Too Good to Be True

Celeste Harper had exactly $42.17 in her bank account, a landlord who side-eyed her rent extensions, and a hospital billing department that had her on speed dial. She needed a miracle. Or a lottery win. Or, at the very least, a drink that wasn’t a watered-down instant coffee from the breakroom.

Instead, she had Amara Sinclair, best friend and personal bad-influence, dragging her toward an exclusive high-society party.

“Come on, Cel, one night,” Amara pleaded, practically shoving a sequined dress into Celeste’s arms. “Noah’s stable. You need a break before you actually collapse.”

Celeste sighed, rubbing her temples. “Amara, I have work in the morning. And I’m pretty sure these people drink champagne that costs more than my entire existence.”

“Exactly.” Amara grinned. “Which means free drinks and a chance to network. You never know who’s looking for a new voice actress. Maybe some rich guy is desperate to hire someone who can sound like his long-lost lover or something.”

Celeste rolled her eyes but let herself be pulled along. Fine. One drink.

The estate was blinding. Glittering chandeliers, expensive suits, women in gowns that probably had their own security details. Celeste stuck close to Amara, resisting the urge to scratch at the rhinestones on her borrowed dress.

“Relax,” Amara whispered, handing her a glass of something golden and bubbly. “Just smile and pretend you belong.”

Celeste was mid-sip when her phone vibrated. A message from the hospital. Her stomach twisted. Noah’s medical bills were growing faster than she could handle, and every call felt like another weight pressing down on her chest.

“I need a second,” she murmured, slipping toward the restrooms.

Celeste stood by the sink, hands gripping the counter. Breathe. Just breathe. Her mind raced through options—more part-time gigs, another loan, maybe selling a kidney—

Celeste ducked into the restroom, pulling out her phone. A notification from the hospital made her chest tighten. Another bill. Another reminder that Noah’s condition wasn’t improving, and neither was their bank account.

She exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against her temple. Just five minutes to breathe.

Then the door swung open.

“Oh.”

Celeste glanced up, coming face-to-face with a woman in her forties, elegant in a tailored emerald-green dress. The kind of woman who exuded money and power without trying.

Emelia Aldridge.

Celeste recognized her immediately—the wife of a business tycoon, the kind of person who could buy and sell entire companies with a signature.

Emelia stared, lips parting slightly.

Celeste frowned. “Uh, sorry, did you need the mirror?”

Emelia’s expression shifted into something unreadable. Then—

“My God,” she murmured. “You sound exactly like her.”

Celeste blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Vivian,” Emelia said, taking a slow step closer, her sharp gaze scanning Celeste’s face. “Your voice—it’s identical.”

Celeste had no idea who Vivian was, but something about Emelia’s calculating look made her stomach twist.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

———

“Ms. Harper, I understand your financial situation, but we can’t continue treatment without a payment plan in place.”

Celeste gripped her phone tighter, her pulse hammering as she paced outside the hospital’s billing office. “I just need a little more time. Please. My brother is—”

“We’ve already extended his care on goodwill. The balance is due in full by the end of the month.”

Celeste swallowed hard. End of the month. Like she had thousands of dollars just sitting around. Like she wasn’t barely surviving on freelance voice gigs that paid in exposure half the time.

She muttered a tight “Thank you” and ended the call, staring at the cracked pavement beneath her feet.

Noah didn’t deserve this. He was only twenty, too young to be lying unconscious in a hospital bed because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had promised him she’d always protect him.

And she was failing.

Celeste wasn’t sure why she answered Emelia Aldridge’s invitation.

Maybe it was the desperation. Maybe it was the way the woman’s cold gaze had pinned her in that restroom, calculating, assessing. Maybe it was the fact that Celeste had no other options.

Now, sitting in a sleek, high-rise office that probably cost more than everything she’d ever owned, Celeste felt entirely out of place.

Emelia Aldridge, on the other hand, was perfectly at home.

Dressed in a sharp white blazer, diamonds gleaming on her wrist, she sat with the kind of effortless grace that only came with old money. Her lips were painted a shade of red that probably had a pretentious name like Crimson Revenge.

She tapped her manicured nails against a crystal glass as she studied Celeste. “You look smaller in proper lighting.”

Celeste blinked. “Uh. Thanks?”

A small smirk ghosted over Emelia’s face, gone as quickly as it appeared. “You must be wondering why you’re here.”

Celeste sat up a little straighter. “That would be nice to know, yes.”

Emelia leaned forward. “My son, Lucian, is a stubborn, difficult man. After his accident, he refused to cooperate with doctors. Refused help. And then, to make matters worse, his fiancée left him.”

Celeste hesitated. She already didn’t like where this was going.

Emelia lifted a brow. “You have a remarkable voice, Ms. Harper. And as luck would have it, it sounds just like hers.”

The air between them stretched thin.

Celeste stared. “Wait. You’re not saying—”

“I’m offering you a job.” Emelia’s voice was smooth, practiced, her gaze sharpened as she leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with effortless poise. “You will live in the Aldridge estate, tend to Lucian, and convince him to proceed with his surgery.” As far as he knows, Vivian has returned.”

Celeste let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re asking me to trick a blind man?”

Emelia sighed, as if she was growing bored with the conversation. “I’m offering you a solution to your very expensive problem. I hear your brother’s hospital bills are quite… substantial.”

Cold dread pooled in Celeste’s stomach.

“How do you even know about that?” she demanded.

Emelia took a delicate sip of her drink, unconcerned. “Please, dear. Money buys information. I wouldn’t hire someone without knowing every little thing about them.” She set her glass down and met Celeste’s gaze head-on. “I assume you understand what this means.”

Celeste’s breath came shallow. This woman—this terrifying, impossibly rich woman—was playing her like a chess piece. And the worst part?

She was right.

Celeste had no other options.

Emelia’s smirk was knowing. “Two million dollars.”

Celeste choked. “Excuse me?”

This was suspicious.

She narrowed her eyes. “And all I have to do is convince your son to get surgery?”

“And make sure he believes you’re Vivian,” Emelia added smoothly. “You’ll have access to her records, her photos, even recordings of her voice. He’s blind, but he’s not stupid, Ms. Harper. You’ll need to play the role convincingly.”

Celeste swallowed hard. “Why not hire an actress? Someone trained for this?”

Emelia’s smile was razor-sharp. “Because no actress can mimic Vivian’s voice the way you do. And let’s be honest, dear, you don’t have the luxury of declining.”

Celeste clenched her fists. She hated that this woman was right. Hated that she was dangling salvation in front of her like a prize, knowing full well Celeste would have to take it.

Two million dollars. A future for Noah.

A deal with the devil.

Celeste exhaled shakily. “I’ll do it.”

Emelia raised her glass in a silent toast. “Good girl.”