I never told my husband’s mistress that I was the renowned plastic surgeon she booked a consultation with. She didn’t recognize me in my mask and scrubs. She pointed to a photo of me on her phone and said, “I want to look better than this hag my boyfriend is married to. Make me younger so he finally dumps her.” I simply smiled behind my mask and nodded. The surgery was a masterpiece. She believed she was waking up with a face that would make me weep with envy. But when the final bandage was peeled away, her face went pale. She screamed in horror, dropping the mirror to the floor. I hadn’t made her younger. I had used my scalpel to carve her into an exact, permanent replica of…

Chapter 1: The Consultation of Vanity

“I want to look better than the tired woman my boyfriend is married to.”

She said it lightly, like an insult thrown for fun.
The words sliced through the sterile calm of my clinic.

She had no idea the face she was mocking was the same one hidden behind my mask.
And she certainly didn’t know that by the time I was finished, she wouldn’t just resemble that woman.
She would become her.

The Sloan Aesthetic Center in Beverly Hills was designed to feel holy.
White stone, soft lighting, the faint scent of eucalyptus and money — all meant to make people forget what beauty really costs.

I sat behind my glass desk, fully scrubbed in.
Blue cap tight over my hair.
Mask sealed across my face.
Magnifying lenses enlarging my eyes.

To the world, I was Dr. Mira Sloan, celebrity surgeon, miracle maker.
To the girl sitting across from me, I was just a tool.

Her name was Lila.
Twenty-two. Blonde. Sharp-featured.
She carried entitlement like perfume, though her scuffed heels betrayed the illusion.

She dropped her phone onto my desk.

The screen lit up.

A candid photo of a woman standing in a garden.
No makeup. Hair pulled back.
Exhaustion carved into her face.

I recognized it instantly.

It was me.

Three weeks ago.
After a fourteen-hour shift.
Pruning roses behind my house.

“This is her,” Lila scoffed, chewing gum.
“My boyfriend says she’s boring. Says he only stays for the kids, but hates looking at her.”

She leaned forward, eyes glittering.

“I want a younger, hotter version of this face.
I want him to forget she ever existed.”

My heart slammed.

Thomas.
My husband.

The man who kissed me goodbye that morning and told me I was beautiful.

I studied the photo.
Then I studied the girl across from me.

I smiled with my eyes.

“I understand,” I said calmly.
“We can achieve a very precise resemblance.
I will make you unforgettable.”

Lila grinned.

“Money isn’t a problem.
He gave me his card.”

She slid a black card across the glass.

Thomas Sloan.
Sloan Holdings.

My husband was financing his own nightmare.

“The nurse will prep you,” I said, picking it up.
“I’ll see you in surgery.”

She signed everything without reading a word and checked her reflection as she left.

When the room emptied, the anger didn’t burn.

It crystallized.

Chapter 2: The Sleep of Trust