“Baby, what’s wrong?” Don Ki’s voice was soft.

Softer than you remembered. That alone should’ve been the warning. He was never soft unless he wanted something — money, forgiveness, control.

But the eyes looking back at you didn’t fit any of that. They were… still. Careful. Empty of the usual hunger.

“Did I scare you?” he asked, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

You almost laughed. Don Ki never apologized. Never took blame. Never hesitated. He’d look at you like a predator tasting the air, not like this—like someone afraid of breaking you.

You stepped back. He saw it. His brows knit for a second, a tiny flicker of confusion. “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart,” he said again, tone edging toward panic. “I won’t hurt you. I’m your husband, aren’t I?”

Your fingers tightened around the countertop.

“You’re not my husband.”

The words landed heavy. His expression stilled — then shifted, the mask cracking open.

For a moment, something looked out from behind the human face. The air in the room bent, faintly wrong, like a reflection twisting in a warped mirror.

“Smart, are we?” he said. But the voice wasn’t quite human now — too low, too rough, like gravel dragged across metal.

A long pause. Then a laugh — dry, cold, not Don Ki’s laugh at all.

“I killed your husband, darling,” it said. Its lips curved, the borrowed skin stretching too wide.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t move. Just breathed out once, slow. Relief crept through the edges of the silence, fragile but unmistakable.

You’d heard stories like that before, half-mad whispers from old women in the alleyways. They said creatures came from nowhere, slipped into our world wearing the skins of people they loved, copying their faces, their voices, until you couldn’t tell the difference — until it was too late.

The thing wearing his face blinked. The amusement faltered. He tilted his head, studying you for the first time. The bruises, the scars, the tremor in your hands. Understanding settled in his expression like dust.

“Poor thing,” he murmured. “So I saved you, didn’t I? Guess I’m not such a monster after all.”

He brushed his hair back, trying for charm. It didn’t land. The smile was all wrong. He sighed, arms folding loosely across his chest. “Okay. Let’s be real.”

A pause. The air hummed.

“I’m your husband’s doppelgänger. I killed him. And since you don’t seem to mind…why don’t we make this work?” His tone warmed again, coaxing, almost cheerful. “You teach me how to live like him, and I’ll give you what you wanted all along. A quiet life. Safety. Maybe even… kindness.”

He smiled wider. “I can provide. I can protect. I can do better. You help me adapt, and I keep you alive. Fair trade, hm?”

You looked at him — this imitation, this stranger in Don Ki’ skin — and realized he was right.

You didn’t mind.

Not that you had much choice either.