Chapter 1

After my sister came back from her fiancé's place, we went out for a steak dinner.

She wasn't just devouring arugula, something she'd never dared to touch before, but she was also dipping her food into a generous bowl of cashew cream sauce.

But she's severely allergic to cashews; one bite and she could go into anaphylactic shock and end up in the emergency room!

I forced down the rising panic in my chest and cautiously clinked my beer glass against hers, tapping the bottom twice with my finger.

She didn't react at all, just smiled and chugged her beer.

In that moment, an icy dread washed over me.

The woman sitting across from me, wearing my sister's face, wasn't Eleanor at all!

So, where was the real Eleanor?

The sizzling steak platter steamed, its white smoke blurring the view of the person across from me.

This old-school steakhouse was our absolute favorite.

It had been days since I'd seen my sister, Eleanor, as she'd been at her fiancé Ethan's house for the past week, discussing their wedding plans.

Today, the moment she returned, I couldn't wait to drag her here for a treat.

"Lily, what are you spacing out for? The steak's getting cold."

The woman across from me chided playfully, expertly using a fork to cut a piece of steak and dip it into her sauce bowl.

My gaze was fixed on her dipping sauce bowl, my brain freezing for a split second, all the blood in my veins turning to ice.

Her dipping sauce bowl had a thick layer of arugula, generously drizzled with rich cashew cream sauce.

She picked up that piece of steak, coated in cashew cream and arugula, and without a moment's hesitation, popped it into her mouth, chewing heartily, a satisfied expression on her face.

"This place still tastes so authentic," she mumbled.

My hand, resting under the table, began to tremble uncontrollably.

Eleanor had always detested the smell of arugula since she was a kid, saying it smelled like soap.

Even more critically, she was severely allergic to cashews!

Once, when she was little, she accidentally ate a cookie with cashew crumbs, and within five minutes, she broke out in hives, struggled to breathe, and nearly went into shock.

She spent an entire night fighting for her life in the emergency room that time.

Ever since, the word "cashew" had been an absolute taboo in our family.

But now, this "Eleanor" sitting across from me wasn't just eating arugula, but a huge mouthful of cashew cream sauce too!

And she wasn't showing any allergic reaction.

No hives, no wheezing; her face was rosy, and she was laughing and chatting animatedly.

"Ellie..." I heard my voice come out raspy, like sandpaper. "You... you can't eat cashews, can you?"

The hand holding her fork paused briefly, a flicker of almost imperceptible panic in her eyes, but it was quickly masked by a perfect smile.

"Oh, did you forget? I went to see that doctor, remember? He gave me some treatments to balance my system. A few days ago, at Ethan's place, his mom didn't know about my allergy and made cashew brittle. I tried a bite and realized I was fine. Guess I got desensitized."

As she spoke, she picked up another piece of steak with her fork.

"Besides, arugula used to taste awful, but now it suddenly smells quite good. People's tastes change, you know."

Desensitized?

Such a severe, life-threatening allergy, cured by a few treatments?

That's a complete farce!

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to flip the table, took a deep breath, and picked up my beer glass.

"Oh, I see. That's fantastic! Now we can eat so many more things together. Come on, Ellie, let's toast."

I held out my glass.

She smiled, picked up her glass, and clinked it against mine.

Clink. A crisp sound.

I stared intently at her hand.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Eleanor and I had a secret ritual we'd had since we were kids.

Because we grew up together in the orphanage, whenever we got a delicious bowl of soup, we would always gently tap the bottom of our bowls twice with our fingers when we clinked them.

This habit continued to this day.

Whenever it was just the two of us toasting, whether with water or alcohol, we'd always tap the bottom of our glasses twice.

It was our private code, known only to us, not even to Robert, Sarah, or Ethan.

But just now, she had simply clinked her glass normally, then tilted her head back and took a big gulp.

I gripped the cold glass, my knuckles turning white from the force.

My heart hammered so fast it felt like it would burst through my chest.

The exact same appearance, the exact same voice, even the same style of dress and tone of speaking.

But, she wasn't Eleanor.

Absolutely not!

So where was the real Eleanor?

And who was this monster wearing my sister's skin?