It was a quiet Saturday morning. I was in leggings, an old hoodie, and had my hair tied up in a messy bun—hardly the glamorous image of a CEO's wife. My husband, James, had rushed out earlier for a “business emergency,” leaving his half-drunk coffee and a cryptic, “We’ll talk later.”​

I was wiping down the kitchen counter when the doorbell rang. I opened it, still holding a damp cloth, and there he stood.

Tall. Polished. With a smile that could have been pulled straight from a toothpaste commercial. He held a leather briefcase in one hand and a sleek phone in the other.​

"Hello!" he said brightly. "I'm looking for Mr. Lancaster. You must be the cleaning lady. Liliya, right?" He stepped forward, offering a hand. "I'm his business partner, David. Nice to meet you."

Before I could correct him, he glanced at his watch and added, "I've heard so much about you from Mrs. Lancaster. She showed me your picture."

My heart skipped a beat. "Mrs. Lancaster?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

"Yes! She and Greg are always such a great team," he said with a laugh.

Mrs. Lancaster? Then who am I supposed to be? The cleaning lady? My curiosity got the better of me. If he thought I was someone else, I'd play along.

"Please, come in, sir," I said with a small bow, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. "So, you've known Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster for a long time?"

"Oh, years," David said, settling onto the couch. "They're quite the pair. Always look so happy together."

I forced a polite smile. My pulse raced as I grabbed a glass of water, needing an excuse to leave the room for a moment. Who is this Mrs. Lancaster he's talking about?

Back in the living room, I found David scrolling through his phone. He looked up. "You know, I have a picture of them. Let me show you."

He passed me his phone, and my stomach dropped. There, smiling back at me, was my sister, Allison, arm in arm with Greg.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" David said.

I struggled to keep my composure. "When exactly was this photo taken?" I asked, my voice tight.

David didn't notice. "Oh, about a year ago at a corporate event. Funny thing, Greg never really talked about his private life much. I thought he was single for the longest time. Then I ran into them on the street, and he introduced her as his wife."

I swallowed hard and returned the phone to him. My ears were ringing, but David kept talking.

"They're such a lovely couple," he said. "Oh, and she showed me a picture of you once. I asked her, 'Who's this beautiful woman?' and she said, 'Oh, that's our cleaning lady.'"

My hands tightened around the glass I was holding. Cleaning lady? Is this some kind of joke?

I set the glass down and forced a smile. "You must have lots of photos of them together."

"Absolutely! Here's another one from the same event." My head spun. David looked at me with concern. "Liliya, are you alright?"

I took a deep breath, plastering a smile on my face. "I'm fine, sir. Would you like some coffee while you wait for Mr. Lancaster?"

David smiled, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "That'd be great. Thank you."

I walked back to the kitchen. Mrs. Lancaster? My sister? What exactly is going on here?

I returned to the living room, my heart pounding but my face composed. David sat awkwardly on the couch, stirring the coffee I'd given him. He looked up and gave me a polite smile.

"David," I began, my voice calm but firm, "we need to talk."

His smile faltered. "Uh, sure. About what?"

I gestured to the silver-framed photo on the mantel. "Do me a favor. Take a closer look at that picture."

He hesitated, then picked up the frame. His brows furrowed as he studied it. "This… this is you," he said slowly, confusion creeping into his voice.

"That's right," I said. "And the man standing next to me? That's my husband. Greg Lancaster."

David blinked, his grip on the frame tightening. "Wait. What are you saying?"

I folded my hands in my lap and leaned forward. "I'm not the cleaning lady, David. I'm Mrs. Lancaster. The real Mrs. Lancaster."

His face went pale. He put the photo back on the mantel as if it had burned him. "I… I don't understand. I thought…" He trailed off, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"You thought my sister, Allison, was Mrs. Lancaster," I finished for him.

He nodded, still struggling to process. "She told me… Greg introduced her as his wife. She even showed me pictures of the two of them together. I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know!"

I let the silence hang for a moment, watching him squirm. Finally, I asked, "David, why did you come here today?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "I came to convince Greg to sell his share of the business to me. But… it's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Well, the share isn't technically in Greg's name," David admitted, glancing at me nervously. "It's under Mrs. Lancaster's name. Your name."

"And my sister forged my signature to block the sale?" I asked, my tone sharp.

David's eyes widened. "I… I didn't know it was forged, but yes, she stopped the sale. I thought it was your decision."

I laughed bitterly, hiding my anger. "It wasn't. But thank you for confirming what I suspected."

David looked as though he wanted to crawl under the coffee table. "I feel terrible about this. I didn't mean to drag you into anything. If I'd known—"

"It's fine," I interrupted, though my voice carried a steely edge. "This isn't your fault. But since you're here, let's finalize the deal. How much are you offering for Greg's share?"

David blinked, startled by my sudden shift in tone. "Uh, the original offer was quite substantial, but I'm willing to go higher if it means resolving this quickly." He named a figure that made my head spin.

I kept my face neutral, though my mind raced. "That's acceptable. I'll handle the paperwork