Chapter 1

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My boyfriend had been missing on his business trip for three days, so I finally called 911.

Right after I hung up, the doorbell rang.

He stood there, holding a bunch of red roses, smiling. "Hey baby, did you miss me?"

My entire body froze. Cold sweat broke out across my back.

We had a secret code using rose colors.

Red roses meant...

*Danger. Run.*

I stared at his face. It was identical to the one in my memory.

But he never said such cheesy things. This man was absolutely not my boyfriend.

1

"Liam?"

My voice forced its way out of my throat, sounding as dry as sandpaper.

He tilted his head, thrusting the roses into my arms. "Only gone for three days, and you already forgot what I look like?"

The thorns pricked my palm. The sharp sting forced me to stay sharp.

I stepped aside to let him in, my eyes locked onto his every move.

Taking off his shoes, setting down the suitcase, hanging up his coat.

Every single movement matched Liam’s habits perfectly.

He even remembered the exact spot for the grey slippers on the second shelf of the shoe rack.

I bought those slippers just last month. Liam had only worn them twice before he left.

"Claire, why do you look so pale?"

He turned around, reaching out to touch my forehead.

Instinctively, I took half a step back.

His hand froze in mid-air, but his warmth quickly returned as a smile. "Are you mad because I went off the grid? The reception out there was terrible, and my phone broke. It took forever to get it fixed."

"Oh, really?"

I forced a smile, casually setting the roses on the entryway cabinet.

I tried to keep my movements natural, but my fingers were trembling.

"Yeah, the project had some last-minute issues. I had to work overtime to pull it off. I wanted to call you sooner, but my phone died. It was driving me crazy. You have no idea—there wasn't even a decent repair shop nearby. I had to drive forty miles to find one."

He spoke smoothly and naturally, even pulling out his phone to show me.

There was indeed a brand-new screen protector on it, with a tiny chip on the corner.

The last time Liam dropped his phone, it had chipped in that exact same spot.

Even the details matched.

I stared at his face. Every feature told me this was Liam.

The same brow bone, the same jawline, even the way his left eye squinted slightly more than his right when he smiled.

Yet, the cold sweat on my back refused to dry.

"I’m gonna take a shower. I smell like outdoor sweat," he said, patting my shoulder before heading toward the bedroom.

I leaned against the wall, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it would burst.

Before Liam left for his trip, we had one last phone call. His voice had been incredibly low, as if he was terrified of being overheard.

He had said, "Claire, if there ever comes a day when I tell you to run, don’t ask questions. Just run."

I asked him why.

He was silent for a long time—so long that I thought the call had dropped.

Then he said, "Because my dad didn't run in time."

Liam’s father was a cop who died in the line of duty ten years ago.

Liam never brought it up, always avoiding the subject.

Over time, I stopped asking.

But now, I was beginning to doubt everything.

I pulled out my phone and opened the call log.

Three minutes ago, I had dialed 911.

It rang twice, and then I hung up.

If the man in the other room wasn't Liam, where was the real Liam?

And if I called the cops now, what would I tell them?

I had absolutely no proof.

He hadn't made a single slip-up.

No, wait. He did.

The red roses.

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