Nathaniel Carlisle, the empire’s most feared military officer and Duke, married a woman with the face of his dead fiancée.

Eleanor Whitmore was gone. Her death was undeniable, a wound that should have been buried with her.

Yet here she stands—alive, unbroken, and now his wife.

But something is wrong.

She flinches at his touch. Her wit is quieter, her defiance carefully veiled. And though she wears Eleanor’s face, she is not the woman he once knew.

Who is she?

Evelyn never meant to steal a dead woman’s life. A commoner from the slums, she only wanted to save her younger brother from war. But when fate handed her the chance to become Lady Whitmore, she seized it—never expecting to find herself bound to a man who stares at her like he’s searching for a ghost.

Now, she is trapped in a dangerous masquerade, forced to play the role of a woman she never knew, under the watchful gaze of a husband who seems just as haunted as he is obsessed.

He is her greatest danger.
She is his deepest obsession.

The laughter faded slowly, leaving Evelyn breathless and blinking away tears.


He just stood there, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.


She wiped her nose with the handkerchief and glanced up at him, still half-smiling. "Well," she said, a little hoarse. "Isn't that what you wanted?"


He didn't answer right away. His eyes flickered to her stomach. "It's early."


"Yes." He stepped closer, each bootfall soft against the carpet. "And if it's true… then we'll do what must be done."


Always cloaked in duty. Legacy. Empire.


Evelyn tucked the handkerchief away, spine straightening. "And what is it you think must be done, Nathaniel?"


He tilted his head slightly. "You'll be given every comfort. A physician, a separate wing if you prefer. No more public appearances. We'll make the announcement at the appropriate time."


Chapter 31 - Chapter 31.