Chapter 3: Becoming Ashton Thorne

Ashley’s POV

The leather seat of the luxurious car that had picked me up outside the airport felt alien beneath me, or maybe it was the fact that I had a driver. Gazing out the window at the snow-capped peaks blurring by, I still couldn't quite believe I was actually in Aspen, on my way to the Thornes’ mansion, masquerading as my sister, Ashton.

Just days ago, I’d been sitting in the cozy familiarity of my favorite coffee shop in Vermont when Ashton had dropped her bombshell request. The memory of her pleading eyes and the hesitant smile, a ghost of our childhood goofiness, had been my undoing and why I was now on my way to what I believed was a suicide mission.

After agreeing, I’d had to follow Ashton back to her New York apartment that very day. Thankfully, her husband, Andreas, was on a business trip to London and would be flying directly into Aspen. A small mercy, because the prospect of spending hours trapped on a plane with a complete stranger while posing as his significant other would have had me confessing immediately.

Ashton had spent the next couple of days after my arrival in her home prepping me. She'd bombarded me with details about the Thorne family, Andreas's work,  and even their bizarre obsession with poetry (a fact I found interesting).

"Just think of it as a crash course in being a socialite," Ashton had quipped, a hint of desperation lacing her usually carefree tone.  

A wry smile touched my lips. Socialite. A word that felt as foreign to me as the designer sunglasses currently perched on my nose. Ashton had raided her closet, transforming me from a bookworm in a comfy sweater into a vision of designer labels that felt stiff and unfamiliar against my skin.

"They expect a certain look, Ash," she'd explained, her fingers flitting across the expensive fabric of a dress I wouldn't have been caught dead in before. "Think sleek, sophisticated, the picture of a billionaire’s wife."  

A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. This whole wife swap was a recipe for disaster. But as Ashton had squeezed my hand, her eyes filled with a vulnerability I'd rarely seen, I'd known that I couldn't fail her now.  

The vibration of my phone startled me out of my thoughts. A glance at the screen revealed a text from Ashton: "Good luck, Ash! You got this! "

My fingers itched to reply with a voice note, a scathing one detailing the excruciating consequences we'd both face if the Thornes ever sniffed out the truth. But I settled for a more controlled message: "I will do my best."

Taking a deep breath, I lifted my head, and a gasp escaped my lips. The Thorne mansion. It was a picture straight out of a luxury magazine. The sprawling building, surrounded by towering pines, oozed an aura of grandeur that left me speechless.  

This was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. The estates depicted in my novels paled in comparison to the real-life elegance before me.

As the car glided smoothly up the driveway, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement mingled with the gnawing fear. This was an adventure, albeit a potentially disastrous one. But the prospect of being a part of this world, even for a short period felt like much-needed inspiration for my next novel.

Suddenly, a nagging thought popped into my head. Pulling out my phone once more, I sent a quick message to my best friend who was also my editor, Olivia. She'd been ecstatic about my last submission, showering me with updates on the publishing process and I'd forgotten to reply, swept up in preparation to be my twin sister.   

"Hey Liv," I typed, "Sorry for the late reply. I'm excited. What's the latest update?"

Clearing my reply, I was about to call her instead when the car came to a halt. The uniformed driver, impeccably dressed and looking like he could have stepped out of a British period drama, turned towards me with a polite smile.

"We've arrived, Mrs. Thorne," he announced, his voice a smooth baritone.

Mrs. Thorne. The words felt alien on my tongue, a constant reminder of the person I had to be to be this weekend. Stepping out of the car, I fumbled with one of the bags beside me that Ashton had insisted I take, but before I could even hoist it, the driver reached out with a smile.  

"No need to trouble yourself, Mrs. Thorne. The staff will take care of your belongings."

With a forced smile, I dropped the bag, feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over me. The driver ushered me towards the grand entrance, the massive oak doors groaning open with a weight that spoke of old money and tradition.

Inside, the mansion was a breathtaking display that made my mouth fall open in awe. A wide, marble staircase swept upwards, flanked by gleaming statues and priceless antiques. A crystal chandelier cast a warm glow over the foyer, and the air hung heavy with the scent of lilies and something else – wealth, perhaps?

A woman materialized from a side hallway, her smile as polished as the marble floor. She was dressed in a crisp uniform that somehow managed to look both elegant and practical.

"Welcome to Thorne Manor, Mrs. Thorne," she greeted, "I'm Clara, one of the household staff. I'll be showing you to your room."

Following Clara up the staircase, my heart hammered against my ribs. Every step, every rustle of fabric seemed to amplify my nervousness. We reached a landing, and Clara gestured towards a doorway at the end of the hallway.  

"This will be your room, Mrs. Thorne, and your husband’s, of course" she explained, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes, perhaps at my wide-eyed wonder.

A lump formed in my throat. Sharing a room with a stranger, even if he was supposedly my husband, was a terrifying prospect.

The woman, Clara, flashed another one of those practiced smiles that seemed permanently etched on her face as she opened the door and ushered me into the room. "There's a phone on the nightstand if you require anything. Your luggage will be brought up shortly and there is a phone by the bed, should you be needing anything else.”

With that, she glided out of the doorway, leaving me standing there feeling like a fish out of water.

A king-sized bed, the kind you could get lost in, dominated the center of the room. Lush fabrics, the kind that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, draped everything in sight. Even the window offered a betrayal of my usual scenery, showcasing a breathtaking view of snow-capped mountains instead of the familiar maple trees outside my window back home.  

Overwhelmed, I sank onto the edge of the bed. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a message from Ashton. "Are you there yet? How's the mansion? Any icy glares from the Thorne family yet?"

A wry smile curved my lips. "Just arrived," I typed back. "More like a palace than a house. No sign of the Thornes yet, just a very polite staff member named Clara." Hitting send, I was about to close my phone and let my gaze wander around the room once more when I saw a new notification from Olivia.

“Have you thought about what we discussed yet?”

The memory of those early days, hunched over my laptop in the quiet solitude of my apartment, juggling ghostwriting gigs while writing books under a pseudonym, brought a wave of nostalgia. A.R Eve, the name I'd chosen - a combination of my initials and my mother's name - had become a shield, a way to navigate the world of publishing without exposing my introverted nature.  

Back then, the success of my first novel had been both exhilarating and terrifying. Now, with my second book about to hit shelves, Olivia was pushing for a grand reveal. "The fans are clamoring to meet you, Ash," she'd said during our last call. "The real you. Think about it. A face to put to the name. It could create a whole new level of engagement."

But the thought of stepping out of the shadows, of facing the scrutiny and judgment of the public eye, sent a shiver down my spine.  

A soft knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts. "Come in," I called out, my voice echoing in the vastness of the room.

A young man in a crisp uniform entered, pushing a luggage cart stacked with my luggage. He deposited them with a polite nod before making a hasty exit.

My eyelids felt heavy and I decided to reply to Olivia’s message and figure out a way to unload the bags Ashton had packed after a nap.

I didn't know how long I was asleep but a flicker of movement jolted me awake. My heart hammered against my ribs as I squinted through the dim light. A dark shape loomed in the armchair across the room. My breath caught in my throat.

Panic started to rise, but then a sliver of moonlight sliced through the curtains, illuminating the figure. Andreas Thorne, my sister's husband, had arrived.