When Nina reached the formal dining room, Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock were already seated, their faces calm but composed, surrounded by an impressive spread of food. It was clear they had just settled in and were still adjusting themselves in their seats before they began their meal.
She stopped short for a moment, taking in their appearance. They weren’t dressed casually as she was. Mr. Whitlock wore a tailored suit, his tie perfectly knotted, while Mrs. Whitlock looked equally polished in an elegant dress and a strand of pearls. They looked like they were ready to attend a business meeting, not a family breakfast.
Suddenly, her simple house dress felt glaringly out of place. No one had told her there was a dress code, but she immediately regretted not asking. A wave of awkwardness hit her as she stepped closer, the sound of her own footsteps echoing in the silent room.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice measured, as she approached the table and pulled out a chair.
Mr. Whitlock looked up first, offering a curt nod of acknowledgment before returning his attention to the food. Mrs. Whitlock, on the other hand, gave her a more deliberate once-over, her gaze sweeping from Nina’s face to the hem of her dress. Her expression shifted subtly—something flickered in her eyes that Nina couldn’t quite read.
“You need new clothes,” Mrs. Whitlock said, her tone firm and direct.
The comment stung, but Nina kept her face neutral. She understood immediately what the woman meant. The dress she was wearing had belonged to Adelaide, and it was obvious Mrs. Whitlock didn’t want her parading around in her daughter’s wardrobe.
“Okay,” Nina said simply, nodding in agreement.
“I’ll have the driver take you to the mall later today to get that sorted,” Mrs. Whitlock added briskly, as though they were discussing the weather.
Nina nodded again, feeling a lump form in her throat. She settled quietly into her seat, her appetite vanishing as quickly as her confidence.
The room fell into silence, save for the soft clink of silverware as Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock began serving themselves. Nina hesitated, watching them, unsure of the protocol. Was she supposed to start serving herself, or should she wait? It felt safest to hold back until they were done.
Her stomach churned—not from hunger but from nerves. She hadn’t eaten much the night before and had woken up famished, yet sitting here now, surrounded by their poised, businesslike energy, she couldn’t muster the will to reach for a plate. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap, trying to quiet the awkward tension buzzing inside her.
When she finally mustered the courage to serve herself, she kept it modest—a few spoonfuls of food, more out of embarrassment than appetite. Even then, she barely touched it, picking at her plate as though the act of eating was a performance she couldn’t quite get right. The weight of Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock’s presence made it impossible to relax; every bite felt scrutinized.
She didn’t realize Mrs. Whitlock was watching her so intently until the woman spoke, her voice breaking the silence. “You don’t like the food?”
Startled, Nina looked up and quickly shook her head. “I do,” she replied softly.
Mrs. Whitlock’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “But you’re not eating.”
“I will,” Nina said hastily, scooping a small bite into her mouth as if to prove her point.
Mrs. Whitlock didn’t respond immediately, but her silence felt heavier than her words. Nina could feel her eyes on her, studying her every move, and it only made her more self-conscious.
After a moment, Mrs. Whitlock spoke again, her tone measured but firm. “There are things we’re aware you can’t handle just yet, but when the time is right, you will. Until then, you’ll remain at home. We’ll inform the board of directors that you’re still recuperating from your last crisis and can’t take on work stress at the moment. That should give you a month or two to familiarize yourself with everything you need to know about the company.”
Nina nodded slowly, absorbing her words, though her mind was elsewhere. A question had been circling in her head since Mrs. Whitlock started talking, but she hesitated to ask it.
“It looks to me like you have something to say,” Mrs. Whitlock observed, her piercing gaze narrowing slightly.
Nina hesitated, weighing her options. The question she wanted to ask hung heavily in the air: What about Axel? Isn’t Adelaide supposed to marry him next month? But she couldn’t bring herself to voice it. The fact that Mrs. Whitlock had yet to mention the engagement made her think it was a topic better left alone—at least for now.
Besides, she had already made her decision last night. Her loyalty wouldn’t lie with Axel; it was Nathan who would occupy her thoughts now. So instead, she shook her head and forced a faint smile. “No, ma’am. Nothing to say.”
Mrs. Whitlock held her gaze for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before turning her attention back to her plate. Nina exhaled quietly, relieved but still uneasy, as she pushed the food around on her plate. The tension in the room was palpable, but she couldn’t afford to let it show—not when every move she made was under a microscope.
Later that day, a knock on her door startled Nina from her thoughts. A housemaid—a new face she hadn’t seen before—entered to inform her that her driver was waiting to take her shopping.
Before the maid’s arrival, she had spent hours meticulously compiling a list of things she would need to keep herself busy during the next two months. It had been made clear she wouldn’t be leaving the mansion for anything other than essentials, and the idea of seclusion weighed heavily on her. She needed to create a personal environment where she could thrive, even in isolation.
But that wasn’t all she had been mulling over. The weight of her new identity pressed down on her like a heavy cloak. Being Adelaide Whitlock wasn’t just about looking the part. If she wanted to impress her new parents—if she wanted to make them believe their decision to bring her into their world was the right one—she had to embody Adelaide in every way.
The Whitlock family didn’t just oversee a company; they commanded an empire, one that dominated the digital world. Their projects weren’t just innovative—they were revolutionary. Retaining their position at the top of the power hierarchy required not just a successor but a visionary, someone capable of carrying their legacy forward and keeping their empire relevant in an ever-evolving world.
One of their most ambitious ventures was the development of a driverless vehicle, a project that could reshape the transportation industry. It wasn’t just any autonomous car—it was set to be the most advanced on the market, incorporating cutting-edge AI that could adapt to real-time road conditions and even learn from its passengers’ habits. However, she knew from overheard whispers and snippets of conversation that the project had hit several roadblocks. The AI struggled with unpredictable variables, and there were murmurs of competition from some of the other powerful families already rolling out similar prototypes. This wasn’t just a technical challenge—it was a race against time to remain ahead of the curve. If successful, it could set a new global standard, cementing the Whitlock name in history.
But that was only one piece of the puzzle. The Whitlocks’ conglomerate was vast, encompassing cutting-edge developments in artificial intelligence, renewable energy, and urban infrastructure. They were exploring everything from smart city technologies to AI-driven medical research. Each project was a high-stakes gamble, and failure wasn’t an option.
She knew that if she was to truly step into Adelaide’s shoes, she couldn’t just sit back and watch these projects unfold. She needed to immerse herself in them, to understand every detail, every challenge, and every opportunity. The Whitlocks needed a leader who could think strategically, innovate fearlessly, and execute flawlessly.
Physically, she might have been Adelaide’s mirror image, but if her intelligence, creativity, or leadership faltered in comparison, the illusion would shatter. She wasn’t just convincing them that she was Adelaide; she had to become her.
There was no room for failure. Too many people were counting on her—on this charade—to succeed. And though the weight of their expectations felt overwhelming, she knew she shouldn’t let them down. No, she couldn’t.