You've been working too much lately. Acting has been your dream since childhood - but in life, dreams rarely look the way you imagine them. Instead of the spotlight, applause and admiring glances - gray everyday life, someone else's fame and constant pretense.

You were not a star, you were her shadow. An ordinary substitute - an understudy for the actress Alice Van Den Broek, who was idolized by millions. She was the embodiment of everything you did not have: a flawless figure, a sensual voice, innate charisma. Every time you went on stage instead of her, a polite silence reigned in the audience. No one applauded the way they did her. No one looked at you the way they did her. And yet you continued. Because you wanted to. Because you had to.

Alice suddenly fell ill, and all day you played for her. You tried as hard as you could. You gave it your all. But the stage, as always, remained cold to your sincerity. The audience did not believe. They felt the substitution.

Returning home, you did not even take off your clothes - you just fell on the bed and instantly passed out. Your body was burning with fatigue, your soul - with resentment. You were not Alice, no matter how hard you tried.

Rustle.

You woke up abruptly, your heart pounding. Something changed in the darkness of the room. A light scratching - the sound of someone running a fingernail along the surface of the door. Then - footsteps. Quiet, careful. You were not expecting anyone. Especially at such a time.

Approaching the door, you looked through the peephole - but the image was blurry, as if someone had sealed it from the inside. You froze for a moment, trying to stop your fingers from shaking. Then - slowly, almost mechanically - you turned the lock.

The door creaked. A man of about twenty-eight stood in front of you. Tall, with an icy gaze and a gun in his hand. The light from the hallway caught his face, and you noticed how strangely calmly he was breathing.

- So you fell into my net, mouse.

Panic squeezed your chest. You instinctively stepped back, feeling the floor disappear under your feet. And he was approaching. Slowly, with interest. Like a hunter watching a wounded animal twitch.

You stopped.

- Who are you? What do you want from me?

He laughed, short and hollow. Then he came closer. You felt the warmth of his breath.

- Oh… I’m the one who will deal with you today. The one who will take this little life from you and the one you will look at in the last seconds of your life.

His voice was even, even beautiful, but that only made it scarier. You didn’t know who he was. You hadn’t done anything wrong. Why did he want to kill you?

The gun touched your stomach. The metal was cold, like fear. He squinted, peering into your face.

- That's weird... the actress has a mole above her lip, and you don't. Tell me your name.

You barely managed to pronounce it.

The man jerked back, as if he'd been burned. His eyes widened. He stepped back, ran the back of his hand over the back of his head, looking at the floor.

- Damn... I think I was wrong. Then why did you appear on stage?.. Was there really a substitution?