Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister

I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.

For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.

On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.

Donovan didn't hesitate.

He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.

Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.

He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.

He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.

He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.

When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.

He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.

Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.

He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.

I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.

"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her."

Chapter 1

Ava Miller POV

My mother’s voice on the phone was the only thing louder than the oppressive silence of the library.

"The wire transfer is pending, Ava. Midnight tonight. You survive until then, and you get the fifty million. You break character, and your father will kill you himself."

The line went dead before I could even breathe.

I stared at the heavy mahogany desk in front of me.

My hands were shaking.

I pressed them flat against the cool leather surface, willing the tremors to cease.

Three years.

That was the sentence.

One thousand and ninety-five days of being someone else.

I looked down at the diamond wedding band on my finger.

It was heavy.

It felt like a shackle forged from cold starlight.

To the world, I was Isabella Miller. The spoiled, fiery Mafia Princess who had tamed the ruthless Donovan Blackwood.

But in this house, I was a ghost.

I was merely collateral damage in a peace treaty between two crime syndicates that hated each other.

I closed the thick book I had been pretending to read.

The clock on the wall ticked.

Ten hours left.

Ten hours until the contract expired.

Ten hours until I could take the money and disappear.

The door to the library creaked open.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Donovan Blackwood walked in.

He was a man carved from violence and expensive suits.

As the Don of the Blackwood Famiglia, he controlled half the city, owned the police force, and had