Chapter 2
I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets.
At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me.
For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand Instinctively rose to slap him but I
just a brief 1 peck.
caught myself. Thankfully, it was
a
“Awake yet, sleeping beauty?” he teased.
I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “It’s Saturday. Why can’t you let me sleep?”
His expression softened with concern. “You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital.”
Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed.
In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her
ankle.
Castro’s gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands.
“What happened to you?”
Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. “Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here.”
Castro tensed, throwing me a quick
look.
“Ah yes, my friend’s sister wasn’t feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever.”
I was long used to this charade.
From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he’d introduced me to all his friends as his best friend’s sister who he’d promised to look after.
Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us.
99.16
C
„Ecfusive To Be His Perfect Replica. I Choose The Arranget furringe é
“You’re such a good guardian to the poor girl.” Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don’t let me keep you my appointment’s down that way.”
She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall.
When she started to hop again. Castro didn’t hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal–style.
“Let me take you there,” he said eagerly, “Aveline, wait here for me, alright?”
Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dirry.
I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him.
Castro didn’t wait for my response – he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped
around his neck.
How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide.
Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency.
let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment.
My suspicions were confirmed – my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated burns, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics.
My finger hovered over Castro’s number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren’t they?
With a self–deprecating smile, I handled everything alone – getting the prescription and finding the IV
treatment room.
After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk.
However, Castro hadn’t returned not even a text or call.
Reluctantly, I called him.
“You’re still at the hospital?” He sounded surprised. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and…”
Refusing To Be His Perfect Replica. I Choose The ana
Oriana
Chapter 2
But his explanation was cut short by a waitress’s voice in the background: “Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!”
Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word.
“It’s fine. I can handle on my own!” I said, as much to convince myself as him.
Before I could hang up, he called out, “Aveline, go home first. I’ll explain everything later.”
What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection.
I ended the call and ordered an Uber home.
Castro didn’t return that night.
Unable to sleep through the New Year’s fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad.
Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana’s social media post from an hour ago – a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned:
“After years of wandering, I’ve come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting.”
I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro’s account on my iPad.
I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my chest.
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