Chapter2

The strange standoff lasted only two seconds before he suddenly let go. “Go shower.” I pushed his chest. “...Okay.” After the sound of water in the bathroom started, I stared at that bowl of oatmeal with its suspicious oily shine. Water marks still marred the freshly wiped wooden floor. Gritting my teeth, I bent and poured the whole bowl into the shadow under the bed. When Oliver reemerged smelling of damp shower gel, I was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t ask if I’d finished eating; instead he asked, “Amelia, aren’t you sleepy?” The rain outside hit harder, bullets of water driving against the glass. A lightning bolt split the sky and lit the sharp planes of his profile. My heart nearly stopped, but I forced a smile, “A little... but didn’t you say we were going to keep going? I’m waiting for you.” I opened my arms to him. ‘Oliver’ pulled me to him, but he didn’t flash the roguish grin he usually did. He rarely smiled. The real Oliver loved to tease and flirt with me, turning every touch into sweet torment. But the man holding me now moved with the precision of someone carrying out a handoff. His shadow swallowed me whole. When our skin met, a sharp sting spread across my chest. Not him. It really wasn’t him. Whether from the shock of that realization or because the porridge really had something wrong with it, my eyelids fought to close. For half a year, on every seventh night, I had blacked out under drugs and been carried by my own husband into another man’s bed... I kept my eyes shut but my senses were unnervingly clear. When his hand brushed my waist, his nails grazed my skin in a way that left a burning sting—Oliver would never be that rough. At dawn, Liam’s voice tore my disguise apart: “Awake?” He looked down at me. “I’ll go make breakfast.” The hand at the small of my back seemed gentle, but the force pinned me in place. Same face, but exuding a more dangerous vibe—like a beast keeping its claws sheathed. When I stepped into the bathroom I stared at the empty tiled wall and suddenly felt cold— Oliver had gone into this bathroom last night, then disappeared. If they were two people, how had Oliver left? Unless...they were two souls inside the same body. My pupils shrank violently in the mirror. A mad theory detonated in my head: Oliver had dissociative identity disorder. Liam wasn’t another person but the side of him he was too ashamed to admit. Steam fogged the mirror; as I wiped it away, I saw my face smiling at the sight of hope. I had to find the truth.