The hallway smelled faintly of bleach and roses, a strange mix of the hotel’s cleaning supplies and the expensive perfume that lingered outside the luxury suite.

Mara shifted on her feet, wringing her hands in the folds of the silk dress that wasn’t hers. The fabric felt alien against her skin—smooth, cold, and far too perfect for a maid who usually wore a faded uniform and sensible shoes. She didn’t dare move too much, afraid she might wrinkle the gown or, worse, tear it.

This morning, she’d just been stripping sheets and humming under her breath when she’d spotted it—an unassuming gold ring glinting on the nightstand of Room 807. She’d meant to set it aside, but somehow it ended up in her apron pocket. Panic hit her like a freight train when she realized it was that guest’s room—the kind that came with personal security and left wads of cash for tips. And sure enough, an hour later, the owner of the ring had caught her.

But instead of calling the police, the girl named Rosalie—her mirror image in high heels—had smiled with a glint of mischief.

"You’re perfect," Rosalie had said, voice dripping with privilege. "I have a blind date tonight. My father’s idea. I don’t want to go. You’ll go for me. Just make him hate me please!"

Mara had thought it was a joke. Until she promised not to press charges if she agreed.

So here she was, standing outside the room where she was supposed to meet a man she’d never seen. A rich man. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

What if he could tell she didn’t belong? What if she spilled water on him? What if he knew the real heiress?

a knock landed on the hotel room door