"
"Because he was serious, Jude. He wasn't throwing out a wild excuse. He believed it. And... I don't know. Something about the way he said it. It didn't feel like a lie."
He leaned back, expression now less amused. "So let's say hypothetically he's not completely nuts. There are explanations. Maybe he has a twin. Or a cousin."
"A cousin?" I echoed.
"Yeah. Some cousins look freakishly alike. Shared grandparents, similar genes. Maybe they were close once, had a falling out. And maybe this cousin has a grudge."
"Then why wouldn't he just say that?" I asked.
Jude shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe it's one of those family secrets people conveniently forget to mention until someone's dead."
I chewed on that. Could it be that simple? A long-lost relative, a resemblance, a motive that had nothing to do with Steve at all?
Maybe.
But something about Steve's eyes when he said those words, someone else is walking around with my face, it didn't sound like he meant family. It sounded like he meant… something else.
"Okay," I said, trying to shake it off. "Let's say I dig into family records, just to cover the basics."
"Do it," Jude said, grinning. "And when it turns out Steve's got an evil twin named Derek who's obsessed with hotel lobbies, I want full credit."
I laughed for real this time. But in the back of my mind, the tension lingered. Because what if this wasn't about a cousin?
What if the answer was stranger than that?
*****
I knock once, then twice. The door opens to a familiar face.
A face I know too well.
Jeremy Arthur, my supportive boyfriend.
"And she finally remembered I exist," he mutters.
"It's been a long week," I tell him.
He pulls me into a tight hug, just what I needed after days of endless thinking.
"I know," he whispers.
Later, after we finish eating takeout, he glances at me.
"So, do you want to talk about what's on your mind?"
"You know I don't like talking about details of my cases when I'm with you," I say.
"Oh, my bad," he replies, raising his hands slightly in surrender.
I continue, "Whenever I'm with you, I just want to think about us. Not some mystery case from work."
"I think we need a vacation from work," Jeremy says.
"Just you and me."
"I need a break from work and hospitals, and you need a break from Apex."
"That's not a bad idea," I admit. "But I need to deal with this case first."
One thing I absolutely love about Jeremy is how understanding and supportive he is.
How he's always there for me when I need him, despite his own stressful hours as a surgeon.
Hours later, Jeremy parks outside my apartment building, fingers still laced through mine.
"You could've stayed," he says quietly.
"I know," I murmur, squeezing his hand. "But I need to be in my space tonight. Clear my head."
He nods, but I see it, the flicker of worry in his eyes, the kind he wears when he's suturing deep wounds and hoping they hold.
"You overthink everything," he says.
"I'm a lawyer," I reply with a small smile. "It's in the job description."
"I'm serious. Don't let this one eat you up, Bess."
"I'll try."
But we both know I won't.
He waits until I'm inside the building before driving off. Always watching out for me. Always putting others first. I love that about him.
But love doesn't erase obsession and that's what this case is quickly becoming.
Once inside, I kick off my heels and shrug out of my blazer to take a quick cold shower. The silence of my apartment wraps around me like a cloak, but it's not comforting. It's heavy. Full of questions. Full of shadows.
I grab a glass of wine after my shower, and sit by the window.