Viktor Ashford says he is her husband. He says she is Vivian Ashford, heiress to a shipping empire, the only survivor of the fire that killed her brother.
He is patient. He is attentive. He writes her life out for her a day at a time.
The staff won't look at her.
The west room hums.
The burn on her hip is the wrong shape.
Then she finds a passport sewn into a suitcase lining, in handwriting she recognises as her own, with a name that isn't Vivian.
She isn't the woman he buried. She's the woman he made.
And she's going to walk out of this house with the evidence-as herself.
